Space and Time in a Child's Mind

It seems obvious to me that the character of Neil in A Tourist's Guide to Glengarry cannot comprehend life outside of his neighbourhood. Or at least not yet. But that's how it is when you're a kid. Everything is smaller. Have you ever gone back to your elementary school and noticed that the water fountains are more or less at your knees, or that you can easily press your entire palm on the ceilings, or that you can easily dunk on the basketball nets in the gym?

For me, all of these were true, but what is most alarming is the distance between my school and my house. In elementary, and moreso in junior high, I would sometimes walk to school, but it was a rare occurrence. I remember the distance being completely unconquerable on foot. When I did walk -- and keep in mind this was before the days of mp3 -- I spent the entire excruciating journey whining out of sheer frustration and boredom. How dare my parents make me walk miles and miles to school!

The funny thing is, the distance isn't really that far. At all. I can more or less see my elementary from my house, and make it there in 5 minutes if I walk semi-fast. My junior high was a little bit farther, but still only took me 15 minutes max.

To me, there is nothing more interesting in the science of cognition than the different between the brain of the child and the adult. Excluding the obvious differences of knowledge, thought, etc, the real mystery is the evolution of one's concept of space and time as we grow older. As a 12 year old, a fifteen minutes feels like hours, and five blocks feels like thirty. Now, these times and distances feel like tiny steps now that we have knowledge not only the entire city, but the world at large.

My question to all of you is, do you remember walking these (apparently) ridiculously long distances as a child, only to go back and realize that they're not so long after all?

New Urbanism

I've kind of had a weird relationship with nature as I've grown up, really. If anybody remember back to the first few classes where we drew out a map of our childhood, you may remember me mentioning the off-limits farmers field so very close to my house. Well, that place epitomized nature for me for the first ten years of my life.
Nature, to me back then, was this unobtainable fenced-off oblivion where mysterious and fantastical things happened. I can still perfectly see miniature self looking through the chain link fence and the simultaneous senses of fear and wonder that it brought me. This all seems very prison-esque, now that I'm typing it out, but I assure you it wasn't. The neighbourhood that I lived was no prison, but a safe haven from the mysterious on the other side of the fence.
The farmer's field was only one side of the area that I lived. Luckily, we had a small forest not too far away. It's gone now, and houses have taken it's place, but I can still remember it perfectly as well. It was dank, it was dense, it was (at the time) so very infinite. It was where all of the action happened; the childhood kisses, the pranks, the parties, the prepubescent shenanigans. Then it was clear cut for houses. Heartbreaking.

I guess this might explain my lack of connection with nature. It's always been the 'thing' on the other side of the fence, or the 'thing' that was in the way of more houses. Though I shouldn't say I have no connection. I absolutely 100% do, but since my teens -- since I moved into the city -- I've always felt more of a connection with the urban. I haven't completely rejected nature, though. In fact, the most impressive aspect to me about cities is their impressive mixture of natural and urban aspects.
Thankfully, this is something that Edmonton does well. Or maybe it's just lucky. We are lucky to have an extensive river valley system within a suitable walking/biking/bussing/driving distance from virtually every corner of the city, and I love that. I can spend my entire summer down there, and not think twice about it.

Just myself, the grass underneath me, and downtown towering above me.

The Mysteries of Edmonton (?)

This is inspired by Rita's most recent blog post. Well, the first line of it.

It goes, "To really fall in love with something, you have to know it."


I'm not too sure about this....

I'm sitting here, wondering -- still wondering -- what it is that Edmonton lacks. I mean, there are many inconsequential things that it lacks, but surely there is one encompassing thing that I can point a finger to. Looking back to my previous post, I'm still thinking that it's a serious lack of mystery that Edmonton has, but I don't know if that's the city's fault or mine.

I feel like I know Edmonton like the back of my hand. Perhaps that's too much. As I said last post, I feel that it's a city that I can't get lost in. Not only physically, but emotionally. My days seem to glide by, with nothing new or exciting happening. I feel like there's a lack of spontaneity. I feel like I can expect what my day will be like the next day, down to the fine details. Sure I visit new places, go to new restaurants, meet new people, but do these things really affect my thoughts on the city as a whole? Not in the least.

There must be something more, something grander. But the funny thing is, I can't figure out what that thing is. Is it a huge film festival? (omg I wish.) Is it a bigger sense of metropolitanism? (Also, I wish.) Is it a wonderful new urban development on the City Centre Airport lands? (I hope so.)

"Development". Maybe that's the key to everything. I know Edmonton so well, because nothing seems to be developing. Or when it does, it's at a snail's pace.

I would love to live in a city where people are constantly -- constantly! -- thinking about the future, manifesting itself into new, actively pursued, urban projects.