Always be deleting

I want to spend less time in front of computers. Less time, not no time. I like my comfortable computer job, I like my internet friends. But less, less.

Part of this initiative is my new mantra of Always Be Deleting. It’s probably not a bad mantra for a content strategy practice (my job), but I’m applying it to my personal experience of digital things. In every app, every service, in every little digital place, I’m looking and asking “What can I get rid of?”

If I open the Photos app, I find a photo to delete. If I get lost in scrolling Twitter, I unfollow someone. (Or block. Always Be Blocking, that’s another good one.) Emails are always getting deleted, yes, but I’m mashing that Report Spam and Unsubscribe button with abandon, now.

I’m deleting apps from my phone, files from archives, drafts from inboxes. Less less less. My instinct used to be to organize all of this stuff, to label and categorize and move and filter it, to put together smart rules and idealized folder structures and get to some sort of perfect Dewey Decimal System of my own digital life. And because I’m me, and because entropy, that was untenable, and so the system would rot and linger, and the books piled up on the carts, and I’d feel bad about it, and…why? I’m honestly not sure how much my life would change if there was some sort of Young Adult Fiction-esque apocalypse that wiped every digital thing from existence. I mean I’d probably regret not having my own songs better committed to memory. But most of it could just go poof and I’d approach tomorrow exactly the same way.

So now I’m not organizing. I’m destroying. I don’t want any of this shit, especially not STORED. Good lord I’m tired of storing things. I don’t want to dust my hiking boot collection, I want to hit the trails.

I know you’re thinking it, but I’m not going to say the M-word. This isn’t some sort of “I used to have one pair of white socks and one pair of block socks but I minimized to one pair of gray socks and now my chakras are better aligned” kind of thing. It’s more: drunkenly tossing bundles of old magazines out the upstairs window while shaking a fist at the sky and hollering “I’m not gonna live like this any more, damn it!”

Tossing the little stuff adds up. A little here, a little there, and suddenly you don’t even need that box anymore, now two boxes are gone and you don’t need the shelf that the boxes went on. The more little shit I can delete and disconnect the easier it is to let go of some slightly bigger stuff, files turns to apps turns to whole platforms or systems. Things I can finally unsubscribe from, attention-sucks I don’t have to visit anymore. Less, less, less. Always be deleting.

Seattle, black and white

Got some film back from The Darkroom a few weeks back that I’d shot in February in Seattle. I actually have a different roll from this trip that I developed myself in a class, which was very cool except I don’t have any scans of it now, so…gotta put that on the to-do list.

I was still learning the camera at this point (and I still am, honestly) so I’m pretty happy to have gotten some fun shots. I had a couple exposures left on a roll before heading out of my AirBNB, hence the shot of the weirdly empty kitchen and the self-timer selfie, which ended up being two of my favorites.

I was in town for an event called Interaction 19, and did a short talk in the Cinerama Theatre, which was probably one of the coolest rooms I’ve ever gotten to speak in. The screen was HUUUGE.

Hard reboot

I believe intellectually that ideas aren’t precious. And I’ve learned the hard way that works doggedly pursued at the detriment of my health and happiness are rarely better than those I pop off quickly from a place of ease after a period of rest. But emotion often trumps intellect, and I find it hard to trash ideas and snippets and notions and drafts, to let go of Things That Might Yet Be (TTMYB).

I spent four days in New York last week, and now I don’t want to work on anything I was working on before. Specific things, not categorical things. I still want to write, even another UX book, maybe. Still want to post to my blog, write songs, make illustrations. But I came back feeling like I wanted to empty every drafts folder, burn every notebook, trash every TTMYB. Not in a manic way, not in a judgmental way (this is all trash, get it outta here!), just…a needful sort of way?

Maybe that’s the sign of a good trip. Feeling…if not changed, at least reset. I’ve been turned off and on again, and am slowly booting back up. I was made in the 80s, after all, when RAM was limited and memory management was poor. Right now, I’m enjoying having capacity, to feel like there is RAM available, if I need it.

Endless shelves

Dropbox is raising their prices, as is seemingly every other digital service of late. So I’ve been scaling back where I can. Dropped Netflix and Hulu down a level, canceled a few subscriptions here and there. There’s an intentional inertia to these services (eels, John calls them) that makes them hard to shake. If I get rid of Dropbox I have to rejigger how 1Password works, for starters, and I can’t even remember what all other services I have syncing through it. What will break if I stop using this? Do I even feel like figuring that out? It’s exactly the kind of annoying project I hate taking on, but if I don’t take it on, the procrastination gets rubbed in my face every month to the tune of $11.99 + tax.

And that’s just the practical inertia. There’s also the sort of emotional intertia that explains why I still have unopened boxes in my closet that have been with me in three different homes now. The mental energy one needs to go through old shit, to actually look at it and process it, is not an energy I tend to have in abundance. That infinite closet of cloud storage means we can pile all kinds of shit in there. You don’t even have to stack it if you don’t want to! The shelves go on and on and on. A rummage sale of remnants of your own digital life.

But I am trying to shake it, trying to have less, even digitally. It got dark fast earlier today (the today of when I wrote this); a storm rolling in. I found I was able to redirect energy I’d thought to use on a run to finally start cleaning up Dropbox, the biggest of my infinite closets. Abandoned projects, abandoned blog posts, photos of when I was fat, or sad, or fat and sad, or with people I don’t get along with anymore, or that I regret losing touch with. And good things, too, of course; things I’m proud to have written and made and had completely forgotten about … and hey, all of my hoarded pug photos are now in one place. More of a timesaver than you’d imagine.

It’s weirdly emotional work, just tapping away at my arrow keys, hitting command+delete on every third item or so. But it’s healing in a way. Digital or analog, it feels nice to unburden, to put things in the trash. It wasn’t taking up space, but it had weight. Feeling lighter already.

The map in your head

I’ve written four articles now about content ecosystem mapping. I’ve coached clients through producing them, I’ve led workshops on them, and I’ve given many talks about them (and their big brother, concept models).

A point I stress over and over, but is hard to make stick, is that the activity of making the map is more important than the map itself. This article brought it to mind again for me recently:

In Inuit tradition, the act of making a map was frequently much more important than the finished map itself. The real map always exists in one’s head.

Being able to make a map means that you understand something well enough to map it. Much like writing, mapmaking reveals where you don’t understand things quite as well as you thought you did. I encourage organizations to map their content ecosystems because, very often, there are many different maps in many different heads.

Mapmaking is effortful, and requires a different set of skills than organizing information into lists and spreadsheets. So I run into many people who are dismissive, even rudely so, saying things like “I just don’t get how you would use this thing.”

“How to use the thing” is something I cover in detail, and is also something that the mapmaker needs to decide for themselves. But it’s also just kind of the wrong question. The point of a content audit is to understand your content better, not to make a giant spreadsheet. The point of content ecosystem mapping (and organizational modeling in general) is to better understand your current state, and to better align on the truth of that shared reality with others.

The Inuits of Greenland primarily used their maps as storytelling devices:

[They] used carvings in a certain way—to accompany stories and illustrate important information about people, places, and things. A wooden relief map would have functioned as a storytelling device, like a drawing in the sand or snow, that could be discarded after the story was told.

I love that so much. Imagine carving a whole damned map just to tell a story and then saying, “well anyway, enough about that” and throwing it on the fire. You can always make another; after all, the real map is in your head.

Scout rush

Screenshot of Ape Out gameplay.

I find that I have less interest in (and time for) video games as I get older, which is too bad in a way as they are a great source of inspiration for design patterns and UX writing.

Lately, I’ve been playing lots of Ape Out on Nintendo Switch. You control a great ape escaping from simple mazes while trying not to get shot. The only controls are move, grab, and shove. It’s hard, but in a fun way. It reminds me of playing the Scout role in Team Fortress 2. You’re fragile, but powerful, and the only way to survive is to just go for it. To ape out, if you will. (I see what they did there.)

Everyone is talking about the procedurally-generated music score, which is very cool, but I think my favorite thing is just the overall minimal approach to the design. For instance:

  • It keeps track of your time, and how many times you die (you’ll die a lot), but those numbers aren’t persistently visible on the interface while you’re playing.
  • Level names are are integrated into the scene itself.
  • New enemies and obstacles are introduced organically — no tutorials.
  • There’s nothing to configure or mess with. It’s the first console game I’ve played in a while where I didn’t feel like I had to go into the settings and change something.

In a way it reminds me of a well-designed presentation. There’s just one bold simple thing to focus on at any given time, with occasional moments to rest and reflect with a bit more detail and data on the screen. The simple (and creative) color palettes contribute to this feeling as well.

My design takeaways: you don’t have to show everything you know, and sometimes it’s more satisfying to let a user try something and fail on their way toward learning it rather than trying to explain it to them first.

Fits and starts

My habits go in fits and starts. Discipline is hard for me. But I stick with more than I don’t, eventually, and I’ve learned to be easier on myself when things slip. I used to get frustrated about my bullet journaling habit, for instance. For a week, two, three, I’d use the shit out of that thing, and then suddenly, for no particular reason, a week would go by where I didn’t even carry it with me. And then I’d have a mini-existential crisis about it. No good.

Like anything I intend to do regularly — exercising, writing in my journal, day planning, practicing piano, eating vegetables, whatever — I think I’d be a happier, healthier, and more productive person if I did them every single day. And I probably would. But I know I’m a happier person if I don’t beat myself up about not living up to that standard.

Moving forward by degrees is still moving forward.