Overcoming Advocacy Grief: Focus on Community and Little Wins
Sitting down to write this week’s column, I felt stuck. Even after looking through a list of topic ideas and reviewing a couple of drafts I had started working on, nothing felt right. As I stared at my screen, cursor blinking expectantly, I just could not muster the enthusiasm to write anything useful or interesting or even angry.
So instead, I am going to write about something that I hope is relatable. And that’s the profound sense of sadness and disappointment that we all feel from time to time, in our pursuit of stronger, healthier and more connected cities. It’s different from being grumpy or angry. For me, it’s rooted in something deeper and more visceral. Somewhere in the last little while, it occurred to me that this feeling is a kind of grief.
I feel a real and chronic sense of grief that my city so cavalierly dismisses calls to make streets safer. That it fails to take our stated climate action goals seriously. That it runs inner city assets like community centers and swimming pools into the ground and then abandons them — all while preparing to build new facilities ever closer to the edge of town. You know what I mean because your North American town or city probably does many of the same things.
That’s the thing about the built environment; it’s all around you, all the time. You can’t really take a break from it — unless you never leave your home. People who’ve had their eyes opened to the dysfunction of the North American post-war development pattern talk about how they can’t unsee it. Suddenly, you’re noticing all these dangerous, negative, destructive and unjust things every time you walk out the door.
It’s hard not to feel a real sense of despair about it. It’s exhausting and overwhelming to think about the scope and scale of things. I am weary, but find it hard to rest, or to turn off the urge to try to think of solutions to every challenge. Honestly, sometimes it does feel hard to enjoy the many wonderful parts of life when there are so many monumental challenges.
The challenges our towns and cities face every day are things with very high moral, even existential, stakes. On a more personal level, I have huge worries about what kind of city and world my kids and their contemporaries are edging closer to, as they approach their independent and more autonomous teenage years. The same concerns are on my mind when I think about what the future will be like for my mum and my in-laws, whose driving days will come to an end before long. How will the built environment affect their housing options, mobility and mental wellness?
There’s an old adage: A trouble shared is a trouble halved. For me, part of the challenge with being so disappointed by one’s place is that it doesn’t always feel like a widespread sentiment. Andrew Bryant, a Seattle social worker and therapist, describes climate grief as “disenfranchised grief, which is a type of grief that doesn't have a core cultural support or social acknowledgment in the general public.” The same can be said for grief stemming from the built environment. It’s a grief that so many people don’t relate to or understand in any way.
When these feelings are framed like that, as a sort of grief, it becomes a little easier to allow myself the compassion and space to just take a breather. To do the equivalent of a "digital detox" and take a break from caring so strongly, when I can.
In addressing any type of grief, there’s no right or wrong, no one-size-fits-all coping advice. I’m learning what works for me. I spend a lot of my time working on, thinking about and reading about urbanism-related topics, and I’ve realized that means that I spend a lot of mental energy dwelling on the negative. So, I’ve been consciously trying to prioritize carving out more time for things that bring me joy. Part of that is trying to enjoy the very best parts of living in a city — things like live music, lectures, new restaurants and meeting people I wouldn’t have otherwise. These sorts of things can only exist because cities are places that bring people together through shared interests, passions and experiences. As Tiffany Owens Reed put it, “Aristotle and Socrates described the purpose of the city as a tool through which humans learn to become fully human. Life in the city isn’t only about commerce, culture or consumerism. It is about forming the soul through engaging in shared life.”
I’m also trying to recognize that grief is often so profound because it stems from situations that are impossible to change, such as death. But in the case of a town or city, we’re not doomed; things aren’t irreversible. We can make changes. I’m reminding myself to take stock and celebrate small successes. Things are changing, even if they seem to take too long or are so overdue that, when they do change, it feels anticlimactic because we’ve already moved on to the next challenge.
There is one thing that consistently brings me hope and a lighter mood, and that’s spending time with others on events or short-term projects that make a difference right away. Whether it’s a community event, an hour of spring cleanup with neighbors, or even just going for a walk or coffee with a neighbor, these small moments of connection and collaboration remind me that, despite the systems that let us down, there are always people who care.
Our city systems have let us down badly, and it’s natural to feel many emotions about that. I continue to be thankful that an organization like Strong Towns exists to both shine a light on these failures and to offer hope and encouragement through practical ideas and strategies for a better way to build cities.
If you want to find a community that understands your grief and works to create positive change, click below to find a Local Conversation near you!
Emma Durand-Wood likes walkable cities, front porches, street trees, bumping into neighbors, riding her bike, downtowns, and any excuse to check out a new coffee shop, bakery, or shop. A Winnipegger by choice, she lives in Elmwood with her husband and three children. You can connect with her on Twitter @emmaewood.