WHEN I watch big, contentious building projects work their way through government and public consultation, I'm often reminded of a saying from one of history's greatest urban planners: "Misery is clinging to that which changes."
OK, maybe that was the Buddha.
I'm likely on very thin ice here already, seeing as most North Shore residents, by and large, are pretty fond of their earthly pleasures.
Enlightenment is all well and good, but an unobstructed view, well, that's nirvana.
Writing countless stories about countless storeys really should have numbed me by now. But I'm still a little taken aback at the anxiety and anger that flares up in neighbourhoods when someone suggests a new building could be a bit taller than the one it replaces, whether it's the nascent hysteria surrounding the renewal of Ambleside or the handwringing over a series of recent projects in Central Lonsdale.
Part of this is the universal human trait of believing that your own arrival in a new place made it perfect, but everyone else's arrival after that only made it worse. It's easy to forget you were ever a newcomer yourself. I particularly enjoy people living in new highrises complaining about losing part of their view to a newer tower.
Several city residents, and one councillor, have warned me darkly that if this Lonsdale trend continues, soon the city's core will wind up "like the West End."
Sweet merciful God, no! Forgive my blasphemous sarcasm, but these End of Days scenarios don't arouse much terror in me. Vancouver's West End, as it happens, is where I grew up.
Something I often hear during these end-is-nigh pronouncements is that a single-family house with a yard and as few neighbours as possible is the ideal venue to raise a child. So let me share a little of my experiences as a child in that hell of concrete and steel just a short ferryboat ride away from here.
For starters, I never had a yard, front or back. A pitifully tiny balcony was the closest thing my family came to owning outdoor property.
But in all the apartments we lived in over the years - and there were a few - I was never more than a couple of minutes walk from a park. As well as being far bigger than anyone's yard, it was mowed by someone else, had playground equipment and, as often as not, I'd run into a bunch of my school friends there and some tag or soccer or hastily conceived game involving running would ensue.
I never had anything approaching a view from any window of my home, apart from the building across the street or the back of that drycleaners. Mind you, a lot of people richer than us must have had their own view, judging by the number of windows you can see from the North Shore. But again, we were still only minutes from several beaches with spectacular views that were A) free and B) never going to get blocked by a new tower.
We knew our neighbours to the left and right, above and below. Not everyone in the building, but how many people know every person on their block?
I walked to and from school every day of my school years, from kindergarten to grad. I can say this with confidence because my parents didn't own a car. They didn't give a hoot about exercise or the environment. Yes, we could have afforded one, but we just didn't need one. We walked to all the stores, parks, beaches, schools and friends' homes. If it was a bit far, we'd take the bus or the occasional taxi. It's a habit I've never lost and I'm healthier and wealthier for it.
Was parking hard to find? Famously, and it still is. I've seen the prospect of parking in the West End push many an ardent autoholic onto public transit. It's a beautiful thing.
Was traffic really congested? Not really, actually, and it's still not that bad today, unless you're trying to get across the Lions Gate Bridge.
Before I sound too preachy I should add: I was walking by my old high school the other day and got unreasonably upset that the old 7-Eleven I used to frequent had been knocked down and a much bigger, more modern 7-Eleven built in its place. So I get it, change pushes my buttons too.
Now I'm not saying we should be lining Lonsdale with skyscrapers, or sprinkling apartment
blocks through North Vancouver willy-nilly. Density should be planned deliberately and placed in appropriate areas. But many of the fears attached to new density are overstated. Densely populated neighbourhoods work differently than single-family-house ones, and I say amenities enjoyed publicly are at least as rewarding as those cherished in private.
Besides, people are coming. Metro Vancouver estimates 157,000 new arrivals will make their homes on the North Shore over the next 30 years. Do we try to stop them and succeed only in letting the wealthiest drive away young families and seniors? Or do we have a variety of neighbourhoods that make room for a diverse population of young and old, employer and employee?
Change is unavoidable, and clinging to that old Polaroid of how things used to look will only make us miserable.
