In the rhythm of errands and chance encounters, streets offer more than transit—they host a choreography of connection and meaning. Other places also connect, but in more predictable ways.

Cities get a sometimes-deserved bad press, while we forget about the many good things that urban and semi-urban environments bring to people and their (rather optimistic) view of the future.

Many solitary authors seem to have used random interactions in urban spaces as a way to keep their sanity and sense of belonging. The street is more than a place to drive by.

For young families raising children, the street can be a linear (and safe) playground, a mobile café, or a place where things happen: a couple of neighbors stop to chat, somebody on a bicycle goes by, a silent delivery van stops by…look, there’s the mailman. If one walks by in the morning, some houses seem to have maintained a habit from another time, and get the paper delivered.

Not long ago, when pervasive conveniences like screens and modern HVAC systems had yet to arrive and didn’t keep people indoors for most of the day, streets served as extensions of the living room—especially after World War II, when strollers outnumbered sedans by several factors, and children played together (that is, outside school or structured activities and sports, which is all that is left nowadays).

Geography of adjacent goodness

Those who wander through the pleasant streets of a not-too-stressed urban environment know that walking with kids (by “walking” I mean wandering—or Thoreau-sauntering; that is, not “rushing to get somewhere and ‘park’ your kid in some activity” while keeping up the rat race) is a way of “speaking” to the city.

One takes pauses to allow for serendipitous adventures, enters stores, meets other parents, discovers spaces to linger with trees and water, and stitches oneself into the social fabric. In other words, one “becomes” optimistic about the fabric of society amid the doom mentality of, say, older and more isolated people with no children at home anymore.

Many authors have argued that the stranger’s presence in the city can be a source of stimulation and possible connection, not fear or mere competition for resources (the Spencerian “survival of the fittest” that so many seem to like now).

Other people can be a source of stimulation, novelty, and kindness. And when that’s not the case, perhaps we can step up and be that source for others. Whether a musician in the plaza or a fellow parent offering directions, urban life teaches families that humanity can be found in the everyday unexpected.

Can you do this in a tight-night suburban or rural community? Absolutely. Only, your interactions will be more predictable and homogeneous, serving more as a sign of politeness than as an opportunity to discover and grow.

To some people, tight-knit communities are ideal for raising kids since they are stable, peaceful, and adapted to a way of experiencing everyday life that involves more car errands and less interaction with others. To each their own.

To those who, like us, suddenly noticed that their kids are now autonomous teenagers (more inclined to explore the world on their own), another stage in life opens, one where our children become our conversation peers, sometimes leading us to the interesting discoveries that we curated for them not long ago. And boy, does that make us proud.

A day of bicycle errands

I was thinking about all this on my way home after taking many errands. Firstly, I headed to the high school our kids attend to be a proctor (helping the coordinator set the Chinese and Latin exams from the International Baccalaureate—IB program—) for the final tests, as one of the parents volunteering to help things go smooth; then, I headed to the dentist; finally, I biked to a a few other places, doing everything I wanted and getting some spring sun in between.

Today, I was asked one question at the dentist’s office: Of all the places you’ve lived in, which one do you like best? An elderly, vivacious African American lady who complimented me on my glasses told me about her compromised health while we were waiting for our respective appointments. It was a beautiful day out, so that was her entry point to begin the conversation. I also appreciated that the place’s waiting room had its charming old-school windows open to the delightful day out, and life felt fine partly because of that.

I asked her about her leg. She had a cumbersome prosthesis on one of her legs and crutches leaning on the armchair, but that happened to be what “you can see.” She had undergone surgery several times and had both hip joints replaced simultaneously in a single procedure, which led to a long period of rehabilitation and physical therapy. When I asked about the recovery, she rolled her eyes.

She asked where I was from, given my accent, which led to the places our kids had lived before relocating to the US. Finally, her question: Which place was the best to live in? “I honestly don’t know,” I told her, and I wasn’t lying. I finally answered what I thought was most pertinent and true: “I think we’ve managed to live in the places that suited us best for the age of our kids.”

“What do you mean?” She asked. I explained that I loved how easy it was in Europe when they were young, but also how flexible and enriching the last formative years before higher education could be; students can pick among more subjects and levels of engagement, and access to sports and extracurriculars is quite impressive.

She was kind and seemed to understand. She could have asked about housing affordability or politics, but perhaps we both wanted to keep the conversation in an uplifting direction.

The wanderer and his shadow

During my conversation with the gentle stranger at the dentist, I not only learned about the existence of double hip replacement, but also about the power of strangers’ kindness, which should be cherished in an era when society leaders tell us (against their supposed ultra-Christian beliefs) to be afraid of thy neighbor, a zero-sum, fence-him-off-while-you-can attitude.

When we take the time to engage in a casual conversation with a stranger, we’re building something that makes places more inviting and less alienating. Perhaps because I had been asked about quality of life, I went about the day as if I were a New Journalism reporter following the subject of the story, only in this case, the subject and reporter are the same person.

Neither the reporter nor I can complain about a personally busy day in town: living in a relatively urban environment where things are close by, and the weather is almost always quite pleasant. I could bike from place to place, mainly on flat terrain. Not bad, I thought as I cruised quiet streets on a dedicated bike lane.

That this is happening in Northern California means that, to be able to bike to several appointments within a few miles of distance from each other, I live in the San Francisco Bay Area; if I’m saying it’s all fairly flat, it can’t be San Francisco; if the distance between appointments is a short bike ride, it most likely can’t be south of the city in most of the so-called Silicon Valley, where distances are bigger.

What’s left is the East Bay, not quite “the city” (except, say, in central Oakland) but dense enough to find anything you can think of at a short distance, which can create pleasant daily experiences like the one I’m explaining.

Do what you have to do on a busy day (dentist, store, post office, vibrant café, public library, specialty book store, niche store, you name it) and do it by bike, using almost always streets where either it feels save to share space with spare cars, or one can use bike lanes for miles at a time.

This isn’t everything, but being able to have a nice day while getting things done and avoiding the car is one of the things that make median-density urban environments appealing to many people: you can still have the space of a detached home (that is: if you can afford it), but you aren’t renouncing to city amenities and don’t have to travel for miles and miles to get to a local “main street” (traditional mixed-use street with people walking and sitting at cafés, stores, and some low-rise living arrangements) or a newly-constructed and concentrated commercial area.

The places we’ve lived

When living in dense places where mixed-use urbanism is the norm, like any midsized or big European city, one can usually pack the day with work and all sorts of activities within walking distance, so sometimes not even a bicycle or taking the metro is necessary.

There’s, of course, one caveat: you experience Paris intra-muros or the city center of Rome, Madrid, etc. by living in much less space and in usually more polluted and potentially stressful (though improving) environments. And yes, not everybody can afford to live in the center of Paris or any other appealing city.

That’s why, while I was biking today, I was reflecting on how fortunate we are that, while our children are still at home (and therefore, we depend on school districts and proximity to activities to make their life—and ours—easier and more enjoyable), we have been able to try different urban situations, making them all work for us.

From older to newer living experiences: we started our life as a family in the medieval center of a big city (Barcelona), then the same city’s calmer grid towards the hills (calmer, wealthier, and where schools cluster), then a small but vibrant-enough town (mixed-use friendly Fontainebleau one hour south of Paris), then the bourgeois-bohemian 9th Arrondissement of Paris (the young and chic neighborhood), then the very-centric and perhaps too touristy 5th Arrondissement of Paris (which we enjoyed anyway and was closer to our older daughter’s school back then, Collège Montaigne).

We experienced all the aforementioned environments when our children were very young: as toddlers and young kids in Barcelona, as Elementary School kids in Fontainebleau, as pre-teens in Paris, and finally to finish Middle School and High School in the San Francisco Bay Area. We mainly lived in apartments while in Europe, with the exception of Fontainebleau, where we rented an old townhouse in the vernacular Franciliène style, and we’ve only lived in detached homes since we arrived in Northern California.

However, of all these places, only one (and not quite) didn’t feel urban enough to allow us to have schools, activities, and any errands of ours within, say, a thirty-minute bicycle ride (or a ten-minute public transportation ride).

Places to live in the past and to live in the future

If cars aren’t quite a family institution in many places, it is for a reason. That said, among the many living arrangements we’ve had so far, the one we currently enjoy seems to fit our kids’ respective ages and needs to expand their physical and intellectual world: they have more space and a backyard they sometimes use, they can bike to school or most activities, and even if it feels suburban in many ways, as it’s a mainly single-family housing environment with plenty of greenery and space, they are “in the city,” or at least in one idea of urban-suburban world pervasive in California and many parts of the US.

This environment, which is a train ride away from San Francisco (BART), benefits from a world-class university (UC Berkeley) and many diverse and competitive school districts (Berkeley, Albany, etc.), isn’t perfect but gets closer if one’s really looking at making children experience the real world and not a gated, segregated community. There’s, however, one big caveat: very few young families can afford to live in the desired school districts.

There are two places I haven’t mentioned among the ones we’ve lived as a family, perhaps because they represent a side of us that hasn’t evolved enough yet, though we sense that we’ll get there. Right before COVID hit, we bought a fixer-upper one hour south of Barcelona, in a medieval hamlet over a hill with a castle on top, surrounded by an old reservoir, protected Mediterranean forests, and wine country (as a part of the Penedès valley, an area where grapes, olive trees, and wheat, the “triad” of the region, were already there in Roman times). We fixed it with the help of a local architect and his friend, a carpenter, and from that collaboration, we became friends.

Our intention is to use our country house as a family reunion home, somewhere not far from our kids’ grandparents, and hence a part of their experience and identity. We hope that, in the future, some or all of us will crash there with extended family and friends for a few moments every year, to share memories and things to come. If this doesn’t happen, it’s no tragedy—we’ll find a use for it. Perhaps a place to go to when we need, at times, a place to spend a few weeks or months at a time when creative or family endeavors demand it.

The other project is even more in the making: recently, we decided to make a move and buy a few acres of unincorporated land in the mountains of Idaho and see what happens in the future. Perhaps it can be an ideal place to build something light on the land, not too big nor expensive, a cabin of sorts to allow for sporadic visits, as a family and individually. The place isn’t too far from wilderness landmarks and a ski area where Kirsten lived for a year growing up.

A viable idea of the wilderness

Rural areas have an appeal that cities don’t while thriving urban areas are more costly but offer access to education and activities for young families raising children. However, as our children grow, we also got to rediscover the beauty of “destination” rural areas: places where you go as an easy portal to access nature and the outdoor lifestyle we enjoy.

Rural areas—and many suburban ones—can also be safer and quieter, although safety and well-being often go hand in hand with places where opportunities abound (that is, near or in cities). Many problems associated with urban settings are actually decreasing in thriving urban areas (after a COVID spike) while growing in many suburban and rural environments. So, things become more nuanced the more one studies the pros vs. cons of urban or semi-urban living as opposed to rural setups. Return-to-work policies will likely increase this trend.

As kids prepare to go to college, family homes become a place to come back to, though it’s never quite the same again. Bachelors are looking ahead, and we should be happy that they want to set their own mark in this world. It’s then that destination setups start having a new meaning, serving as powerful catalysts for family cohesion.

This is especially the case in families with several children, some of whom are still at home and see their older siblings set for college. They also see how family routines are disrupted, and reunions around places and activities are a great way to celebrate all things past, but especially all the things ahead.

The asymmetry of bliss

I mentioned before that gentle semi-urban places with diverse and thriving school districts are unfortunately too expensive for many families to rent, let alone if they want to buy a home. And, when you can’t buy or rent a primary home, you’ll likely lack the ability to get a cabin or home somewhere in the countryside.

Fortunately, we can get the most out of having recurrent family reunions somewhere inspiring (creating a seasonal ritual and a sense of place for everyone) without needing to buy or rent the place long-term. I say this because some people around me—say, my mother-in-law—always managed to keep good friends throughout their lives, and the ones who did better were so kind as not to forget their extensive relations.

So, when a bunch of us in the family started forming our own families and babies were aplenty (a moment where lack of sleep and helicoptering makes it especially enticing to get some assistance from the wise elder), those friends always offered her the most beautiful places one can imagine, some of whom were in the middle of the wilderness, for a family reunion that wasn’t theirs to happen.

And, by knowing that people they cared about were enjoying a few days of bliss, they got something meaningful for themselves in return.