Gimli Syndrome

Most cars have four wheels. Two are powered. Two are along for the ride. Normally this is a good thing for reasons of economy. 4WD vehicles are notoriously inefficient. That's why I bought a passenger car. It's a sensible commuting option.

But, for the first time in my life, I've seen first-hand why people buy more vigorous transportation options, like Jeeps, Tanks, and Batmobiles. Turns out they're useful when the pavement runs out, the road turns to boulders, and the hairpins turn to switchbacks.

Where have I taken my Toyota Corolla, with its whopping 6" of ground clearance and 1.8 liter engine?

Eastern Oregon. Hells Canyon, to be more precise. A 27 mile drive through roads full of desolation and if-you-get-stuck-here-you're-not-getting-out vibes.

It was one of those roads with a single lane and no turnouts. Eventually, even though you realize the error of your ways, you have no choice but to continue. It's how I picture it would be like to run the gauntlet. You're walking (driving feebly) down a path (rut) between two lines of hostile shipmates (sheer cliffs) being physically abused (bottoming out) and hoping that your blood (oil, power steering fluid, brake fluid, etc...) doesn't run out before reaching the end.

We reached our destination... Dug Bar ranch... in a cloud of dust. I knew--was certain--we weren't getting out of there. At least, not without a helicopter, barge, or paving crew.

And I was wrong.

So, it turns out that if a car has decent tires, and can grip the road, you can get out of almost anywhere, provided the car doesn't stall on you. Which is tricky. But, fortunately, mine's a manual, so we were able to rocket out of the canyon in first gear, screaming around hairpins, giving my co-pilot ulcers as he gazed at the distant boulders marked "death" 500 feet below his window.

There were one... maybe two... panicked screams of "YOU'RE GETTING TOO CLOSE".

But we survived. Thrived even. Which goes to show that even the sketchiest of situations can turn out all right in the end.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Lao Tzu

You can't take it with you, especially when hiking the PCT. It's not that I know this from personal experience. Not yet, anyway. It's just that a friend lent me a book about the Pacific Crest Trail, and it's fantastic.

Unfortunately, I can't recommend the book, because of the hippies. Lots of hippies. I'm sure they mean well, but they're just...

...a little obnoxious.

...and crude.

...and... I dunno. Just not terrific role models. Maybe I'm being a bad discriminatory white dude, but I digress... ;-)

You've probably heard the Chinese proverb:

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."

~ Lao Tzu

This is bogus, given that the ancient Chinese didn't use the mile. They used the li. The mile has a Roman origin and dates back to the first century BC. The Tao Te Ching dates back to the sixth century BC.

Of course, what happened is that--since the li is the Chinese equivalent of an English mile--the proverb was transliterated to use a more familiar unit of measure. Problem is, the li is actually about a third of a mile, so a more accurate reading of the proverb is:

"A journey of three-hundred and thirty-three miles begins with a single step."

~ Lao Tzu (proper reading)

Which definitely doesn't have the same ring to it.

All to say, if the Chinese idea of a seemly insurmountable journey was a mere 333 mile slog, they'd probably have a conniption at the thought of the PCT, a 2,663 mile march through some of the most rugged, pristine wilderness this side of the Rocky Mountains.

So, if you're crazy enough to go on a trek that will entail upwards of six million steps, you seriously can't take it with you.

Leave the DSLR.

Leave the canvas tent.

Leave the 95 liter backpack.

We live in a beautiful lightweight, polyester future folks. Best to take advantage of it.

Unfortunately, unless you plan to subsist on a Bear Grylls diet of cacti and earthworms, you need to pack food and water. Equally unfortunate--food and water are heavy commodities. Water weighs over 8 pounds per gallon, and food--well--the drier the food, the more water you need to pack, so it's a catch-22.

Unless you happen to have a stash of Lembas bread handy. Which... REI doesn't stock. Biggest oversight in the universe, right there.

Until next time,
- Daniel

P.S. Oh, and this is my 100th blog post. Woot! You know that they say... a journey of a thousand blog posts begins with a single...

...oh, never mind. :-P

Ambition

Ambition is a funny thing. When coupled with the proper attitude, it can get you places. Many places.

Ambition is a kind of universal skill. It applies to everything. Sure, you could go to MIT and get your Ph.D. in Theoretical Physics, but unless you're Gordon Freeman, you probably won't become the leader of an underground resistance movement if you don't have the ambition to match.

Yes, I know. It seems that every fantasy novel has a reluctant leader. Well, as much as I'd love to say that the vast majority of our government is composed of reluctant, servant leaders, I have my reservations. More likely, these people got where they are because of their ambition.

Put another way, you don't get to be the President of the United States by combining Diet Coke and Mentos in your mother's basement. 'Nuff said.

Why am I talking about this? Well, I've been tasked with screening potential interview candidates for the UX team at Puppet Labs. We meet over lunch and talk for an hour about... stuff... so I can get a feel for what they know and what they're passionate about.

The annoying thing--frustrating, really--is the general lack of ambition. It seems to be independent of skill set, experience, or seniority (though fresh-out-of-college graduates might have a slight edge). I don't get it. Ten minutes into the conversation, and you're not connecting, not getting that spark that says you absolutely must work with this person. All you can think about is paying the waiter and getting back to work with your colleagues who actually care about what they do.

Honestly--the main thing we're looking for is ambition. People who leap out of bed in the morning, fly to the office, sail through the day, energize everyone they touch, and go home dreaming about how they'll change the world tomorrow. It doesn't matter if they don't meet all the qualifications out of the box. If we had hundreds of ambitious individuals banging on our door every day, we'd use qualifications as a filter, but we don't. It takes us 2-3 months to fill each position.

Which made today's interview a breath of fresh air.

He's never gone to college, has been working at an Apple retail store for two years, doesn't have a UX skill set (but has strong empathy for people), and wants to start a company within the decade. Ambitious. Vivacious. Hungry for challenge and eager to learn.

I almost cried.

We're bringing him on as a management intern. An executive assistant of sorts, working under my boss. If--after three months--he rocks our socks off, we'll hire him full-time. His job? Provide air cover for the team, improve cross-team communication, and make sure people are excited about what they're working on. In short--his mission, should he choose to accept it, is to make us awesome.

In exchange, we'll teach him everything we know, send him to conferences to learn everything they know, and--when he's ready--send him off to found his own company and be awesome.

Ambition. Get it. Use it.

Oh, and I promise this will be my last work-related post for awhile. It's just--when happiness and inspiration descend on you at the same time, you can't say no.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Cars

My car, unfortunately, is not a sleek Aston Martin DBS, streaking down a deserted highway in the midst of a lightning storm in the middle of the night. My car is a balding Corolla LE with a pipe dream of breaking 90 MPH one day.

It's not so bad, if you think about it. Buying an Aston Martin for commuting is akin to using the backwash from a Boeing 747 to clear the leaves from your driveway. If you care about efficiency (and not all car owners do), there are certain cars that classify as sensible and others that... don't.

Of course, the same computer nerds that drive their smart cars around town while laughing at the hot rod crowd are the same ones who have supercomputers in their hall closets. We all have our areas of self-indulgence and weakness.

Scratch that, actually. I might be misidentifying passion as self-indulgence. It's important to be passionate about something. Your work. Your family. Your faith. Your hobbies. If you're passionate about something, you invest the time needed to become an expert, you become good at telling others about it, and--most importantly--the passion can spill over into other areas of your life (unless you're obsessed--another topic altogether--and not altogether a bad thing, depending on the subject). ;-)

Okay, so, there's a financial side to all of this. The sensible person inside each of you is shooting holes through my thesis with reckless abandon. "But what about the cost, huh? I'm passionate about space shuttles, buddy."

The other side of my thesis is that if you're passionate about something, you'll find a way to do it responsibly. Maybe you budget for your hobby, or wait until later in life when you can afford it, or find a way to make it your career, or channel your energies into a more realistic alternative (I'm passionate about trains. 1:8 scale model trains).

Life is hard. Find something you're passionate about it. Learn about it. Do it. Help other people find their passion. Don't live vicariously through your children. They'll find their own things they're passionate about. Live passionately yourself, as though this were your last day to live.

For the Christian, there's a list of things we must be passionate about. And--I'd suggest--if you aren't passionate about those things, you better find out why, because there's nothing as empty as Christians who aren't passionate about what they believe. But--assuming you have your spiritual house in order, make sure your passion spills out and fills every cranny of who you are as a person. Be genuine, real, and exciting.

(At this point, some of you are convinced that I'm trying to find an excuse to buy an Aston Martin DBS. And you would be totally right... if I didn't think Ferrari's were better.)

Don't worry. I don't think I'll ever actually buy one. I'd hate to have to sell any of the supercomputers in my closet. :-P

Until next time,
- Daniel

UX

Several people have asked what I do for work. Saying "UX design" earns a snarky glance and a 360-degree rotation of both eyes (sometimes in opposing directions, but rarely).

Here's a better description. Say you're using some software--an e-mail client, for example. Problem is, you can't figure out how to write a new e-mail. There are buttons on the screen, but none of them are labeled "New", "Write" or "Compose", and all the icons are characteristically foreign.

At this point, you probably feel stupid and reaffirmed of your belief in your computational naïvety. But it's not your fault. You're not a Neanderthal; you're a card-carrying Homo sapien--made in the image of God, no less.

No computer software is beyond your capabilities, even if you think it is. The truth of the matter is, your software is to blame, or--more precisely--the UX designers behind that software.

Yes, boys and girls. People like me are responsible for your daily humiliation with computers. I apologize for myself and those of my ilk.

A day on the job consists of lots of research, talking to users, drawing on whiteboards (and inhaling sharpie fumes), and communicating with the people who build, market, and sell your software. It's almost enough to make a body an extrovert.

Which isn't a bad thing. You just feel sorry for the poor people who have to deal with an introvert before that introvert undergoes metamorphosis and turns into a beautiful extroverted butterfly.

I'll stop.

The point is, people shouldn't have to hate their computers. Here's a solution. Talk to us instead (or yell, scream, throttle... whichever suits you). We love to hear about pain--firsthand, if possible. Why? Because of superpowers.

Superpowers?

Yes. Superpowers.

Because every UX designer is responsible for shipping quality software, if we discover a problem, it's our responsibility to see it fixed. If you can't write an e-mail, it's our mission/quest/life-purpose to see that can't turned into a can. If that means saying 'no' to the CEO, and letting that ship date slip a couple months to get the user experience our users need, that's exactly what we'll do.

Wireframes, workflows, and user stories. It's all very process-oriented and scientific. Conferences, UX books, and design websites. It's 24/7 education.

...not surprisingly, the result is strange off-hour prose. On blogs... and the like...

Heh.

Until next time,
- Daniel