The Invisible Struggle of City Living

Most days, the problem is not a lack of time. It is the amount of friction built into everyday life. A simple errand takes longer than it should. Getting from one place to another feels more tiring than expected. Even walking, something most of us do daily, can feel harder than it needs to be.

We usually accept this as normal city life. We adapt. We plan around it. We lower our expectations.

But these frictions are not inevitable. They are the result of choices.

Cities are not just collections of buildings and streets. They quietly shape how we move, how much energy we spend, and how we feel as we go about our day. They influence stress levels, daily routines, and even how often we cross paths with other people without planning to.

When daily life feels harder than it should, that discomfort is not random. It is a signal that something in the system is working against us.

Loneliness is a good place to start. We often talk about it as a personal or social issue, something individuals need to fix by trying harder or being more outgoing. Most of the time, people can sense that the built environment often works against connection.

Connection happens in places. Without serendipity, the chances to connect drop significantly. If there is nowhere to sit, people do not stop. If public spaces feel exposed, rushed, or uncomfortable, people move through them quickly. When buildings go straight from private doors to busy sidewalks, there is no room for informal interaction—no space for a brief pause or a casual exchange.

In many cities, we have removed the physical conditions that make low-effort connection possible, then act surprised when people feel isolated.

The same logic applies to stress. Poor design creates a constant, low-level energy drain that accumulates over time. It shows up in unreliable transit, walking conditions that demand constant attention, and public spaces that look appealing in photos but are not designed at a human scale.

Walking is the one mode of transport almost everyone uses, regardless of age or income. Yet in many Canadian cities, it is still treated as secondary. Snow, ice, wind, rain, narrow sidewalks, and uneven surfaces turn everyday trips into obstacles rather than routines. Over time, this friction changes behaviour. People walk less. They avoid small trips. Daily life and independence shrink, especially for children and aging people.

We also tend to overvalue private perks while underestimating the role of shared spaces. Balconies, views, and exclusive indoor amenities are often used as markers of quality of life by developers, but they do little to support daily life beyond the individual unit.

What shapes everyday experience far more are the common and public spaces we share. When public places are comfortable, sheltered, and welcoming, people use them. They linger. They return. They try to do activities there. Then they begin to recognize familiar faces, exchange a smile or a hello, and sometimes have a chat. Over time, they may even become friends. These simple yet powerful moments happen because the built environment invites people back.

When shared spaces are exposed, oversized, lacking greenery, or offering no reason to stay, it shows that they were designed without attention to how people actually use them. As a result, they remain empty. The problem is not a lack of interest; it is a failure to acknowledge human needs and wants during the design process.

None of this is accidental. Cities are not neutral outcomes. What feels normal today is the result of past decisions about speed, efficiency, and who cities are meant to serve. Over time, these decisions harden into habits, and habits start to feel inevitable.

But they are not.

If daily life feels harder than it should, it is because we designed it that way. It does not have to stay this way, since we can redesign cities to better serve people and daily life. One of the most effective ways to convince decision-makers and residents is to pilot changes—by making small, deliberate choices that remove friction instead of adding it.

The question is not whether better cities are possible. We already have plenty of examples showing they are.

The real question is why we continue to accept daily friction as the cost of urban life, even when it no longer makes sense.

That question sits at the heart of everything I explore here with More Than Streets. Join me in redefining what cities can be.