Why an ergonomic keyboard?#
My journey into ergonomic keyboards began with the Microsoft Natural Ergonomic 4000. At the time, it felt like a revelation.
Up until then, my experience had been limited to the standard office keyboards that seemed to populate every desk — typically something bundled with a workstation from HP or Dell. Functional, certainly, but hardly inspiring.
Before that, like many of us, there had been the inevitable flirtation with loud, chunky mechanical keyboards covered in RGB lighting.
Back then, RGB was everything.
Concerns like RSI, wrist strain, or long-term posture rarely crossed our minds.
The Ergonomic 4000 was different. It felt purposeful. The typing experience was noticeably more precise, and at the time it was a surprisingly coveted keyboard — at least within my department. A few of them lived in the server room, and most of us in the IT team used one daily.
What I appreciated most was its tented design. The keyboard had a gentle convex shape, with the centre sitting higher than the edges. That subtle elevation encouraged a far more natural hand position — instead of flattening your wrists against the desk, your hands rested at a neutral angle, with fingers travelling shorter and more comfortable distances between keys. Even today, it remains surprisingly rare to find keyboards with this kind of design available off the shelf.
Like many mass-produced peripherals, it wasn’t without its shortcomings:
- Limited repairability — replacement parts were practically nonexistent, making repairs unrealistic.
- No hot-swappable switches — the switches were soft and mushy, lacking any real tactile feedback.
- Materials that aged poorly — the plastics developed a shiny wear pattern with heavy use.
- A fixed cable — if it failed and you weren’t comfortable with a soldering iron, the keyboard was finished.
Despite those flaws, I used the Ergonomic 4000 faithfully for years before transitioning to the Logitech Ergo K860 — a keyboard that carried the ergonomic philosophy forward while modernising the overall experience.
2023: The trigger#
One day in 2023, I found myself swapping the AAA battery in the K860 for what felt like the fifth or sixth time that year. Something clicked. Eventually this keyboard would fail and become e-waste — I wanted something more sustainable, and ideally more ergonomic.
So I went looking. I eventually found the Moonlander from ZSA.
If you’ve never seen it, the Moonlander looks like something out of Star Trek — absolutely alien to anyone coming from a K860. The most daunting part is that it’s split into two halves. But the spec list was compelling:
- Serviceable;
- High-quality;
- Hard-wired (no battery needed!);
- Hot-swappable switches; and
- Tentable.
All boxes ticked. Then I saw the price — $365, plus import taxes. A significant step up from the £70 K860. So I did what anyone with sense would do and went to eBay. A white Moonlander for £200. If I didn’t like it, I could always sell it on.
What an uphill battle. The high keys on a split didn’t feel natural at all, and without a real commitment to learn it properly, the Moonlander ended up on a shelf.
My ergonomic improvement journey had stalled.
2024: Discovering the Voyager#
I was still on the K860, Moonlander gathering dust, when something shifted — a work trip to Mexico (a hard life, I know…).
I was at a team meeting when my boss mentioned she had acquired a new keyboard. We met at the hotel bar, she pulled out a neoprene soft-case and produced two keyboard halves.
First impression when I held them: solid. Metal base, magnetic feet, low-profile Kailh switches, Tai-hao keycaps. Premium, well-built, and the magnetic base meant you could either tripod mount the halves or tent them against any magnetic surface.
“It’s the Voyager from ZSA,” she said.
ZSA? As in, Moonlander ZSA?
It felt like a natural progression from the Moonlander — the same philosophy, but refined. There’s something about holding the Voyager side-by-side with the Moonlander that makes what the Moonlander lacks suddenly obvious, even if you can’t quite put your finger on what it is. In that moment, the drive for a proper ergonomic setup reignited.
The Voyager: first impressions#
After returning home I went to ZSA’s website and read everything about the ZSA Voyager. The renders are fantastic, and the keyboard lives up to them.
The build quality is immediately apparent. The aluminium base gives it a weight and solidity that feels intentional — this is not a keyboard that shifts around on your desk. The magnetic feet allow you to tent each half at a slight tent without fuss, and the whole thing packs flat into the included case for travel.
The low-profile Kailh Choc switches are a departure from anything I had typed on before. Shorter travel than standard mechanical switches — unusual at first, but it quickly becomes natural. The two halves connect via a USB-C cable, and there is no battery in sight. A relief after years of AAA battery change cycles.
Then I saw the price again. $365. Import taxes again. The same Moonlander dilemma: what if it ended up on the shelf?
eBay again. Someone had bought it new from ZSA, found it wasn’t for them after the return window had closed, and listed it for £230 with everything included. I received the box in July 2024.
I pulled up Keymapp (called Oryx at the time), loaded the default layout, and started typing.
It felt awful. Painfully slow compared to the K860. Without a real commitment to break the habit, can you guess what happened? It joined the shelf. For over a year.
Late 2025: Committing to the switch#
By late 2025 I was at an impasse. I had sold the Moonlander — the Voyager was clearly the step up and I wasn’t going back to the Moonlander — which left only the Voyager on the shelf and the K860 on the desk.
I was winding down my role at Auth0 before joining Oracle, which meant a period of time off. If there was ever a moment to properly commit to this, it was then.
The preparation#
I read up on how to train yourself to switch keyboards and landed on a few solid resources:
- Monkeytype — to track WPM over time and visualise progress;
- Keybr — introduces keys gradually into touch typing practice; and
- Typing Land — gamified learning to keep it from feeling like a chore.
The common thread: touch typing. Which was a problem, because I had never done it properly.
I was a strange hybrid — hunt & peck with maybe six fingers, not looking at the keyboard, hitting roughly 90 WPM. It worked. But with a split, the inner column keys — G, H, T, Y, V, B — become a real challenge. My index fingers kept reaching for keys the other hand should be hitting.
I was effectively learning to type again, fighting muscle memory at every stage. My speed dropped to around 15 WPM on a good day.
I spent 15–30 minutes daily on Typing Land and Keybr, focusing on accuracy rather than speed — the widely accepted wisdom being that speed follows once the muscle memory is properly in place. I gave myself all of November to prepare, with the goal of being functional enough to type basic messages when December started.
December: The learning curve#
I started the new role and kept the K860 disconnected on the shelf. It sat there like an escape rope — and I did reach for it once. But I told myself that using it now would undo everything I had built, and I put it back.
The first week was rough. Slack messages took twice as long. Emails were short by necessity. By the end of the week I checked Monkeytype: just over 20 WPM. Demoralising, but I did not want to discourage myself further, so I closed the laptop and enjoyed the weekend.
The second week started with the quiet weight of knowing how slow I still was — not ideal for a Monday morning. But I finished week two. Then three. Then four.
A full month on the Voyager. Christmas arrived, things slowed down, and I had time to take longer notes and settle into the keyboard without pressure. It was the best thing that could have happened.
The epiphany#
Somewhere in mid-January I noticed something: I was typing without thinking about it. I opened Monkeytype.
37 WPM.
I had doubled my speed in a month — without having done any proper touch typing before in my life. That was the moment I knew the Voyager was here to stay. The K860 went in the days that followed.
There is a particular feeling when effort starts to pay off — when the work you have put in quietly compounds and suddenly becomes visible. The dopamine hit is real. It is why learning anything difficult is worth it.
Conclusion: Four months in#
I am now sitting at a comfortable 72 WPM on Monkeytype after roughly four months of the Voyager as my daily driver.
Since committing to it full-time, I have made a few changes to the setup:
- Replaced the Tai-hao keycaps with MBK Glow Dots from splitkb.com. The homing key position takes a couple of days to adjust to, but they feel noticeably better to home to.
- Tented at 45 degrees using a pair of UGreen magnetic phone stands — a simple, inexpensive solution that makes a real ergonomic difference.
- Set up homerow mods to access modifiers directly from the resting position. A small learning curve in itself, but one that is absolutely worth it.
Is it worth the money? Yes — if you are prepared to put in the work. The Voyager is not a casual upgrade. It will make you slower before it makes you faster, and there is a period where the whole thing feels like a mistake. Push through it. The build quality is excellent, the software is genuinely good, and the ergonomic benefit is real and lasting. For anyone who spends serious time at a keyboard, the investment is justified.
Next on the list: mounting the halves to my chair arms to allow a fully reclined typing position. I am waiting on ZSA’s upcoming trackpad device before committing to that setup — the Navigator trackball is great in principle, but when tented at 45 degrees the ball has a tendency to fall out, which makes it unreliable day-to-day. I do not want to compromise the tenting angle for a pointing device, so for now the wait continues.
The journey has been frustrating at times and I questioned myself more than once. But proving to yourself that you can rewire deeply ingrained habits — and come out faster on the other side — is quietly one of the more satisfying things you can do.
