What to do with The IA Institute?

So. Here we are. The IA Institute, the only notable professional organization devoted to information architecture, is on the brink of collapse due to a lawsuit. Recently, members were asked if the whole thing should die or what.

I definitely go back and forth on this, but as of this morning I’m more like: let the IAI as it stands, die.

Make something new. (Also not easy.)

If I were in charge – and I am not, please don’t @ me – I would say that any new org has to acknowledge the reality of IA in 2019. Let’s drop the whole “saving the world” act and stop whining about how “UX won”. And, acknowledge that IA remains critically vital to the work of many people – but also acknowledge that as an independent discipline, it’s trending down.

How would an organization, if there were one, pull together those two disparate attitudes? That the work we do is super important but is critically undervalued? Without falling into a malaise of navel gazing?

How can IA be made relatable to the person just starting their career “making screens”? What about the database admin who’s quietly been doing similar work forever? Or the person who does SEO audits for a living? Maybe the problem is that efforts to make IA relatable aren’t working at scale, and ideally there would be an organization pushing that forward.

The new IAI leadership could absolutely take this on. I’m unsure if the current structure truly allows it. (I really don’t know.)

And what if the people doing vital IA work today aren’t IAs, by trade? I would almost wager that’s the case. And they’re out there, thinking that stuff is part and parcel with some other job they do. That’s great. That means, in a small way, IA has “won”.

Critically and finally: are the people who are leading impromptu discussions on Twitter the people who should be leading this charge? Are they the traditional gatekeepers? Are they really people who would be members of an IA organization? Are they the right “users” to design against? And if the answer is no, as my hunch says it is, who are the right users, and why are they not centered in these discussions?

The website is not the goal

Years and years ago, I had a client that came to me looking for a website. Just a website. “Sure,” I said, “I can build one for you.” I worked with them to make something super great. It launched. Then they asked, “So, do we need to update this, ever?”

That website was a starting point. I didn't know about managing content. I didn't know what to say.

A couple of years after that, I had a client that came to me looking for a website they could update themselves. “You bet,” I said, and I worked with a friend to build them a website with (oh boy) a custom CMS that was really an inventory management system too. It launched. Then they asked, “So, how often do we need to update this? What happens when we have images larger than a screen? Why can we change these things and not these other things?”

That website was also a starting point. I didn't know about building a process and teaching curriculum around a new technology. I didn't know what to say.

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A website is a vessel. It is means to an end. That end may be more business. It may be a new way of doing things. It may be hiring more people, or firing some (yikes). It may be creating a process. Less and less, it's "just a website" or "just an app". It's a window into the organization or the person on the other end. It's a hello. It's a how are you. But it's rarely the end all be all.

Open by default

I am always looking for what's good in people. And then, I want to pump that goodness up, promote it, and do amazing work with others.

In the spread of my career I've moved from working solo to working on technology that was closer to people (UI) and later still, working directly with people. All of these phases have challenged me to improve my communication skills, and I'm still very much learning.

As such, I maintain a number of guidelines when I'm working with people for the first time. They inform the ways I communicate with others, conduct business... and everything else, really. That's not to say that they stay fixed over time; I respect the way the relationship naturally grows. But this is how I begin.

• The other person is smart. I have always hired people smarter than me and it has never failed me, and I take this assumption to my co-workers and co-conspirators too.
   
• The other person has good intentions and wants to succeed. This is putting an amazing amount of trust in the other person, but then, I assume she's trusting me just as much. No agendas, no twirling mustaches. We're here to make something fantastic and enjoy it.
   
• I will learn something from the other person. Her experience and her work can be incredibly influential on me because I allow it to be. People are fascinating.
   
• The other person is doing her very best work. This one gets tricky. Sometimes, we phone it in (and it's worth examining why that is – another time.) But I still treat each project and piece of work as the very best representation of that person's ideas given her constraints, limitations, and experience. I look for strengths in the simplest-seeming ideas.
   
• We both have a sense of humor. I can definitely read when Business Mode is fully required, but some things may happen that are stressful... and humor can be a release valve for that.
   
• And finally, we will connect and create something great. Connection only means that we need to work well together – in a flow, and in a collaborative way.

And that's it. Those are the guidelines I start with in just about any relationship or point of contact.

All Apologies

As a parent, I read a lot of kids' books. There's something really lovely about them, in general: when they're looking to teach a lesson or inform a kid, man, they are direct. No 100+ pages of examples or stories; just one straight narrative and a purpose. I love that.

One of my son's frequently-read books is Tumford the Terrible by Nancy Tillman. It's the story of a cat who makes mistakes and messes, and never says he's sorry... until one day he confronts his actual feelings and finds that telling the truth and apologizing makes him feel good. Deep, right?

It seems that the simple act of apologizing becomes a lot less simple as we become older. If we hurt someone, intentionally or not, we put up barriers. We may eschew responsibility and pin it on someone or something else. The email never left my outbox... this person doesn't speak for the company... it wasn't intended that way. But in my own experience, doing this makes me feel uncomfortable. It is a little nugget of a burden that sits on my back and becomes another thing I need to carry, need to nurture, even though it's deserving of neither.

If you already know the truth, then be brave and face it. It may hurt a little bit. But like Tumford, once that apology is out there... your self, your true and wonderful self, can heal.

Constraints

After my WebVisions talk last month, there were quite a few fantastic questions from the audience. One of them was, “When you're figuring out what you want to do with your life and how you want to be, how do you take into account the needs of others - like family?”

I clarified by addressing “children” in that “family” bucket, although it can apply to families of all types, really. But my initial answer was this:

All the best designs work within constraints.

I do not have unlimited time nor energy. My wife, son, and other family members all have their needs and wants too. So as I'm planning my days and choosing how to exist in this world, I must take them into account as well. Because, frankly, if I don't, then I'm not being truly myself.

What happens when specific goals or actions conflict with each other? I'm working through this right now: my wife and I made a number of choices that are super important to us, but other people in our family are less comfortable with them to the point of completely disagreeing with them. My old default reaction was to turn around and question my own decision – all in an effort to please the other person, putting my own joy and happiness aside.

But, that's not where my heart is anymore. Now I know these decisions – the ones that I feel are best for me and my family – lead to really uncomfortable conversations and possible consequences. I can't predict how other people will react, even with lots of experience, so my wife and I talked about a few possible outcomes and how we'd feel about them, and how we'd react as well. (This was instrumental, and really soothed the part of me that likes to plan everything out.)

This is a constraint, but an important one. Our decisions and actions have consequences, and how we handle them is also indicative of how we are in the world. No matter what I face, I remind myself of my intentions and work to apply them.

Compassion in Tough Conversations

Recently, I was talking with a person who knew exactly how to press my buttons. We were talking back and forth about something big in the news — a heated conversation — when the topic shifted. Suddenly, I started hearing things about me: I had made bad choices, I had done the "wrong" thing, and I had disappointed people. I was now in an argument, and I was the one who felt attacked.

What do you do when you're under attack? My first instinct was to defend myself. I felt blood flowing through me at a faster rate; fight or flight was kicking in. Adrenaline was powering me through this. I couldn't just leave the conversation so I had to stay.

And I unleashed. I was angry. Everything I heard from the other person wasn't true or, at least, wasn't as I intended. But my actions were being twisted and changed into something far worse, something malicious, and something hurtful. Parts of me chimed in, “But... that's not me! That's not. I'm not a hurtful person! You're wrong!” Lots of defense. Lots of shielding.

The conversation was messy and did not end well. Both of us walked away at the end of it feeling hurt and angry. It did parts of us a world of good to vent and complain and attack like that, but other parts of us were left on the sidelines. We just couldn't be present in those moments. Right?

The illusion

This very driven and heated conversation stirred up our emotions and the bits of both of us that we had each been sitting on for a good long time. Heightened emotions and heightened actions. And yet, compassion and empathy were out the door in this case. Make no mistake: these are really hard instances in which one can practice these things but it is not impossible.

Setting aside our ego and our defenses in order to listen and be compassionate with that person can open the door to greater understanding, care, and connectedness. And yeah, yeah, it's something that I know, but in those moments? Way harder to tap on that. So much of me wanted to respond in kind... and I chose to do so. Of course, it's normal to be angry and pissed and upset in the moment. But we need to keep our ears open and working and present, and truly listen, even when a part of us saying, “Noooooooooo!”

How we respond is a choice. It always is, even when it feels like we have little say in the matter.

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UX experts do not need to code

One of several never-ending debates in UX circles is, "Do UX experts need to learn how to code?"

My interest in computers started in programming, in part because one had to program in order to use a computer in the 80s. But it moved away from code to a point where I now usually just do CSS tweaks on a Squarespace site. I'm comfortable with this.

This doesn't preclude me from conducting research on and designing for the web. But if I didn't have that background, could I still do my job?

I say yes, but I'll add a caveat: for any given project I have to know the domains of the client and what they're trying to do. If I'm working on a web project, I need to know the conventions, standards, and expectations of web users. But if I'm creating the interface for an object that isn't on the web - as I had the opportunity to do earlier this year - those conventions are useless.

Truly, my experience from art school has been more valuable to my career in many ways than programming: my understanding of typography, the visual arts, photography, and writing has been instrumental in shaping the way I communicate - that is, the way I design.

So, I say that UX experts only need to code if their job demands it (that is, they're really doing UI + other coding). It's foolish to say everyone in UX needs to code. But it's fair to say that everyone in UX needs to communicate well.

Beaten to the Punch

It is extremely likely that someone else has written a post about this, and I'm going to do this anyway.

A common argument I find myself using for not doing something is this: someone else has already done it. I often think of it in the context of a written piece or a tweet. For me, it starts with my critic chiming in. "Surely everyone I know has already read this and knows it, right?" "What can you possibly say that will be new for anyone?"

Then another part of me comes in and tag teams. ​"Yeah, you don't really need to talk about that." "She said it already and she said it so well. No reason to do it." "Don't bother." "A waste of time."

And then, another part piles on: "You know what else you could be doing? Folding laundry. And that to do list isn't organized yet. And what about putting some coffee on for tomorrow morning?"

You can see how quickly this could spiral from, "Hey, it'd be cool to talk about not doing something because I have something to say!" to, "You know, so-and-so had a great talk about that and there's no reason to rehash it."

However!

Each of those parts of me are making assumptions and they're probably not correct. They want to be correct, but they're not.

Maybe no one else has heard or read that one post or watched that one video. Writing and thinking and sharing feelings - with myself, with others - is hardly ever a waste of time. And yeah, there's a to do list and it will never end.

But this is my experience, and it's unique. Sure sure, it may be very similar to someone else's… or maybe not at all. But a very judgy part of me wants to make that call on your behalf. Instead, I'm going to let this one go and see what happens.

Letters to the future

Many moons ago I found Futureme.org, and it's become one of my favorite things on the web. It still exists, it still works.

The premise is simple: write yourself (or anyone really) an email, set a date in the future for it to be delivered, and then... wait. It's like making yourself a tiny time capsule. I initially found it useful for little bets and predictions, but once my son came into my life I began to write lengthier emails about the way I was feeling at the time. So, it has become a nice alternative and supplement to my regular journaling.

The best part of the experience for me is that I've mostly forgotten about all of my letters, so when they arrive, it's unexpected. The farthest one out for me will arrive in August, 2031.

I just hope I still have my email address then.

Without People

As I look back through my life, work inclusive, I see a very clear pattern. From early on, I became a rather independent person who preferred to be alone. It came out through things I did, and the ways I acted, and I didn't realize it.

I touched on this briefly last year:

Some of my choices [in life and work] gave me this opportunity to be invisible. Photography, as I discussed with my friend Paul this weekend, let me hide behind a camera. Doing work in computers let me hide behind a screen. Hiding. Not showing myself. 

That's not a coincidence; it's how I operated. I did things on my own so that I could get all of the credit, all of the attention, all of the joy - and I ignored the "all of the blame" part.

The other day I had the good fortune to participate in a friend's design class; she invited me to critique her students' final presentations. We got to talking over lunch and learned we both love photography. She asked what kind of photography I liked - I answered architectural. When it came to explaining why, though, a light bulb went off in my head: there are no people in those pictures. None.

Buildings aren't people. They don't move spontaneously (usually). They don't show emotion as people do. They are not alive. They are objects ultimately. Those facets coupled with my overwhelming comfort to do things solo, preferably behind a screen, was showing up in my art.

And the attempts to include people were very slow and cautious... experiments. I recall an assignment from my high school photo class in which we needed to photograph strangers. And wow, for an introvert like me? That was terrifying. But I did it, and some of the photos were quite nice. Years and years later, I dabbled in anonymous street photography (still hidden). And I did end up doing portraits of friends, some with constructed scenarios and some for more formal holiday cards.

UX Without People

There's a direct comparison to my day job and my work. I started programming, solo. I slowly reached out to BBSes, GEnie, and user groups and later thrived in a US mail-based user group.  Eventually I became fascinated by the ways software and hardware interacted with people, and so I moved over to UI - still not working directly with users, but closer. My first gigs in UX didn't involve research nor talking with users, so I had to be a magical idea person. Finally, now I'm in UX and life work where I must work with people in order to help them.

(As an aside, this also shows up here: you're reading this, but it's not a conversation and I'm not getting any feedback in the moment. That's actually easier for me to handle, otherwise we might be talking about it. At one point I conflated blogs and journals and even Twitter with directness. But there's a layer between us, a technology and societal messiness that is in our way. I love that we can still connect about this topic, or something else, even though this is not a conversation.)

So I understand that whole "magical UX/Creative genius" thing because I really loved being that person, and early in my career I really couldn't see myself as not being that person. It is an amazing feeling to be the one who comes up with all of these ideas out of thin air and all of them are loved. (Or most of them.) That's exciting. That's fun. But it's not enough. It doesn't work without people because life doesn't work without people.

Observation, understanding, action

In and of itself, noticing this pattern isn't action. It doesn't change anything in and of itself. But being highly observant of my behaviors and my patterns, both in the present and in the past, helps me be far more mindful and present now.