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The notability of a street

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:Notability_(streets_and_roads)

Wikipedia has a page that is dedicated to the guidelines for wiriting a wikipedia entry for a street that might be considered notable. The entry states: “All Wikipedians agree that there cannot be an article about every little side street in the world.” Using this as a criteria for a street’s notability seems to me to be flawed. It continues: “ A side street or small road divided by a yellow line that is contained to one area and is not close to being the "main" road in the area is generally not notable. Exceptions are if the street plays some role in popular culture (such as being the location of a major news event or is featured in a movie), or is the subject of some highly notable writing.”

Comparing different cities, it would be interesting to know what percentage of the total number of streets has a Wikipedia entry. If the architecture of a city is celebrated but not the streets its buildings sit on, how can architecture be considered the most appropriate lense for analysing the interactions between humans in a given place.

I live on King George Street in Perth, the lifestyle of which I deeply enjoy, despite the city and its surrounds often seeming to lack a real soul. I am very proud that King George is one of the most culturally diverse streets I have come across since moving to Perth, and this characteristic gives the street an energy that I seldom find elsewhere here. Depite my earlier comment on architecture, it is King George’s architecture that to a large extent contributes to this energy. Most of its buildings appear to be from the middle of the last century, and it is my guess that they may have been intended for lower-income residents when they were first built. Some of these buildings have external staircases, wbich allows residents to more easily observe what is happening on the streets below. Children play. Men and women converse. South Asians, Africans, Europeans, South Americans... this melange is refreshing. Despite these being what I would consider to be notable characteristics, it seems that King George hasn’t been given the tribute that it deserves.

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Perth federal public sector employees gather for a cross-agency quiz night on Thursday, September 19, 2019; the day before the largest student climate strike yet.

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Everyday encounters

Serendipitous encounters are one of the things that give me the most pleasure in life. They spring up on you when you least expect them and if you listen closely, there’s always a nugget of wisdom hidden within to guide you through whatever challenges you might be facing at the time.

Organisations and designers invest tremendous resources into deciphering the recipe for spontaneous collaboration. They ask themselves whether a break-out area might foster encounters between strangers; if an open-plan office will encourage the sharing of ideas across teams. Perhaps they have heat maps set up so that they can analyze how people use space and where they’re most likely to interact. Although there is some legitimacy to these efforts, random encounters start with curiosity. Are you willing to take the plunge and sit down next to someone you don’t know? Do you derive inspiration and draw energy from talking to people and imagining possibilities? Are some people beneath you whilst others are more deserving of your time and respect? More importantly than re-imagining the spatial layout of an office, which is to a large extent exterior facing and an artificial manifestation of how people are supposed to feel working there, how can an organisation foster curiosity and a thirst for the answers that lay within other people?

All fast-growing "community building" organisations that depart with the ambition of maximising their scale seem to ultimately lose every single ounce of their authenticity. They never seem to be designed to tap into rank-and-file inspiration and creativity. They have a way of doings, are often ravaged with nepotism, and expect foot soldiers to execute without speaking up. Those with any semblance of power dread the thought of giving any of it up, even if evolution is likely in the best interests of the organisation. It’s tragic to see the wasted brilliance of an organisation’s employees; its constituents.

The vast majority of us don't seem to be fortunate enough to do something we love; to make a life and not just a living. No where do tasks seem more mind-numbing than in a call center, where one spends every moment of the day being monitored by suspicious management. Perhaps you studied theater in university. Maybe you trained overseas to become an engineer but haven’t been able to transfer your qualifications. There you sit, your person, your screen and your headphone-connected telephone more closely watched than in any other profession. Day in and day out you clock in and out with virtually no flexibility. These are the working class jobs of our age, and across the board they have been outsourced, casualized, and automated for decades.

The other day I was reading about an organisation that’s raised tens of millions of dollars to help organisations engage with their employees and source feedback through surveys. How many organizations are actually committed to consultation? At what size does this become unfeasible? Employers demand undivided loyalty yet are so quick to pull the trigger on employees who are falling behind.

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Today I’m feeling...

Lost and confused. I’m beating myself up for decisions I made years ago, I’m mourning the loss of communities I once belonged to, and I’m feeling pessimistic about my future. I can identify the precise moment that triggered my shift in mood. It stemmed from a conversation that took place 24 hours ago. How silly of me to waste my time, energy and mood on negativity, longing, and jealousy. If I’m being honest, this trigger was very small in scale and is completely undeserving of the attention I have devoted to it. Nonetheless, its ripple effect has plagued my thoughts. Most importantly, by giving it importance I’m undermining the hard work I’ve put in over months: eating healthily, doing lots of exercise, looking after my mental health, being a good colleague, putting money into my savings account. That which I’m feeling now will, of course, be short-lived, but I need to work on being more patient and compassionate with myself, and attaching less importance to my emotions.

“Sometimes we get what we want right away. At other times, we wonder if our desires will ever be fulfilled.

We will be fulfilled in the best way possible and as quickly as possible. But some things take time. Sometimes, we have lessons to learn first, lessons that prepare us so we can accept the good we deserve. Things are being worked out in us, and in others. Blocks in us are being removed. A solid foundation is being laid.

Be patient. Relax and trust. Let go. Then, let go some more. Good things are planned for us. We will receive them at the first available moment. We will have all our heart longs for.

Relax and trust.”

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Weekend excursions

Over the last couple of weeks I’ve gotten a lot of pleasure out of hiking around Perth. There are wonderful places to walk here, be it in the hills or closer to the coast, and many of the national parks where these trails are located are scattered throughout the metro area. 

This past weekend we visited Ellis Brook Valley Reserve, and the week before that we went to Walyunga National Park. Ellis Brook is about 30 minutes south-east of the river heading towards Armadale. In a number of different places there were signs indicating that the reserve had been devastated by Dieback Disease, a soil-born water mold that causes plant roots to rot. These signs were accompanied by shoe-cleaning stations like the self-service ones you sometimes see in hotels, only with brushes that had much thicker bristles. These were to prevent visitors from bringing outside soil into the reserve. Our trail cut across an escarpment and in the distance we could see Perth’s skyline. Dieback has visibly killed many plants, although the plant life that has survived continues to be stunning. Since the landscape there was more arid than on walks we’ve done elsewhere the flora was somewhat different, and included Western Australian mistletoe and grasstrees.

As we approach Spring, we’re beginning to see more and more wild flowers blossom, bringing shrubs to life with patches of color that glisten in the sun. In Walyunga (45 minutes north-east of the river) the weekend before last a brook ran alongside the path we were on, its strong current nourished by the heavy rainfall in recent weeks. The heath above was interspersed with yellow clouds of wattle. After following the river for some time, our path cut upwards. It then came back along a hill-face with views of the city, which sat on the horizon. The view of the city was similar to in Ellis Brook, although the vantage point was on the other side of the river. 

On both occasions we were in Perth Hills, and both excursions served as a reminder of how spread out the Perth metro area is. You drive through suburbs and speculative developments pretty much right up to the entrance of these national parks. If you look at a map of the metro area, you notice that the city’s entire eastern demarcation is made up of a series of national parks that runs north to south: Gnagara-moore River State Forrest, Walyunga National Park, John Forrest National Park, Beelu National Park, Greenmount State Forrest, Mundaring State Forrest... the list goes on and on. People here might be very attached to their cars and suburban lifestyles, but it’s reassuring to know that so many parks exist to preserve the land and Western Australia’s unrivaled flora and fauna. Establishing national parks obviously isn’t enough though. People at work, born and raised in Perth, describe how it used to be colder here in the winter; that it would rain more. Winter rainstorms here might seem aggressive to the newcomer, but it gets so hot and dry here in the summer. The thought of the land sitting unquenched, disrupting this area’s delicate seasonal cycle, is tragic. The explosion of wildflowers in the spring, and our scorching hot summer, require heavy rainfall in the winter.  There needs to be balance.

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The morning commute

I managed to make it onto the 8:35 bus this morning. I walked out the front gate of my building at 8:33 and when my timing is that close things can go either way. There’s no harsher wake-up call than missing the bus on your first day back from leave. On this occasion luck is on my side.

No time of the day is more closely self-monitored than my preparation to head out the door on my way to work in the morning. The alarm rings at 7. Can I afford to hit snooze for another 15? It’s 8:03. I’d better get in the shower if I want to make the 8:35 bus and be first through the door at 8:55. Living in the city is all about making an impression, and the impression I make as I walk into work on Monday morning is key to my outlook on the rest of the week.

Car? Bike? Walk? Whenever possible I opt for the bus. Sometimes it feels like there’s no place I’d rather be. My morning commute is a 25-minute window that’s just for me. Sometimes I’ll strike up a conversation. Mostly I read. On other occasions I slip into the habit of most of my fellow commuters and stare down at my phone. When I look up I catch a glimpse of the morning sun-soaked Swan as we cruise up the reserved bus lane on The Causeway. I truly feel content and relaxed as the bus rolls into Perth’s CBD.

Part of the beauty of riding the bus at a consistent time every day is that you quickly begin to notice familiar faces and the habits of your fellow commuters. Such details aren’t ever interesting enough to share with your partner when you get home at night, but they nurture your sense of belonging. The fact that you notice such details in the first place feels like a bit of an inside joke you hold with yourself. “Well isn’t that person running late this morning.” “You don’t normally sit there.” “I haven’t seen them in a while.”

On the 72 bus a husband and wife hop on with their son and daughter most mornings.They’re always well dressed and could be of Persian origins. You can tell by the way they interact and huddle together that the love runs deep in their family. The children might be twins, and appear to be about 10 years old. Sometimes only the father gets on with the children and on other occasions it’s the mother. After two or three stops the parents kiss each other goodbye and the father gets off with the kids in front of Vic Park Primary School. The mother stays on as we continue our journey into the city.

Although I’ve never spoken to the members of this family, on occasion we acknowledge each other with a smile. This dynamic plays an important role in forging community in a non-invasive way. Sometimes you hear people from small towns talk about their craving for anonymity. Going to the market means having to speak to 15 different people. How are the kids? Did you hear about so-and-so? Riding the bus means existing as an individual but engaging with the collective movement of the city. I follow the lead of those who have exited the bus before me: “Thank you, driver. Have a nice day.”

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Remembering our trek in Rinjani National Park, Lombok last week. Notice the active volcano in the foreground and the crater that’s demarcated by the mountains in the distance.

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Seger Beach

It was our final morning on Lombok, Indonesia and we were spending it on one of the Kuta-area’s quieter beaches. The commercial nous of many of the people, young and old, we encountered in Lombok had impressed and entertained me from the beginning. As in most places that draw tourists we were quickly approached, on this occasion by a school girl selling bracelets and an assortment of other crafts.

We had already politely declined the advances of a number of sellers on our walk from the scooter parking area to the beach. “You’re from Canada. Capital city is Ottawa. Later you buy something. Promise, OK?” The easiest way to respond to such advances, I found, as witty and irresistible as they might be, was with humor. “It’s an absolute pleasure to see you smiling today too, my friend. What’s the capital of Argentina? Poland? Can you list the five biggest cities in the United States?”

It was unclear how their labor was organised. The group of children from the parking area would follow us for a little while and drop off at the bridge leading over to the beach, as if their zone of operation was demarcated. “Who is it you work for?”, I asked on one occasion. A woman, perhaps 15-years their senior, swooped in with a scripted answer: “Everyone works for themselves.”

The girl we met on Seger was more persistent than most. After her attempt with bracelets she returned a few minutes later, this time with a fresh coconut. When she saw that our answer hadn’t changed, with a dejected look on her face she turned around and walked off. Although little older than 10, she had a certain authority to her, solidified by her bright red bold-striped pants. She returned again with a small, ripe-looking pineapple a few minutes later, which she offered to juice. “Don’t forget that you’re sitting in my shade.”