I’m an Urbanist || People & Place
Well, I’m sure it goes without saying that I’m exhausted — exhausted by the lack of connection between people and between people & place.
I watched this video recently — How One Urbanist President Could Change America Forever — and something in it struck me. Not because it introduced any revolutionary new ideas (if you’ve been tapped into this world for any time at all, it’s mostly familiar ground) but because it carries this thread of hope. A kind of idealism. The belief that one position — the Presidency — could ignite a national shift in how we design, fund, and live in our cities.
That struck me because I know it’s not quite that simple.
Federal policy matters, yes, but it’s states that truly shape their urban centers; the feds either bolster or undermine them. We’ve seen it. Over and over again.
Still, the idea of making America livable again?
Yeah, I’m with that. Always.
Place Shapes Us
I’m invested in the intersection of person & place. Always have been.
Maybe it’s because I moved around a bunch growing up.
Our natural and built environments affect us in ways we rarely clock. Not just aesthetically, but psychologically, emotionally, even spiritually. You might not be thinking about urban design when you walk through your neighborhood — but your nervous system is. Your sense of safety is. Your ability to imagine a future is.
Your subconscious is taking it all in.
Does it hurt you when your favorite childhood playground becomes a parking lot? When that empty field you used to cut through after school gets bulldozed for a housing development full of identical homes owned by people who don’t even care about your city like you do? (Hi, gentrification 👋🏽)
There’s a word for that feeling: solastalgia.
The grief of watching a place that felt like home transform beyond recognition—not because you left, but because it did.
Urbanist, But Make It Homestead
I might not live in downtown Seattle anymore, but I still care deeply about how our towns and cities evolve. Probably even more-so now that I do live in a small town. What little remains of a natural, human rhythm is eroding day by day. And here’s a funny twist: I’m an urbanist who dreams of homesteading.
I want a plot of land to call my own: one to care for that cares for me back.
I want to grow my own food, move slowly, live wholesomely, care for my family and my home without being on top of another apartment block. But I also want access. To people. To culture. To infrastructure that respects the environment and builds for the collective good.
Will being near a city or a town I love take away from that dream?
I don’t think so. But balancing these desires — and tuning out the noise of what everyone else thinks is best — is not so easy.
The Heart of My Curiosity
My studies are in Community & Environmental Psychology, so none of this is hypothetical for me. It’s where my personal life and academic interests collide. I care about how people connect. How we belong. How we build. How we are influenced by the places we’re in — and how we influence them right back.
Urbanism, for me, is not just about walkable streets or train lines or zoning laws (although those matter, for sure). It’s about making sure we don’t forget what it feels like to live well.
To live together.
To live grounded in place — wherever that may be.
