When I’m on my iPad, I’m restless. I flit between different websites and apps, reading a snippet here, and a tweet there, before moving on again. It’s meaningless to talk about my “focus” in this state. My focus couldn’t be less. Using an iPad (or a computer, or my phone) puts me in a restless, unfocused state, and it can be hard to escape — I’m too all over the place to even notice.

I’ve long viewed this as a personal failing. And look: it probably is. But I’ve worked in UX for a few years now, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that when you’re designing for humans, you should be designing for all humans.

Including the restless ones. Including the ones who can’t stay focused.

Should the iPad be harder to use? Should it be slower? Should they remove split-screen multitasking? Can we go backward? Would that be enough?

The icons on the iPad’s home screen are colorful, inviting things. Tapping one whisks me into it — it grows and morphs to reveal the app within. There’s a strong sense of place, of spatial awareness; I know where I’m at, and I know how to get back to where I was, at all times.

These all sound like good things.

The iPad’s OS is chock-full of the kind of animations I adore. With a touch, it springs forth. With a swipe, it glides along. Opening things opens them; deleting things tosses them, literally, into a small trash can icon. The bin bobbles in place, to let me know it worked. Trash, trashed.

These all sound like good things.

It’s Saturday morning and I’m up early. I grind coffee, bring water to 172 degrees, and let it all steep. The day is filled with possibility. And thank God — it has to be; otherwise what was that whole week of work for?

I take my mug to the living room. I pick up my iPad; it scans every last centimeter of my face before unlocking the screen. This takes no time. I touch, swipe, and scroll. Content leaps forth.

I’m just going to read a bit before I start my day. Next thing I know, it’s the afternoon.

At work I’m a stickler for aesthetics. I don’t know why — my job is writing — but I’m a stickler anyway. If we don’t push ourselves, we’ll never be able to make something beautiful. We’ll be tempted to ship too quick. We’ll create UIs that weren’t loved over, and we won’t feel good standing by our own work.

Whoever designed the iPad’s OS could stand by it. It looks great. It feels loved over. But that same love, that same care, can eat up my entire Saturday morning. It eats up possibilities. It drains me of time, and I know that’s my fault, but I can’t help but think maybe it’s also the fault of a bunch of designers, doing their best to design something beautiful — but never questioning the value of that.

We’ve gotta design for people who aren’t ideal — because that’s most of us. We’ve gotta design for people who are just human. For people who are restless. For people who can’t stay focused.

Should interfaces look good? Should they be immediate, and beautiful? Should they let you glide, frictionlessly, between content and some more content?

Is that a good thing?