One of the challenges of teaching and learning complex skills such as interaction design is that one needs to know everything on day one; I made reference to this during Thursday’s Q&A session. I call this the teaching-learning paradox. Think about Project #1. In order to “successfully”complete the thermostat challenge, you need to be an expert in persona creation, evaluation techniques, ethnographic research, graphic design, team collaboration, solution generation (not just creating one or two possible “answers” but generating a dozen or more solutions), green-thinking, writing, presentation skills and so on. And yet, if one waits until you become an expert in each of these areas, you’d never do the first project.
So, instead, we follow a process of successive approximations. This is a step-wise progression to an idealized goal (in our case, of becoming an interaction design expert). We can never fully get there anymore than we can achieve total wholeness as a human being. However, we can try one thing and another, and hope that we get good feedback (or critique) along the way. We encourage you to “fail rapidly and fail often.” It’s through this process of trying, questioning, failing, and succeeding, all in small steps, that we improve our skills. We teach a little and you do a little; some would say, you do a lot!
As I implied in the syllabus, this is not like a math class where we can assign simple problems in the beginning and then systematically increase the complexity of the problems as you learn new concepts and techniques. Even small problems in interaction design, if they have any relevance to the real-world, are messy and difficult to complete. We’re swamp dwellers!
To make the point even clearer, let’s examine the differences between real world problems and classroom problems. This is adopted from Sternberg, Robert J. (1985). “Teaching critical thinking, part 1: Are we making critical mistakes?” Phi Delta Kappan, 67, 194-198.
In the real world, the first and sometimes most difficult step in problem solving is recognition that a problem exists. In the classroom, the instructor or textbook signals that a problem exists.
In the real world, it is often harder to figure out just what the problem is than to figure out how to solve it. In the classroom, the instructor or textbook provides the problem.
Real world problems tend to be ill-structured. In the classroom, the instructor or textbook defines all aspects of the problem.
In the real world, it is not usually clear just what information will be needed to solve a given problem, nor is it always clear where the information can be found. In the classroom, needed information to solve classroom or text-based problems is found in the associated chapter or lecture; often parallel problems (examples) are solved for the student.
The solutions to real world problems depend on and interact with the contexts in which the problems occur. Classroom or text-based problems are self-contained; little or no context is provided.
Real world problems generally have no one right solution, and even the criteria for what constitutes a best solution are often not clear. Classroom or textbook-based problems have one right solution; textbook solutions are found in the back of the book.
Solutions to important real world problems have consequences that matter. Solutions to classroom or textbook-based problems have no consequences other than a grade or school advancement.
Real world problem solving often occurs in teams. Classroom or textbook-based problem solving often occurs alone.
Real world problems can be complicated, messy, and stubbornly persistent. Classroom or textbook-based problems are clear, well-defined, and easily forgotten.
While Interaction Design Practice is conducted in a classroom setting, much of what we do is presented in an authentic context. We are trying to simulate what will happen when you enter the workforce, the so-called “real world” (and I’m not talking about the MTV series). The trick for you is to see a world of possibility. Only fear will hold you back, and it will crush you.
I’m reminded of a favorite book by Noah benShea, Jacob the Baker: Gentle Wisdom for a Complicated World (1989). It is the “story about a man whose humble life and profound wisdom are a source of both inspiration and reflection to those around him” (from the book’s inside cover). There’s a short segment about fear:
“A community leader came to see Jacob, hoping to find peace of mind, an ease for his burden.
The man was troubled by a repetitive dream that he did not understand.
‘Jacob, in my dream, I have traveled a long distance and am finally arriving at a great city. But, at the entrace to the city, I am met by a tall soldier who says that I must answer two questions before I am admitted. Will you help me?’
Jacob nodded.
‘The first question the soldier asks is ‘What supports the walls of a city?”
‘That is easy,’ said Jacob. ‘Fear supports the walls of a city.’
‘But what supports the fear?’ asked the man. ‘For that is the second question.’
‘The walls,’ answered Jacob. ‘The fears we cannot climb become our walls.’”
From the movie, The Joy Luck Club (1993):
