A couple weekends ago, I took my daughter to the children’s theater. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon as we made our way to the bus stop. A neighbor happened to be walking by with his dog, and we chatted as we walked together. We had a variation of conversation that I have had dozens of times: that the bus hasn’t been getting much good press lately, but that, of course, it’s always the worst-case scenarios that make the news. For every scary bus incident, there are probably a hundred thousand completely unremarkable trips. “You’re doing your civic duty—that’s great,” he concluded, giving me props for choosing public transit. “Or maybe,” I laughed, “I’m nuts!”

As we settled ourselves on the bus, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and, turning around, saw that it was a friend from the neighborhood. We went and sat with her and conversed happily the whole way downtown, talking about our weekends and feeling uplifted at the surprise encounter. It was sunny and mild, and bus frequency drops on Sundays, so when we got downtown, rather than transfer onto a different bus, we decided to walk the rest of the way to the theater. As we strolled through the peaceful historic Exchange District and along the river, we admired the incredible old buildings, talked about how it was finally starting to feel like spring, and generally enjoyed a rare chance to have uninterrupted one-on-one time together.

Before long, we reached the theater, and had just settled into our seats when a mom and child sat down beside us. To my amazement, they were also acquaintances from the neighborhood! What were the odds? After the performance (ZOOOM by Patch Theatre—highly recommend if you get a chance to see it) my daughter and I putzed around, eventually having supper and browsing at the bookstore and toy store, and selecting a gift for an upcoming occasion. All in all, a great little mother-daughter date, punctuated by these lovely little moments of unexpected connection.

It was on our return trip that things started to go south. We arrived at the bus stop to find that the next bus wouldn’t arrive for 12 minutes. Given that it was a nice day, we decided to skip the first leg and walk to the transfer point. Then, as we were just steps away from our stop, we saw our bus sail past. We’d be waiting another 15 minutes. Should we stand around waiting or keep moving by walking toward the next stop? We decided to keep moving. We eventually stopped and were expecting a bus to arrive shortly. There was some interesting public art on a fence behind the stop, which provided a nice distraction as we passed the last few minutes. We were both tired, but knew we’d finally be on our way home before long.

Suddenly, a police car screamed up across the street, then pulled a fast U-turn so that it was facing us. Two officers jumped out and stopped a person who was walking by. Thankfully, at that moment, as I was trying to determine whether I should get myself and my daughter away from this situation, our bus arrived, and we got on. No sooner had we sat down, when the passenger in the seat in front of us spilled a bottle of mouthwash all over the place. The overwhelming scent of antiseptic instantly flooded the bus.

People shifted uncomfortably in their seats. One rider visibly gagged and cracked a window. My daughter wrinkled her nose and asked what the smell was. I leaned over and quietly explained that when people have an alcohol addiction, sometimes they drink things that have alcohol in them that aren’t intended to be consumed that way.

What began as such a lovely outing ended as just another day downtown, on a bus that doesn’t come often enough, in a city of struggling people.

That we had two such radically different bus rides just hours apart is what keeps me in a perpetual state of moral malaise.

If we’d driven to the theatre, we’d have missed the great stuff that happened on the way there. But we would have also avoided the unsettling cop takedown and the uncomfortable passenger situation and been home probably 45 minutes sooner. I think about these things more when I have my kids with me than when I’m alone. Well, maybe that’s not exactly true. I think about them all the time, but they bother me more when I’m with my kids. Or my mum. Or a friend who normally drives most of the time. It’s almost a mild sense of shame. Do they understand why I’m doing this? Are they thinking, “This is crazy, why didn’t we just drive?”

Life sometimes feels like a push and pull between my values and my actual experiences. How do I reconcile my value-driven choices with the way they make me feel, when the way they make me feel is sometimes…not great?

At my core, I believe it is really important to keep going downtown even when it’s not shiny and pleasant. Especially when it’s not shiny and pleasant.

But I also believe we deserve a downtown to be proud of and that we can be unreservedly enthusiastic about, not just a downtown we grin and bear.

I believe it is really important for my kids to have their eyes open to the ways people are struggling in our city. I try hard to be mindful of the crucial difference between feeling uncomfortable and feeling unsafe.

But when they do witness those struggles, it makes me feel like a lousy parent for exposing or subjecting them to seeing people living a type of existence that no one should have to endure.

I believe that to make a good city for people of all ages and abilities, it is important to understand what the city is like outside of a vehicle, and that the best way to do that is to actually live it.

And I also know that in many cities, it’s pretty awful to exist outside a car. And that I have the privilege to be able to hop in a car if I feel like it would make my life easier. In a better city, I could choose to walk, bike, and bus because it’s cheaper or more convenient—or simply because I like it. In my city, it is a principled choice.

What To Do?

Looking back on the theater outing with my daughter, there was just as much good (if not more) than bad that afternoon. But it’s the bad stuff that simmers and builds and tends to wear me down.

I learned recently about the concept of “frustration tolerance.” Frustration tolerance is an aspect of emotional regulation that allows us to ride out life’s difficulties and unpleasantness without getting really grumpy or angry. Everyone’s got a different level, but thankfully, there are strategies to increase your frustration tolerance.

You can sit with the feeling. We’ve become a culture that’s addicted to reacting instantly to everything. I’m not suggesting you dwell, but allow yourself to feel what you feel. Grief? Anger? Disappointment? Honor the feeling and maybe it can inspire you to take some action. Many cities have transit advocacy groups and are always looking for more people to get involved.

You can reframe the experience. Rather than “this sucks and I hate it,” can you see it as “I am sure learning a lot about my city and humbly observing where people struggle”? Maybe there’s an outreach organization or homelessness reduction group that you could support with your time or money.

You can try to accept it without judgment and let it go. “This happened and it wasn’t good. But there are people working hard to change this, and I’m one of them.” Finding and spending time with others who can see a better way can be empowering and uplifting. (A Strong Towns Local Conversation group, perhaps?)

Give the positive more space in your brain. Why do we allow the negative parts of our experiences to occupy SO much space in our thoughts? I think it’s really important to seek out ways to counteract the “bad” civic experiences with positive ones. For me, that can be enjoying arts and culture programming, supporting local businesses and events like markets, and participating in fun neighborhood events. It also helps to take these good feelings and multiply them by sharing the positive experience with others.

It’s also worth reminding yourself that seeing your city as it truly is provides necessary context for the other acts that you will take in your life, like participating in public engagement and deciding who to vote for, choosing a neighborhood, or maybe even your educational or career path.

Once your eyes are opened to the magnitude of problems so many North American cities face, it’s really easy to fall into a pit of despair. If you’ve been feeling discouraged and low about where your place is struggling, know that you’re not alone. It’s taken us many years to get into this mess, and will take many more to get out. But like most challenging things in life, the only way out is to walk through it.

Why Keep Doing “Good” Things if They Make Me Feel So Bad?

What To Do?

Get Involved

Resources

About

Site