Spend more time learning underlying skills and advanced techniques, and less time learning interfaces -- ideally one should only have to spend the time learning the tools/interfaces when there really is no way to design a sufficiently powerful yet non-novel interface for the problem domain.
Ideally, I don't want to even notice my tools ... well, beyond noticing that I'm more powerful with them, of course. Sometimes this does require learning a non-obvious interface well enough to master it and then stop thinking about it -- the vi text editor was an example where that paid off for me, but I've been using that one tool, in a variety of contexts, for nearly thirty years now, so that makes those first few months worth it. I shouldn't have to think about how to use the tool I'm using every time I pick up a new tool though; only when a) it's going to pay off like vi did (okay, that and driving a car are extreme cases, but you get the idea) and the complexity of the problem is such that a simpler tool won't give me enough power.
When I pulled my DSLR out of the box, I stuck a lens on it, noted a switch with positions marked 'Off', 'On', and a non-obvious symbol (which became clearer when I went looking for a control to do what it turned out to do), and a mode-selector switch that had mostly-familiar (from film cameras) markings. So I turned it on, pointed it at Perrine, pressed the shiny silver button that was in the expected, natural, and ergonomic location for a shutter release, and the LCD panel on the back lit up with a picture of my cat. No new learning. Good design.
When I wanted to do something with more control than that, I din't have to figure out a new way to do things; I only had to see where the controls were -- once I found the aperture and shutter speed controls, everything I had already learned about photography was immediately applicable. The tool became transparent. As I remarked on a Pentax-users mailing list, for most things I didn't notice needing any new skills with the DSLR, which (significantly for this anecdote) has both more automation and more control than any of my film cameras; it just made applying my existing skills easier and faster. I didn't really have to spend much time Learning The Tool -- thinking about the tool instead of the problem -- until I started wanting to do something odd with it. That's very good design but not quite great design: with truly great design, "much" in the previous sentence would have been "any".
Note that I did still need skillz, ones that I'd learned on film cameras. Here's the point: those skills had everything to do with the problem and relatively little to do with the tool.
I am happiest when I don't notice my tools. I have an idea, I decide to will the idea into reality, and it just happens, as easily as thinking about taking a drink of water turns into the glass arriving at my lips. I don't think about how to operate my hand until I am injured; I don't think about how to operate a pen until it malfunctions. Not every tool has as simple an interface as a ball-point pen, but the more transparent the tool -- the more it becomes simply an extension of my will, as my muscles are -- the better.
I'd rather spend the time learning problem-skills than tool-skills.
(no subject)
Ideally, I don't want to even notice my tools ... well, beyond noticing that I'm more powerful with them, of course. Sometimes this does require learning a non-obvious interface well enough to master it and then stop thinking about it -- the vi text editor was an example where that paid off for me, but I've been using that one tool, in a variety of contexts, for nearly thirty years now, so that makes those first few months worth it. I shouldn't have to think about how to use the tool I'm using every time I pick up a new tool though; only when a) it's going to pay off like vi did (okay, that and driving a car are extreme cases, but you get the idea) and the complexity of the problem is such that a simpler tool won't give me enough power.
When I pulled my DSLR out of the box, I stuck a lens on it, noted a switch with positions marked 'Off', 'On', and a non-obvious symbol (which became clearer when I went looking for a control to do what it turned out to do), and a mode-selector switch that had mostly-familiar (from film cameras) markings. So I turned it on, pointed it at Perrine, pressed the shiny silver button that was in the expected, natural, and ergonomic location for a shutter release, and the LCD panel on the back lit up with a picture of my cat. No new learning. Good design.
When I wanted to do something with more control than that, I din't have to figure out a new way to do things; I only had to see where the controls were -- once I found the aperture and shutter speed controls, everything I had already learned about photography was immediately applicable. The tool became transparent. As I remarked on a Pentax-users mailing list, for most things I didn't notice needing any new skills with the DSLR, which (significantly for this anecdote) has both more automation and more control than any of my film cameras; it just made applying my existing skills easier and faster. I didn't really have to spend much time Learning The Tool -- thinking about the tool instead of the problem -- until I started wanting to do something odd with it. That's very good design but not quite great design: with truly great design, "much" in the previous sentence would have been "any".
Note that I did still need skillz, ones that I'd learned on film cameras. Here's the point: those skills had everything to do with the problem and relatively little to do with the tool.
I am happiest when I don't notice my tools. I have an idea, I decide to will the idea into reality, and it just happens, as easily as thinking about taking a drink of water turns into the glass arriving at my lips. I don't think about how to operate my hand until I am injured; I don't think about how to operate a pen until it malfunctions. Not every tool has as simple an interface as a ball-point pen, but the more transparent the tool -- the more it becomes simply an extension of my will, as my muscles are -- the better.
I'd rather spend the time learning problem-skills than tool-skills.