Why we’ve lost the art of lingering
First person stories, from Gaza to Cape Town (Issue #341)
In last week’s newsletter, highlighted a recent study about the decline of lingering in American cities. And as a New Yorker, this idea is close to my heart: Just as I’m always looking for ways to pursue boredom, I love opportunities to enjoy a city without having to, say, pay $6 for a matcha latte.
The study that Carly cited had me wondering why we’ve lost the art of lingering — and how our cities have been designed to deter it. In New York, for example, libraries have been defunded, and commercial real estate seems to be the city’s biggest priority. Sitting quietly in the park often feels like an act of resistance.
Other developments have also made cities less inviting, and even hostile. As has written, Hostile Architecture — design elements like uncomfortable benches and spikes — has filled cities and public spaces. These design elements deter unhoused people from sleeping in view of, say, shoppers at a mall. While they make the world inhospitable to the most vulnerable, they also make public space less accessible to those in need of rest, and they make lingering far less likely. “I remember more places having benches,” York writes, “and I couldn’t remember when they were taken away.”
These articles made me think of a new publication called Third Place Zine, which celebrates “communal settings distinct from home (the first place) and work (the second place).” In the inaugural issue, Jen Louie writes about Columbus Park in New York’s Chinatown, which “offers a symphony of micro-interactions and physical activities that illustrate the vibrant sensation of our humanity, both personal and shared.” Louie lovingly describes the park as “chaotic,” a word I imagine the designers of hostile architecture don’t love. It reminded me of Samuel Delany’s idea of “contact” vs. “networking”: “networking” is the act of meeting up with people you already know: going to dinner with friends or lunch with coworkers, for example. “Contact” is the random, repeated interaction between strangers of different backgrounds that leads to sharing resources and creating a communal safety net.
To my ear, “contact” and “lingering” and a park’s “symphony of micro-interactions” all share a similar energy. They gesture towards what the best cities offer: novelty, community, and interactions between strangers in an invigorating, lively, accessible environment.
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Highlights from first-person stories this month
“To survive a suicide attempt is to become a ghost in your own life. You move through the world with the knowledge that death is a door you’ve already opened, and now it never quite shuts.”
— writing about life in the aftermath, in What Happens If You Live the Next Day After a Suicide Attempt?
“One day, my father took me and my two sisters to try our luck at a bakery. The women’s queue was often shorter, often faster. But when we arrived, the bakery was suffocatingly packed — people shoving, jostling, and shouting. Fists flew as some tried to snatch loaves from each other.”
— writing about trying to find food in Gaza as famine looms, in Famine, Fear, and the Fight for Bread
“I’m not going to play small just because the world is big. But don’t just take it from me: consider this African proverb that says, ‘When death comes to find you, may it find you alive.’”
—Laura Katie Jackson writing about revisiting the scene of her assault in When the victim becomes the victor
Your daily dose of practical wisdom on choosing wisely
Real freedom isn’t the absence of consequences, it’s the power to choose which consequences you’re willing to live with. ()
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