leo burghaus

Public transport is great. A system to move thousands of people fast, safely, and reliably is a marvelous human feat. At times, it is also dystopian. The present silence and the long faces characterize the masses using it to go to work. People might not be unhappy, but they look like they are. Everyone is in their own world, alone with whatever emotion they might be feeling at that time: tiredness, annoyance, excitement, interest, or anguish. Not that this should change: I love my me-time on public transport. I can read, or think, or complain to myself that I went to sleep that late. Another option for me is to observe my fellow commuters and ask myself what goes on in their heads.

This last question often expands to the rest of the citizens of the city. We make the city what it is, with our walking, speaking, visiting, transporting. Most people we see, then, become part of the city, rather than individuals. Of course, we never think of ourselves as just one more cog, because we know ourselves. We also don’t think that way about our friends. But the vast majority of people who see us on any given day never categorize us as ourselves, but as part of something. Part of the city, part of everyday life. Just in the same way we do with them. But this also means that we must have a shared experience with all these strangers. If we’re all part of the same clockwork, we also experience the clock working from the inside. It goes without saying that how we experience it will be very different between people; but we still experience it together.

And so you get millions of people experiencing life in Barcelona, and extra millions living in Jakarta, and extra millions in Mexico City… mounting to the billions of people living in cities worldwide. This experience is extraordinary. It is characterized by the fast pace, by the big buildings, by the infinite opportunities: of people to meet, of leisure, of work. Cities are where things happen, where dreams come true, where everyone is. Most of us get called to the cities when young: we want to explore and live it. We come for a better education or better work opportunities, and often stay longer than we planned. Because, in the end, city life has many unique appeals and enjoyments.

But it also has a way of devouring us. Here long enough, and the days become too short: we have jobs, we do sports, we see friends, we have dates, we have hobbies, we have weekends outside the city, we commute, we explore restaurants, we go to events… We want to do everything, like everyone else in the city – and we end up rushing. Rushing is, I believe, one of the most characteristic traits of city life: rushing from one place to another to be where you have to (or want to) be. It creates an inherent busyness in us, hard to escape. Not because it is toxic, but because it is necessary if one wants to do everything.

This creates the necessity to sacrifice: you either sacrifice seeing people, or exercising, or cooking, or your hobbies… Every week becomes less an exercise in what to do, and more in what not to do. This is also not inherently wrong: we only have a very short time on this earth and not enough of it to do everything we would want to—it’s implicit in our human condition. Nonetheless, these everyday choices we make still take a toll on us.
All these decisions we have to make on an everyday basis (about which of the opportunities the city gives us we should choose) weigh on us and, together with the rush of our days, create another characteristic element of city life: escape.

Escape intensifies in cities. Everyone needs it, longs for it. It is very rare to find people who don’t have some type of coping mechanism. These escapes are not even extreme: most people manage not to be impeded by them on a daily basis. They have high-performing careers, are healthy, and manage a rich social life. But no matter the person, they all have a shelter they need to get to in order to cope with their demanding city life. It can be scrolling, smoking, drinking, eating. But it can also be pushing their bodies to the limit on a weekly basis with exercise, or meeting people every chance they get, or spending the weekends outside the city. Of course, escape is not unique to city life. But in our cement-bubbles, it becomes almost a necessity to have a way of dealing with the demands of everyday life.

This environment creates in us a confrontation with existentialism, even without us being aware of it. People get caught in their everyday life in a way that almost strips them of their individuality – even if we’re able to find jobs we like, hobbies to enjoy, and people we want to hang out with. Every day, we get caught by a wave that carries us through the day. The wave also carries the other millions of people that share our day-to-day. It is a wave you can’t ignore; it is there every day. You can choose to ride it with grace. You can surf it with fun. And some days, you can even decide not to ride it – but most days, the wave strips much of your control away.

And maybe this is the main reason why escape from the city is so important for most of us. Because we give much of our control of life away in the day-to-day, it is necessary for us to establish some decisions – even if they are not always the sanest ones. Regardless of whether these choices are healthy (weekend trips to nature, going for runs, speaking with people you love) or unhealthy (drinking every second day, overeating, or digital distractions), it is the city-person’s way of reclaiming their own liberty, their own choices.

It is the existentialist manifestation of: “I have not given up the power of my own life, I still exist, and I am able to make my own decisions.” As irony has it, often these decisions are taken for us without us realizing it – but that’s a topic for another day.