In a recent Saturday piece, I asked a question:

What are some ideas I’ve written about or touched on here that you sort of don’t get? Not things you disagree with per se—though you can tell me those too, it’s okay—things that just don’t register to a regular person, which aren’t intuitive or obvious without explanation?

I don’t think it was directly in response to this, but someone raised a good question that I’ve been thinking about. On the one hand, I say that urbanism isn’t “eating your vegetables.” On the other hand, I say that maybe we need a little bit of inconvenience and discomfort. Which is it?

Well, I’ve written enough at this point that I don’t entirely remember everything, let alone the full context of everything. Going back to my own writing and finding these seeming discrepancies is almost like trying to make John fit with Matthew, Mark, and Luke. What merely appears as a contradiction in fact illuminates a deeper truth…

Or did I simply contradict myself?

I don’t think so. I think I’d say it like this. Urbanism shouldn’t be like “eating your vegetables.” It shouldn’t be “sold” as something unpleasant but necessary. But maybe in some sense…it is.

Maybe urbanism—by which I mean, broadly, living in lively places with lots of people and with less use of your car, and learning to love or at least tolerate it—is “eating your vegetables.” In the sense that going to the gym, or raising kids, or…eating your vegetables, is “eating your vegetables.”

What if living in proximity with other people, not expecting a free parking spot right in front of where you’re going, following the speed limit and the stop signs, embracing some of the momentary friction and inconvenience that may be the cost of variety and opportunity and entrepreneurship—what if all of this just irreducibly is something that is good for us but difficult? Something which most of us, given maximum autonomy and freedom, will find it extremely difficult to choose affirmatively, but which we know on some level is beneficial for us?

What if suburbia is psychologically something like junk food? Or remote work? Or mentally something like…contraception? Something which may be fine in and of itself (I don’t bring all my Catholicism to urbanism, okay?), but which does something subtle: raises the psychological cost of doing what used to be easier simply because the choice was not presented to us?

Eating well is good for us. Working in an office, with real people, may be good for us. Marriage may be good for us. Having kids may be good for us (well, not for everybody). And urban living may be good for us (again, not for everybody. These are generalities.) The more one must affirmatively choose the more difficult but more rewarding or productive path—the more that less demanding alternatives are easily available—the harder it becomes to choose the one we (generally, not all of us, etc.) maybe should choose.

This is really just “No pain, no gain” or “Most things worth doing are difficult.” The question is, I suppose, what if simply letting people choose what they prefer doesn’t work here, because what we prefer is ultimately worse for us and worse for society?

There are a few answers: one is rule by experts. One is to simply ignore the costs to society. Another is persuasion. And another is popping the fiscal hood on suburbia, as Strong Towns does, and observing that in the long run, this stuff doesn’t actually work financially. It isn’t bad for us in some metaphorical or abstract sense. It is literally bankrupting us. This implies that if we follow the path of fiscal responsibility, we will end up at urbanism without even having to have the debate over whether it’s “good” for us or not.

But I am very interested in that question, because it seems almost like a law of the universe that desirable things are difficult to attain. Delightful, but not easy or frictionless. Learning to play an instrument; waiting in line to see the Mona Lisa; cooking a fancy meal; cultivating genuine relationships with other people. Struggle and frustration and discomfort are inherent in these things, but they’re ultimately a small price of entry.

So maybe instead of debating whether or not urbanism is “eating your vegetables,” I should say it’s like learning to play an instrument. But that implies that it’s entirely optional. I don’t think it is, because we’re talking about towns and cities and metro areas that have interests in their own right, and which we share together.

An individual can choose to drive or not drive, narrowly, but public policy can make that easier or harder. There are inherent value judgments—pedestrian safety versus automobile speed. There’s no neutral public policy here. The closest to neutral you can get is to encourage development in the manner that it proceeded for all of human history.

If we’ve been doing it all that time, it can’t be that difficult.

Related Reading:

That Damned Elusive Parking Spot

Swingin’ in the Train

Good Friction

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