A few days ago, the temperature in St. Louis finally broke 20 degrees Fahrenheit, and the sun sparkled off the snow in Tower Grove Park. As I walked along, I wondered how the staff had cleared the full width of the road I was on, and yet hadn’t cleared the skinnier paths. I smiled and thought of the tiny, sidewalk-width snow movers that I had seen in Columbus, Ohio, shooting puffs of snow into the air, and hoped that I might discover they used them here as well.
I let the thought drift from my mind, and tried to bring myself back to the world. Like many of us during this time of social distancing, I have turned to the outdoors to soothe my weariness and anxieties. But soon my mind wandered again, this time to this newsletter, and how to frame what I want to share with it.
When I explain my job to someone unfamiliar with user experience research, I tell them that I talk and listen to people in order to find out how to make our products work better for them. If this stranger (remember when we talked with strangers?) has enough interest, I might even explain what it's like to conduct an interview or a usability session.
These methods dominate our practice as researchers, but they're not the entirety of what we need to know to succeed. Truly skilled research requires knowledge that's between the methods, too: a sort of connective tissue that helps us know things like which methods to use and whether the findings of an existing study can be applied to a novel context.
I can recognize when a practitioner or a research consumer has this knowledge and when they don't, but I have not yet found a satisfying way to explain it. Between the all-consuming cycle of research studies, I have occasionally given it a shot, with a presentation here and a half drafted blog post there. But as much as I want to pour the framework out of my mind, each time I attempt it, a pile of delightful yet disorganized moments and stories tumble out instead.
I think of the philosophies of truth I learned in a Language and Cognition course, and the time I sat on the floor of a tiny packed room to see Dana Chisnell explain why demographics aren't the most important criteria for behavioral research, and I think of all the family movie nights growing up when we would call out what we thought the next line of dialog would be. Sorting through these stories of finding out feels like pouring out a jigsaw puzzle, only to realize that the picture on the box doesn't match the pieces, and upon further inspection, the pieces may be several puzzles jumbled together.
Suddenly aware again of the park, a smooth curve of snow caught my eye off to the side of the road. It was clearly the imprint of a full-sized plow. I mentally smacked my forehead. Of course a Midwestern park with a couple hundred acres of land would have a plow for its roads! I shook my head at my earlier daydream of tiny snow movers, and continued on my way. It was a simple moment, and one that reminded me that the most delightful hypotheses do not necessarily turn out to be true.
Moments like these, and those I will share in the weeks to come, bring a bit of "huh" that can inspire me to evolve my UX research practice over time. I find them through happy accidents by paying attention to the world around me and by reading broadly and by talking with my friends new and old. I look forward to sharing these stories, and hope that they may inspire reflection for you, too.
Until next time!