Francisco Lasta, OTR/L, Assoc. AIA

Humans have always shaped environments to serve our needs. Early design focused on basic function and protection, but over time it expanded to include comfort, aesthetics, sustainability, and a growing recognition of human diversity. For much of that history, however, design assumed a typical user. That approach allowed efficiency, but it rarely reflected how people experience and use space.

We are more than physical bodies moving through buildings. We experience space through our senses, and we process information differently based on abilities, experiences, culture, and context. Traditional accessibility has focused on physical access, which is essential. Still, it often gives less attention to how people navigate complexity, manage sensory input, or orient themselves once they are inside a space.

Inclusive design builds on accessibility by assuming human variation from the start. Accessibility codes set critical minimum standards, but inclusive design looks at how a space performs under real-world conditions, when people are tired, stressed, or unfamiliar with their surroundings. It considers sensory load, visual clarity, lighting, acoustics, and how easily someone can recover when disoriented. Inclusive design is not a checklist or a compliance exercise. It is a process that engages lived experience and anticipates change, reducing effort and uncertainty so people can navigate environments with confidence and dignity.

One moment that stands out happened years ago while I was traveling internationally. Airport security has always been a stressful point for me. You are unpacking electronics, removing shoes, emptying pockets, and pushing everything through scanners, then rushing to gather your belongings while people behind you wait. Most airports offer little more than a narrow counter immediately after security, forcing people to juggle their belongings while standing awkwardly or blocking the flow of others.

This airport handled that moment differently. Right after the security checkpoint, there was a well-designed surface specifically intended for reorganizing belongings. It was placed where it was needed, with enough space and at a comfortable height, so you were not in anyone’s way.

From a design perspective, this was a simple but effective response to a well-known pain point in the user journey. It was not about meeting minimum accessibility standards. It addressed a real task at a moment of stress and benefited everyone, from parents traveling with children to older adults and people who simply need more time. The environment either supports what you are trying to do or gets in the way. In this case, design supported the task, and that made all the difference.

I am most proud of helping bridge the gap between occupational therapy and architecture by showing how OT expertise can meaningfully inform inclusive design. When I started, there was very little shared language between the two fields, and most designers were unfamiliar with how concepts like human-environment interaction and activity analysis could influence architectural decisions. Through speaking, writing, research, and design conversations, I have worked to make these ideas more accessible and practical for design teams. That work has influenced projects, internal processes, and how teams think about inclusive design from the outset.

What matters most to me is the growing momentum among other OTs. More OTs now see the built environment as a legitimate extension of our profession. Being able to mentor students, support internships, and help create clearer pathways into this work has been especially meaningful. For me, the accomplishment is not individual recognition but helping build a sustainable pipeline for this work.

What I enjoy most is working with a diverse architecture team across the country on projects that range from small-scale interventions, like inclusive bathrooms, to comprehensive assessments of major transportation infrastructure. That variety keeps the work engaging.

Coming from a clinical background, I initially had limited exposure to the technical realities that shape what is possible in architecture. My colleagues bring deep expertise in structural systems, materials, construction logistics, and regulatory requirements. Working alongside them reshaped my understanding of design. I now view constraints not as obstacles, but as the conditions within which good design must operate. At GFT, I bring a human-centered perspective into technical conversations early so inclusive outcomes are considered alongside engineering and regulatory priorities. That shift has fundamentally changed how I approach design decision-making.

I encourage students and emerging professionals to pay close attention to their own experiences in built environments, especially moments of confusion, frustration, or ease. Those experiences are rarely accidental. Every space reflects design decisions that shape how people carry out everyday activities.

It is important to understand the connection between what you design and how people experience it. Small choices can either support people or create barriers, depending on how individuals move, see, hear, or process information. Developing that awareness early will make you a more thoughtful designer.

I also encourage students to use the growing body of research and tools available today to gain a deeper understanding of how people interact with space. We know more than ever about sensory processing, stress, and wayfinding, and applying that knowledge early leads to better design outcomes.

Finally, challenge assumptions about whom you design spaces for. Design with real people in mind, especially those often overlooked, and the work will almost always be better.