The Transition Is The Hard Part, Revisited
Why do previous examples not break the cycle of discomfort-adjustment-enthusiasm?
I have an old pair of sneakers that are beginning to fall apart. They’re barely presentable to go out with, the soles are worn smooth so they’re extra slippery if it’s raining, and the upper is beginning to separate from the sole. In other words, it’s time to retire and replace them (I don’t throw my worn-out sneakers away; I keep them in the garage for garden work or something, but I don’t wear them out).
It never fails that when I first start wearing a new pair of sneakers, they’re uncomfortable. Nothing feels quite right; the toes, the fit, the tongue, the laces. I’m extremely aware that I’m wearing shoes, in that way you’re aware of uncomfortable weather or ill-fitting clothes. You just resist it.
And then, of course, after a short period of really not liking the new sneakers, they just become my sneakers, and I love them and keep them around until the soles are separating and worn thin. Rinse, repeat.
Yes, this is about NIMBYism.
I’m thinking about this question of why people resist developments that they end up liking, or at least not disliking, once they’re done? And why doesn’t the fact that this happens inspire NIMBY-ish folks to realize if that one ended up okay, this one probably will too?
It’s kind of like “try it, you’ll like it.” But it’s not even that, because you’ve basically tried it before. Why is that impulse to think “but this time will be different!” so damn hard to convince yourself out of?
I wrote about this here, following a book talk I attended featuring housing journalist Jerusalem Demsas:
One thing Demsas said is basically, if we build it you’ll like it. By which she means that a lot of the acrimony over development is about the unknown and the imagined, and not the end result itself. This is a really, really important point. In some ways, you could say, the public input process is not discerning NIMBYism but actually generating NIMBYism—because it makes the possibility of disruption loom large. The more you delay a change, and the more veto points and choke points you design into the system, the more going through with the change feels like a big deal….
Still, though, even with examples, a lot of people will default to “Well that one worked out okay, but the next one will be disruptive!” I previously wrote about the build-it-and-they-won’t-care point and the why-don’t-successful-examples-dispel-fear point. I basically think that once a thing exists it’s no longer looming, so instead of thinking “Well that thing I was unsure about turned out fine,” we just sort of stay in the “what exists is fine and what doesn’t exist I’m unsure about” mental space. There’s a reason I say that so much of urbanism is about understanding and resisting our own psychology.
My point with the sneakers analogy (or new clothing, or new anything) is that there is just inevitably this transition point where you’re getting used to a new thing, relearning your muscle memory, literally experiencing this thing as a frustrating imposition on your peace of mind and regular habits—and then it just all melts away. That frustration isn’t real in the sense of being an actual attribute of the thing, but it’s real to you. It is truly experienced. And yet, often, you don’t even remember the old way/thing, and going back to it would be just as uncomfortable as learning the new way was.
What we call NIMBYism is basically turning this psychological quirk of being human into a veto point in our political process. It’s something like a category error. If you applied “NIMBYism” to your wardrobe, you’d never replace stuff until it was all threadbare and worn out. But we don’t do that.
We do, however, apply that attitude to our built environment.
I don’t mean people should have no input, and I don’t mean that developers know what’s best for us. But somewhere between “you’ll learn to like it, shut up” and “build nothing new ever,” there’s an ability to perceive your own reactions as possibly not in keeping with either reality or with what they will be at a later date.
Once again, so much of urbanism is psychology.
Related Reading:
That Damned Elusive Parking Spot
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The sneakers give the answer.
Adjustment is a two-way process. Every organic relationship is constantly adjusting through two-way feedback.
Shoes adjust to your feet. Laces adjust to the arch, the insole dents where the foot bulges, the outer edge stretches in places.
A building or development adjusts to the desires and needs of its residents. Streets are vacated or added or widened, windows are altered, siding is repainted, rooms are added or subtracted.
This is an interesting phenomenon which is often true, but I would definitely not agree that people are necessarally okay with an existing development, or anything else that was once new. They might be fine with it after the fact, or not, but once a development has been built removing it is just no longer an option in this society under normal circumstances. Those who are most uncomfortable with existing developments are likely to leave an area, which is reflected in greater net domestic outmigration away from places like coastal California or New England.