Will the “blind” men and women of info/dataviz ever see the viz-elephant as a complete whole?

If the word “infographic” is starting to cause heart palpitations and uncontrollable urges to click associated links, then the term “data visualization” or anything plus “viz” is guaranteed to pack the house at events covering the subject. This bottomless appetite isn’t all about empty calories, however. There is growing interest in the rationale behind visualization and a curiosity to hear professionals reveal the “secrets” of their trade. Yesterday evening’s hybrid talk/panel discussion at the New York Public Library, enticingly titled “What Makes Good Data Visualization?”, certainly tapped into the current info/dataviz trend; Isabel Graves, organizer of the event and co-founder of Leaders in Software and Art, mentioned in her introduction that 240 people signed up for only 177 available seats. Compelling data in itself. The lineup of speakers didn’t hurt either: recognized figures in data visualization such as Manuel Lima and Kaiser Fung shared the stage with statisticians Mark Hansen and Andrew Gelman, creative director/multimedia artist Tahir Hemphill, and journalist/computer scientist Jonathan Stray, who moderated the discussion.

Before giving my overview this particular talk, some personal context is necessary. For years, I’ve made it a habit to go to as many information design and data visualization happenings as possible in the NYC area. I’ve put together a mini chronology of events I have attended (some more notable than others):

• May 23, 2008: IN/VISIBLE with John Maeda, Steve Duenes, Fernanda Viegas, and Andrew Kuo (AIGA NY)
• March 21, 2009: Laura Kurgan, “Mapping Justice” (SVA – D-Crit Program)
• May 1, 2010: OneZero – Dataism (Parsons)
• January 12, 2011: DATA VISUALIZATION: METHODS AND MADNESS with Lisa Strausfeld, Laura Kurgan, and Kate Carmody (AIGA NY)
• December 6, 2011: Peter Hall, “Infoviz: Where’s the Critique?” (SVA – D-Crit Program)
• January 21, 2012: On the Verge: Mike Migurski and Sarah Williams (SVA – Interaction Design Program)
• February 23, 2012: DATA VISUALIZATION WITH HYPERAKT / TICTRAC / FAST CO. (AIGA)
• March 23, 2012: On the Verge: Geoff Manaugh and Jer Thorp (SVA – Interaction Design Program)

Time after time, I sign up for these events with the same high expectation: maybe they’ll break through the surface of show-and-tell self-promotion and finally, finally dig into the real issues of information design (yes, I use the term broadly). One can’t expect truly deep, engaged dialogue to happen in the space of 1-1.5 hours at the end of a work day, but there should at least be an effort to unpack and clarify the difficult work of data analysis and visualization, or simply acknowledge that there is a bigger picture to define. More often than not, however, I walk away disappointed at repeated servings of appetizer-like slideshows and tepid Q&A. These events present only one tightly-framed glimpse into a larger realm: generally speaking, designers tend to speak from a design perspective, programmers from a technology perspective, journalists from an infographics perspective, and so on. Nevertheless, I always remain hopeful that the next talk will broaden the view, or that I’ll be bold enough to raise the more pressing questions myself at the very end.

Much to my delight, yesterday’s event broke the mold. For once, professionals from diverse backgrounds were brought together to actually discuss each other’s points of view and address real questions about data visualization. Some of those questions were even baked into the agenda:

• What perspectives should be considered in judging data visualizations (and why)?
• Where does the data come from, and why does it matter?
• Can a discipline of data visualization be established based on scientific or design principles?
• How do I get started?

I appreciated that there was a deliberate decision to scale back the usual canned presentations and allow more dialogue to take place around the above questions. For their part, each speaker was forced to distill their points as concisely as possible in uniformly formatted slides, which helped keep the audience attentive and attuned to the juxtaposition of viewpoints. During discussion, each speaker was given the opportunity to comment, so that no perspective would be left out. When the inevitable question of utility versus aesthetics came up, a mild debate ensued between Kaiser Fung and Manuel Lima. Each presented a well-reasoned case in support of their position (I tended to side with Fung’s advocacy of a more sparse aesthetic to invite attention and investigation, rather than Lima’s defense of visual appeal as a cognitive hook for attention). It was also great to hear Mark Hansen speak to both the analytical and artistic sides with equal enthusiasm; his comments on enforcing data checking and standards for training data visualization professionals were most welcome. An interesting moment occurred towards the end of the discussion when Tahir Hemphill made reference to a photo of data art sculpture by Marius Watz. When Kaiser Fung asked “What is that?” (or more likely, what data set it was meant to represent), Tahir replied bluntly “It’s art!” to jolt the “numbers guy” out of his frame of reference. Everyone seemed to get a kick out of that.

I had hoped that there would be more time spent on the question of formalizing the discipline of data visualization, but breadth won out over depth, and time was short. The point of the event, I think, was really to show that the exploration and untangling of these issues is a work in progress — an imperfect and slow one that has taken considerable effort to get this far. As long as fuzziness and ambiguity exist within the realm of information design and across data-focused disciplines, more forums for discussion and knowledge exchange are needed to build shared understanding. Designers alone will not achieve this, nor will just programmers or statisticians or academics: the effort must be cross-disciplinary. Otherwise, the elusive viz-elephant representing the massive information design & visualization space will remain a fragmented creature, never to be seen by the public or professionals alike for what it really is.

(For those who may be interested, full video of the event is available here.)

23 years, 36 sketchbooks (stacked in order by size)

Back in 2008, Michael Bierut wrote an excellent post on Design Observer about his collection of notebooks — how he started, what kind he uses, what purpose they serve. His reflections on note taking and the habit of recording thoughts regularly on paper stuck with me, not just as an insight into his creative process, but as a motivation to reflect on my own relationship with my sketchbooks.

I have been drawing my entire life. As a child, I drew on whatever paper I could get my hands on: notepads, copy paper, legal pads, napkins, envelopes. Cartoons and comic books were my inspiration and my “goal” as a young artist. I would spend hours recreating scenes from my favorite shows, like Voltron and the Thundercats, or tracing panels from Fantastic Four and Wolverine comics (among many others). Over time, I accumulated a lot of paper of varying sizes and types, which I eventually kept in a portfolio. But I came to realize that this method would prove inefficient if I was to take my drawing more seriously.

Superhero drawings, 1989-1992 (yep, I was a Marvel guy)

I started keeping regular sketchbooks around the age of twelve, but exactly how I came into possession of my first one escapes me (it is likely that my mother or my cousin may have bought me my first official sketchbook, which I no longer have). My earliest sketchbooks were large, back when scale mattered more than portability, and they were usually cheap Aquabee drawing pads with coarse-tooth paper. When I got tired of pages falling out from constantly folding them back, I switched to higher quality Strathmore and Canson sketchbooks with smoother, brighter paper and sturdier binding.

I’ve never stuck exclusively to one particular brand or style of sketchbook. I like holding a different book in my hands every now and then, perhaps to make me feel like I’m producing new thoughts and ideas. My only lasting criteria for a sketchbook are that the pages be free of lines and that the paper accept ink well. I make exceptions only under special circumstances: when I want to do guilt-free experimentation, when I find a handsome sketchbook that inspires me, or when I receive a sketchbook for free or as a gift. My preference lately has been for the Moleskine Classic Large Plain Notebook because it’s just the right size for my needs, it withstands daily abuse, and it closes securely with the trademark elastic band.

Two favorites: a generic newsprint pad (left) and an Italian notebook covered in medieval imagery (right)

Anything goes inside the pages of my sketchbooks: if I can think it, I draw it. My early sketchbooks were playgrounds for my imagination, full of bizarre creatures, invented landscapes, idealized superheroes, and impromptu drawing lessons. Sometimes pages would be crammed with lots of little ideas, and other times a single small idea would occupy a page on its own. I would try out mixed media, watercolor, and collage on occasion, but I typically work in pencil or ink out of sheer immediacy — never in ballpoint pen. These days, my medium of choice tends to be a Pilot Precise V5 Rolling Ball, fine point, although any good rolling ball pen with rich black ink will do.

A small watercolor sketch for a potential children’s book, 2002

Drawing from life is one of my favorite activities, especially while traveling. I always try to carve out time to just sit somewhere and fill my sketchbook with observations of my surroundings, to impress them on my memory. Museum visits also allow me to engage in sustained, active seeing. Ancient artifacts, modern masterworks, and even museum spaces reveal hidden lessons only after lengthy analysis with pencil and paper. It often takes several tries and many pages for me to really understand what I’m looking at.

Selected sketchbook pages from a trip to England, 1999

Christian Science Mother Church, Boston, MA, 2000

In college, I started out as an art major, so my sketchbook was an invaluable learning space and work space. As in my childhood, I found myself recreating works by other artists, but with a deeper appreciation for volume, space, and proportion. I planned out compositions for paintings and occasionally took notes for other classes and assignments in my trusty sketchbook. (The pages below are from my best college sketchbook, which I nearly lost in a flood after moving back home from school. Luckily, I was able to remove the saturated cover and let the damp pages dry. Thankfully, all of the sketches survived.)

Studies of heads after masterworks by Watteau, Fragonard, and de Ribera, 1997

Life drawing sketch to establish correct figure proportion, 1997

From the end of college up to the present, my sketchbooks have become less artistic and expressive in nature, more functional and diagrammatic. My information design and graphic design sensibilities took shape in the late 1990′s and early 2000′s through logo studies, thumbnails of page layouts, and sketches for personal portfolio projects. I mainly use sketchbooks now for project work, to capture notes from meetings, construct concept models showing relationships between ideas, or figure out how to represent data.

Logo studies, 1999

My most productive work moments typically happen during my morning or evening train commute, and only occasionally at the office. With headphones on and a block of uninterrupted time (usually 20-30 minutes), I am able to dive into a problem in my sketchbook and rapidly explore every angle. I enjoy looking back at old project sketches and seeing how my thinking evolved on a particular diagram. My first attempts are never successful.

Sketches to figure out concept diagrams and layout for a work project, 2008

My sketchbook also serves as a journal when my mind needs an outlet for non-work thinking. I rely on words for the most part, but I also try to create simple pictures when it helps me put different ideas together. Sometimes ideas will carry over from one sketchbook to the next as new ideas emerge, in which case I rewrite or redraw the relevant bits.

Random quotes and thoughts, 2009

A brain dump on content and the digital world, 2011

The role of sketchbooks in my life has evolved considerably, although I long for simpler times when the only purpose I had was to let my mind wander. Creative freedom took on a much different meaning in my childhood than it does today. For all the latitude that design work affords me, I still feel that my most recent sketchbooks and drawings represent a form of commercial art — artistic production in the service of business. That, fundamentally, is the nature of my work (though not it’s sole purpose), and yet it has led me further away from what compelled me to start drawing in the first place.

The tension I feel between “formal” art and “functional” art is something I hope to explore in my current sketchbook. I want to revive old ways of seeing and creating and allow them to coexist with and even inform my more structured design work. For me, truly fulfilling art work is a convergence of deep concentration, visual reasoning, and artistic production — without the pressure of time, intent, or anticipated outcomes. The state of flow, as described by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, came naturally to me in my childhood, but as school and work grew to dominate my life, it became harder and harder to evoke. Collage, for instance, is one means of rekindling flow: it allows me to experiment freely, make spontaneous associations, and assemble my thoughts easily with a minimum of craft. Through this form of “play,” I can break conventions that have become ingrained in my drawing habits and open up more possibilities in how I synthesize information visually.

Sketchbook #37, customized with a hand-painted network pattern, 2012

As comfortable as I’ve become with ink on paper, I am very curious about the role of devices and software in extending or redefining the sketchbook. I have tested countless drawing apps on my iPad, and while a handful come close to simulating real-live drawing (Bamboo Paper, SketchBook, Procreate, and more recently, Paper), the experience is still rife with shortcomings: the clumsiness of using a nubby stylus, crude recreation of different media, and unnatural control of the page/canvas (never mind the lack of tactility). Still, those don’t deter me from continuing to test them out and finding ways to fold them into a digital design workflow.

Test drawing on iPad 2 done with Sketchbook app and a Targus stylus, 2012

Technology will eventually open up new creative possibilities beyond what we can imagine today, but for the time being, I’m quite content pushing the boundaries of a good old-fashioned bound paper sketchbook.

When I first set foot on my path as an information designer, I never thought the field would explode in popularity as it has today. Where there was once a drought of information and resources on the subject, there is now a flood of content overtaking the landscape of information design. But this surge of interest has come at a price.

As I wrote back in June of 2010, information design — broadly speaking — does not make sense. In the time since I wrote that article, little has changed. To some, there is no problem at all with the state of information design today (if they even recognize that there is a “state of information design”). Instead, it’s an open playing field, a new frontier where anyone and everyone has the opportunity to participate, create, innovate, and capitalize on whatever they wish. The only real concern is how long the “infoviz” party will last. For others such as myself, what is really at stake is the integrity and future of the information design profession, but without clearly spelling out the main challenges that need to be addressed today, blazing the way forward will prove a very difficult task.

I have boiled down my observations of information design today to ten key challenges, with some overlap:

1. Overproduction

There is actually too much being published and broadcast under the guise of representing or explaining information design, and not enough being done to synthesize and illuminate. Books, news articles, blogs, videos, events, and other content outlets are delivering not just a higher volume of information but conflicting information as well (for instance, some say information design is fairly new, while others maintain it is actually not new and stretches back centuries, even millennia). This cacophony of signals makes it difficult for anyone — from the aspiring designer to the executive seeking information design help — to make heads or tails of it all.

2. Misunderstanding

As long as the language and concepts surrounding information design remain ambiguous and undefined, no progress can be made to advance the field forward. Origins of terms and practices, as well as relationships between different visualization disciplines need to be better understood and mapped. Nathan Yau touched on this issue in a September 2011 post on Flowing Data, but it surfaced little more than shared agreement that clarity is lacking (my comments appear here and here).

3. Undervalue

The value of information design as a means of addressing the growing scale and complexity of problems today is still not fully recognized. The thinking skills and frameworks involved in information design work can be applied to a host of challenges beyond more conventional, relatively well-defined projects such as website architectures, wayfinding systems, and data displays. If this potential for broader and more strategic application were realized, other challenges may be solved: “information designer” might well become an accepted role within companies, demand may drive more formalized programs of study, and the public perception of information design may be improved.

4. Fragmentation

No professional or academic boundary exists around the collective activities and disciplines that comprise information design. Whether or not there should even be an all-encompassing category is itself a controversial question. Nevertheless, without true solidarity amongst professionals or common ground on which to establish professional standards and build academic curricula, the information design space will remain a free-for-all and confusion will continue. Organizations such as the Society for Technical Communication and the International Institute for Information Design (IIID) have done much to build unity and community as well as advance dialogue, but much work still remains.

5. Scarcity

They may assume different job titles and offer different services, but collectively, skilled information design practitioners are few in number and remain largely outside of the spotlight. This shortage may be the result of a combination of factors, including lack of formalization of the profession, lack of training and programs of study, and even self-misidentification (that is, people who do information design but whose job title or responsibilities position them differently). If there is no clear delineation and sufficient recognition of the profession, it may never flourish.

6. Amnesia

Lack of memory is hurting the legacy of information design. In the absence of an actual, formal history, relative newcomers tend to jump off from the most recent and most popularized figures like Richard Saul Wurman or even Ben Fry, while the forefathers and foremothers (Joseph Priestly, Florence Nightingale, and Herbert Bayer to name a few) end up marginalized or forgotten altogether. A deeper appreciation of information design’s roots might inform how to tackle the challenges of the present and help lay the groundwork for the future.

7. Misappropriation

Marketing infographics are everywhere these days, serving as far-too-convenient traffic magnets for virtually every kind of website. Instead of creating genuine value for their audience, marketing infographics employ all available graphic devices to lure attention under the pretense of credibility. Proponents of marketing infographics tout expertise in the area of infographic design or even prescribe do’s and don’ts while side-stepping an entire swath of history and professional practice dedicated to advancing that very work. And while the debate against this phenomenon hovers at the level of execution and form versus function, the bigger, untouched issue here is the preservation of the central purpose of information design: to help people make sense of their world. Unfortunately, the marketing infographic gold rush is far from over, but a responsibility must exist among information designers to stand up for their profession.

8. Commercialization

For several years now, the infoviz/dataviz trend has become infused in popular culture; the influence of the information design aesthetic is everywhere, from movie sequences to music videos to art exhibits. Although the intent is often tongue-in-cheek, and may even indirectly promote information design, there is still a risk of diluting, muddling, or flat-out mocking a field that has yet to really define and take ownership of itself. News features and special issues on information design are becoming more common, particularly in the graphic design world, but the tendency is towards visual appeal and surface-level scans over deep investigation (examples include Grafik magazine’s April 2010 issue, Eye Magazine’s Winter 2010 issue, and Fast Company’s Co.Design blog posts on infographics). Public interaction with information design should not be limited to superficial treatments. News outlets such as the New York Times are making an effort to dig deeper into information design and even set best practices with their infographics, but a greater counterbalance of instructive resources and knowledge is still needed. (Academic-level publications on information design do exist, such as the Information Design Journal and the Parsons Journal for Information Mapping, although there is little crossover of insight into more mainstream channels).

9. Commodification

Despite their inherent usefulness, tools and technology have exerted too strong an influence on information design. The speed of production and limitless palette of stylistic options afforded by current software overshadow the time-intensive work of research, analysis, sketching and iteration. Mastery of Photoshop and Illustrator does not translate to information design skill, but from a business perspective, amateurism may potentially reshape the marketplace of design services. Process — and skill — should precede product, not the other way around.

10. De-humanization

Information design has become too closely associated with the production of design artifacts and less with human outcomes. At its core, information design is about bridging gaps in understanding and enabling sound decision-making and action. The information designer’s job is to achieve those ends in the most effective way possible, or as Edward Tufte states in this excellent presentation, using “whatever it takes.” Short of being present with someone at the point of need, a designer must push his or her skills as far as necessary to ensure that a concept is clearly understood, a task is accomplished, or a goal is achieved. Solutions may be designed on the computer, but they originate from understanding people.

There are probably more challenges than I’ve identified here, but I hope the message is clear. A critical look at the big picture of information design has been missing for too long. It’s time for information design to make sense of itself from the inside out. If more professionals, academics, businesses and others in this space invested collective effort to fix the present, a promising future may be possible.

Before anyone gets the wrong impression, I don’t claim to be a professional writer. I do, however, love writing in all its forms and have pursued it throughout my life. In college, I even worked as a writing tutor and took extra classes in literature and creative writing, outside my major. Today, I’m often called upon to write for professional purposes, such as an explanation of a process or the narrative of a client presentation. In those cases where the starting point is framed, and clarity, concision, and directness are critical, I think my work passes muster. When I write for myself, to vent what’s on my mind and explore ideas, it is often very short, rough around the edges, and perhaps half-baked. In every situation, I have come across more or less the same patterns and sticking points in the writing process but have never found a good way to articulate them until now.

Writing is as easy or as hard as one makes it. Or at least the steps in the process of writing can be easy or hard depending on how one approaches them. The fundamentals of writing, like grammar and composition, are already part of most people’s communication toolkit and can be refreshed and reinforced fairly easily. Proficiency is a function of practice over time, save for the gifted few who naturally excel at it. What makes or breaks every writing endeavor is the degree to which we like or dislike the types of work involved and how we handle them. If you think of the writing process as an Oreo cookie, there are parts that people crave and others that are put off for later or get shoved under a sofa cushion:

• The front cookie is early-stage concept development (for the purposes of this illustration, let’s say this is the side you remove on which the icing does not stick, and it happens to be facing you). It’s all about that hint of a great idea that sets off a researching binge, furious note-taking, and camp-outs at the library. What a thrill it is to uncover some forgotten piece of history or identify a gaping blind spot in popular discourse! However, many people often don’t have a clue where to begin or can’t turn the spark of an idea into a flame once they have; they would love to skip right to the middle. Common symptoms of this problem include writer’s block, the constant need for an inspiration fix, and the waste basket overflowing with crumpled balls of paper.
• The tasty icing middle is pure writing flow — thick, fast, and non-stop. At its best, think Kerouac’s 120-foot long typewritten manuscript scroll for On The Road. Getting into the zone of writing may take some coaxing and/or psychotropic intervention, but once there, everything just happens. Thoughts spill out faster than the hand can capture them. Adrenaline starts pumping. Time stands still. And yet, as coveted as this special part is, past failures to achieve it discourage many people from trying. It’s too far out of reach, they might say, or only truly creative people succeed at it. Well-defined, structured work suits them better, and it’s just under the icing…
• The back cookie is editing, proofreading, revision, and all other manner of fine-tuning — the front cookie’s evil twin and the icing’s nemesis. This is the realm of MLA, APA, Chicago, Strunk & White, Merriam-Webster, Roget: rules, rules, rules. Perfecting language is an art unto itself, and many relish the power of the red pen like a conductor wielding a baton (in a way, proofreaders’ marks kind of look like musical notation on a heavily reviewed piece of writing). Were it not for this critical phase of the process, brilliance would quickly tarnish with every typo, run-on, and misplaced modifier. But there are those who dread the tedium of deleting extra spaces after periods, inserting missing commas, and “cutting out the fluff.” It’s so much more fun to brainstorm ideas and then hole up in a writing studio for a week. Where’s that bag of cookies?

I happen to savor the front and back cookies. I can summon ideas at will, follow a paper trail like nobody’s business, and start to get some solid ideas down… until another idea strikes my fancy. I can also prune and weed the nastiest of prose with delight. Meanwhile, that delectable icing just sits there, longing to be licked. Why is that?

Following through with an idea and carrying it to completion takes motivation and concentration, not to mention sufficient time and a suitable environment to think and write productively. There’s no magic combination of these ingredients that lets good writing happen — we all take what we can get, whether it’s on a train, in a waiting room, or between meetings. If you’re lucky enough to have a few candles lit and a bottle of Merlot, more power to you. For me, what stands in the way of finding flow is the paradoxical need for perfection and an immediate payoff. Of course, the rational mind recognizes that good anything is about neither of these things, yet the irrational mind constructs its own asylum and appoints its own cruel wardens. In my case, I have plenty of ideas I think are great, but through procrastination, distraction, and other means, I have abandoned them in the parking lot.

As a means of overcoming my neurosis, I thought I’d list a handful of these ideas that I’m not writing about but should be. Here’s a glance through the folders in my mental filing cabinet:

• Futurism & Transhumanism: What frameworks are we using or not using to make sense of the complexities of future-focused thinking, especially regarding transhumanism? How much of what we think about the future is shaped by popular science fiction?
• The Content Lifecycle: What are the different dimensions of conceiving, creating, sharing, storing, searching for, and consuming content today? What would a picture of it all look like (key players, outlets, channels, etc.)?
• Work & Companies: What is the gap between what companies and employees offer and expect from each other? How has it changed over the years? Does the traditional work paradigm truly enable people to realize their fullest potential?
• Neuroscience & Information Design: What do we know so far about perception and cognition as it relates to the work information designers do? How much science can be infused in the practice of information design?
• Visual Thinking & Technology: How is technology reshaping traditional visual thinking practices? Are new devices, apps, and platforms really enabling collaboration and understanding or just getting in the way?

For these ideas to be realized, my approach needs to change. Some of these ideas will require a bit of effort to develop, while others will be treated as thinking in progress, or unpacked in a series of posts. The key here is that not all writing need be treated the same way. That’s the beauty of writing: there’s a form or style to suit virtually all purposes and preferences. From tweets to multi-volume sagas, written expression spans a broad spectrum (whether or not all of it qualifies as serious writing is another issue entirely, considering the shifting boundaries of what being “published” and what “quality” constitute these days). I happen to be fond of Twitter as a micro-blogging platform because I can regularly broadcast my thoughts and interests without all the stress of fussing over a longer piece of writing. Tweets are perfect in their brevity and immediacy, and they’re instantly gratifying — just like Mini Oreos. Blog posts allow for more fleshed out thinking while leaving some room to test the waters with an idea or spread it out over time. The form of the blog encourages dialogue and helps evolve thinking, unlike long form or more journalistic writing that, to me, feels very monolithic and inert. Ultimately, all the forms of writing I undertake will have to meet a minimum standard of “good enough” so that I can maintain a steady output. Creative paralysis will set in otherwise.

The moral of my story: While there’s a clear front, middle, and back to an Oreo, you can eat it many different ways. Sometimes it’s about twisting it apart, taking small bites of the whole, gobbling it all at once, or having an entirely different variety of Oreo altogether. No matter what, be sure to dunk it!

(This post was partly inspired by the ever-insightful Chris Butler, particularly this post and more recently this. It’s also been over two months since I posted anything here, and I’ve had a serious craving for Oreos lately. The good old fashioned kind.)

The breaking point of man vs. machine: a classic moment from the 1999 movie Office Space

Modern life can be really annoying sometimes. Just think of all the little inconveniences, nuisances, and irritants that make your day just a little less enjoyable. I don’t mean the stubbed toe or paper cut or spilled milk variety. I don’t even mean the person who beats you to the last parking spot at the mall (if you happen to drive). Those really can’t be helped. I’m talking about those moments when we poor, wretched humans must deal with technology’s shortcomings.

In a typical work day, who doesn’t smack face-first into some of these gems?

• The elevator “close door” button that never works.
• The printer that literally eats paper.
• The hour of internet down time due to “emergency server maintenance” which was caused by “usage overload.”
• The smartphone sync that completely and irretrievably wipes your calendar clean.

The list could go on and on. But why do we put up with all of this? With all our advances and highly-evolved intelligence we could eradicate so many pesky little problems. Yet we haven’t. Instead, we apply that power to creating more new technology to further complicate our already messy lives. We’ll come back to that in another post.

Let’s pause for a moment. Despite the countless downsides of technology, we should take the time to consider the ways our lives are different and our capabilities enhanced because of this very same technology. On this Thanksgiving Day, it seems fitting to reflect on not just the many great and wonderful things in life we often take for granted, like fresh air, clean water, and the people around us, but also the artificial things that enable and extend everyday activities. I can think of a few things that I’m pretty grateful for, error messages and all:

• A global network that allows me to share my thoughts with almost anyone, anywhere and to tap into scores of information resources, wirelessly.
• A small device in my pocket that I can use to talk to almost anyone anywhere, wirelessly.
• A flat square device no bigger than a magazine that gives me access to an astounding amount of literature and history that would otherwise be nearly impossible to obtain (wirelessly).
• An astounding palette of tools by which my design work can be created, communicated, and distributed.
• The simple fact that if I can think of saying or doing something, a technology exists (or will soon exist) that enhances the way I create and distribute it.

For some, these facts are already old news; “bigger, better, faster, more” seems to be on many people’s minds. But we shouldn’t forget that we got here from a much humbler place and time, when today’s possibilities were largely invisible and the vast technology empires we know so well were once mere seeds of ideas. We should be in awe of what we have accomplished, however great or small, and appreciate the good that can be brought about by the marriage of circuits and code, imagination and human agency.

We’ll probably never fully debug our lives. In fact, it is in those “reboot” moments that we are reminded of our dependency on technology, both in its fragility and its power. We have formed a symbiotic relationship with technology, its bonds growing stronger every day. In days to come, we’ll see fantastic changes at blinding speed, and we will always struggle to adapt to them, make sense of them. We will continue to confront the gap that exists between human and machine — indeed, it will always be there (at least I think it will). Before we resist the urge to hurl our computer out the window or smash our smartphone to smithereens, let’s remember the time we didn’t have such wondrous, mysterious objects in our lives and be thankful for what we have.