UX Lessons from Birdwatching

I started birdwatching this year. Maybe a switch gets flicked on when you enter your thirties, I don’t know. But I love it.

Like most of my hobbies, it began with a book. I read Birdwatchingwatching, the story of a UK comedian who decided to get into the world as a way to get closer to his dad. Soon after, I started noticing birds within my city. I love the white stardust on starlings, the plumpness of the dunnock, and even the little waddle of the pigeons walking by.

I’m lucky in that Leeds is surrounded by parks and reserves, making it a popular birder location. I love going on my own and trying to identify what I’m seeing; the solitude and walks in nature are something I’ve come to treasure on weekends. But I equally love going out with one of the local groups; they’ve taught me how to tell different types of ducks apart, and what the numbers on a pair of binoculars means, and the difference between crows and ravens.

I mostly like birding, though, because it gets me outside. Even if you like your job, sitting in front of a computer for 8+ hours a day scrambles the brain enough that it needs to be rewired. Regardless, I’ve learned a thing or two that have made their way into the way I think about UX.

The trick of novelty

Magpies are gorgeous. I can’t get over their coloring (sorry, coulouring) and tail shape. I was walking with a group and excitedly pointed one out, to their amusement. It was as if I’d spotted a common pigeon and needed everyone to know.

Thing is, magpies are new to me. I didn’t grow up with them, so I find them fascinating. It goes both ways; I offhandedly recalled a pair of cardinals that lived outside my childhood window, and one of the more seasoned birders asked what that was like. He couldn’t fathom that it was a regular experience for me.

We poked fun at each other for a bit, but eventually something interesting happened: We started to see our native birds differently. Suddenly my encounters with cardinals and jays did seem special to me, and the magpies and smaller robins took on a new life for the Brits of the group.

We become blind to the things we see all the time. This doesn’t mean we (or users) should be inundated with new things all the time; god knows we get enough of that with social media. But framing stale concepts and content in a new way can help bring it alive and be seen again. And remembering that the screen/modal/error message you’ve seen a million times before will be new to the user…that makes a difference in how you approach the design.

Looking up

I didn’t notice birds before. I just didn’t; they blended into the landscape. Now I feel like the instinct never turns off; at Ilkley Park this weekend, I saw a robin, chiffchaff, house sparrow, and a family-of-four of mute swans. I wouldn’t have seen most of them, other than the swans, if I hadn’t been looking.

The same with problem solving: I can stare at a copy issue for a long time before realising that maybe it doesn’t need to be tackled on the word level, but the hierarchy level. Look up. Actually pay attention to what’s in front of you.

The annoyance of the amateur

To be good at anything, you have to be bad first. That house sparrow I saw this weekend? I had to consult my guidebook to make sure it wasn’t a dunnock. I still can’t identify birdsong, and I’m often the last to spot movement in the trees.

It takes time. I was awful as a Content Designer when I first started out. (I distinctly remember trying to use a semicolon). I didn’t know how to be on a product team, or how to identify the story a flow is trying to tell. It took time to develop those skills; I’m still developing them. Having people to grow alongside, as well as people who were way more experienced than me, went a long way.

I’ll be able to tell a bird by its song soon enough, as long as I keep heading out in the mornings. And my writing/UXing/designing will continue to improve as long as keep at it. These things take time. That’s part of the fun.