The reason? To “support our rail partner with their advancement of crew training and certification, allowing recovery from high ridership demands during FIFA and to provide the capacity for future service needs.”

Translation: we don’t have enough staff to keep running the schedule people rely on.

We’re also, at the moment, planning to spend somewhere between 60 and 90 billion on a high-speed railway from Toronto to Quebec City.

I want to talk about how both of those things can be true at the same time.

The easy explanation is that we’ve lost our ambition. I wrote about this last year, and still believe it to be true.

But I also think it’s more nuanced than that. Perhaps, we aren’t short of ambition at large. Instead, we’re just short of ambition for outcomes.

Hear me out.

first, context

Let’s start with what you already know - we suck at building rail (I promise this Substack is not about this topic again).

The Eglinton Crosstown: 13 billion, construction started in 2011, opened in 2025. The Surrey-Langley SkyTrain in BC: 4 billion when it was announced in 2022, just under 6 billion now, opening pushed back to late 2029. And Alto, the high-speed line: first shovel in maybe 2029, and won’t be complete until at least the 2040s.

There’s a group at NYU called the Transit Costs Project which has been collecting construction costs for rail projects across dozens of countries. And you know what they found?

The correlation is between cost and language.

Every country on earth with a transit project costing over a billion per kilometre is anglophone. The six countries with the widest and wildest spread are the United States, United Kingdom, Canada, Australia, Hong Kong and Singapore. Meanwhile, Italy, Turkey, Sweden, Finland, Spain and South Korea are all building comparable projects for as little as one tenth of what we pay. And that’s before we get to China, which builds for less still.

To put some numbers on it: Canadian rail projects can run past 1.2 billion per kilometre, where the European average is somewhere around 250 million.

Now, why would the language a country speaks predict what its subways cost? Ideas people float include legal systems, procurement, judicial review, and documentation requirements. Those all sound reasonable to me, but exploring those isn’t the point of this post.

The point is what these numbers rule out. Spain isn’t more ambitious than we are, but they are better at executing. Whatever we’re short of, it isn’t the desire to build things.

In 2019, Doug Ford stood up and announced the Ontario Line. From Exhibition through downtown and up Don Mills. 11 billion. Open by 2027.

The phrase he used was “faster, better, cheaper.”

Just a few weeks ago, Metrolinx’s CEO confirmed that the cost number is now around 34 billion. With an opening well into the 2030s.

That works out to a bit over 2 billion per kilometre, and some of the contracts haven’t even been awarded yet. That puts the Ontario Line among the most expensive pieces of rail ever attempted anywhere on earth.

And we aren’t getting a real subway. Light metro is the budget option. The trains are smaller and carry fewer people per trip than what runs on Line 1 today. The entire reason the province chose this technology in the first place was that it was supposed to be the affordable version.

Vancouver built the Canada Line, which is broadly the same idea, and finished it in four years in 2009 for 2.05 billion. Adjusted into today’s money, that’s about 154 million per kilometre.

We’re paying 13 times what Vancouver paid for the same technology.

But it wasn’t always this way. From the 1950s through the 1990s, Toronto built subways for around 100 million per kilometre in today’s dollars. We were a global example of how to build. The Sheppard line, which opened in 2002, came in around 200 million. The extension to Vaughan, which opened in 2017, was around 400 million.

Starting in the mid 2000s, the province took transit construction away from the city on the theory that provincial control would deliver efficiencies. Needless to say, that didn’t happen.

Which means it isn’t the country, and it isn’t the geology, and it isn’t the wage levels, and it isn’t the winters, because none of those changed between 1990 and now.

And notice that nobody has ever accused the Ontario Line of being unambitious. It’s a 15 station downtown relief line, announced with fanfare, branded as the largest transit expansion in Canadian history.

What went missing was our ability to turn this ambition into a completed project, at a decent price.

a station that does not exist

I want to tell you about a train station that doesn’t exist.

Back in 2016, Metrolinx was planning a set of new GO stations as part of what was then called Regional Express Rail. One of those stations was Kirby, in Vaughan.

Metrolinx’s initial business case on Kirby found that the benefits wouldn’t outweigh the damage to GO service, because every new station slows down everyone already on the train. The recommendation was to hold off.

But then, they decided to proceed with the station anyway.

The Auditor General report on the matter found that Metrolinx had “undermined its own decision-making process and inappropriately changed its recommendations.” The reason was that the Minister of Transportation had made it clear he wanted the station built.

Kirby, as it happens, was in said Minister of Transportation’s riding.

The experts did their jobs, but their expertise lost to politics.

And this is the recurring pattern. Somebody was extremely ambitious about Kirby station; in fact, they wanted it badly enough to override their own agency in writing. But nobody was ambitious about the net outcome, which was a clear net negative.

Or, take the Finch West light rail. It cost more per kilometre to build than an actual subway in most cities, even though it is functionally a streetcar. It also stops on average every 570 metres and opened without transit signal priority, so the trains sit at red lights like everybody else.

If our problem were simply that we’re bad at construction, you’d expect projects to come out expensive and good, or cheap and bad. What you wouldn’t expect is expensive and slow. But that’s what we’re stuck with, because the goal of these projects is to build objects, not to actually improve outcomes.

We don’t care how much money it burns or if the train is actually useful, because our ambition is not about actually ensuring we get the best value out of our transit spending. Instead, our ambition is just to have a shiny new train.

There’s a ribbon cutting, there are politicians smiling for the camera, a few folks give a speech, and then everybody goes home and the thing must be used for 80 years.

So here’s what I would posit.

Not a single person has faced real consequences for Finch West costing what it cost or taking as long as it did. Or Eglinton. Or the Ontario Line. Or any other project. The province approved it. Metrolinx delivered it. The contractors were paid. The subcontractors were paid. Heck, even the subcontractors’ subcontractors were paid.

Nobody ever actually cared about the cost. And if all that matters is that the train exists now and there’s no consequences to going over budget, why would anyone care?

a busway with no buses

Here’s the same problem, slightly reframed.

Government spending is divided into two buckets: capital, for new builds, and operating, to maintain and service existing ones. They don’t come from the same place, at least in a transit context. Capital money arrives from a higher level of government in one big lump, and it produces a photo op. Operating money is local, it recurs every single year, shows up on property tax bills, and produces nothing you can stand in front of. If a mayor runs more bus service, they get complaints about higher property taxes. But if a mayor builds a new subway (usually with provincial and federal money), they get re-elected.

So, we end up extremely ambitious about the parts of transit that don’t actually move riders, and completely uninterested in the parts that do.

Take York Region, just north of Toronto. They built concrete-pour bus corridors with elaborate stations (rapidways), coming to roughly a billion dollars. But if you go pull up the timetable for any of these rapidways, you’ll find something shocking.

We built a road for buses that don’t come.

And that isn’t due to a lack of money. Somebody found a billion dollars for the concrete, but nobody found the much smaller sum required to run buses on it often enough to matter.

Or, take Ottawa, which spent 2.1 billion on the Confederation Line and got cracked wheels, broken axles, a faulty overhead power system, and two derailments in 2021, one of which shut the entire network down for almost two months. And while that was going on, they carried on building Stage 2. Expanding the system was fundable, but making the system they already had work was not.

Which brings me back to where I started.

GO is cutting weekend service on the Barrie and Stouffville lines until spring 2027 because it doesn’t have enough crews. Weekend GO service is the best thing that has happened to transit in this region in a decade - when the Lakeshore lines went to 15-minute service (which, funnily enough, is also on the chopping block), ridership went through the roof.

And there’s a cruel irony in all this. The Barrie line is the corridor Kirby station was supposed to sit on. In 2016 the Minister of Transportation overrode his own agency’s analysis to add a station in his riding on that line. 10 years later, that line barely runs on a Saturday afternoon.

There was loads of ambition to expand the Barrie line. What is missing is people whose jobs depend on trains showing up.

Ultimately, I think the cost problem and the service problem are two sides of the same coin. We overpay for construction because nobody is accountable for the cost. We can’t run service because nobody is accountable for operations. In both cases there’s enormous appetite for the announcement and nobody left holding the bag for whether the thing works. Our ambition is on building projects, not achieving outcomes.

a private jet

The comforting explanation for all of this is that institutional knowledge keeps getting lost. Projects last longer than careers, everyone turns over, and nobody learns anything.

I don’t buy that. Metrolinx has existed since 2006. Nobody there forgot how to build a subway in the years between the Eglinton Crosstown and the Ontario Line. In fact, construction on the two overlapped for quite a while.

What actually happens, I think, is everybody involved knows the money will come. Not because anyone approves of overruns, but because stopping becomes politically impossible the moment there’s a hole in the ground.

Muskrat Falls is a hydroelectric megaproject in Labrador, approved in 2012 at an estimate of 7 billion. An audit later found that the provincial Crown corporation running it should have known within months of approval, while there was still time to walk away, that the schedule had already slipped and construction bids were coming in 60% to 160% above their own internal estimates.

Nobody walked away. The project finished at around 13 billion, in a province with a population smaller than Hamilton. Ottawa eventually assembled something like 5 billion in bailouts to keep power rates from doubling. A later inquiry called the whole thing thoroughly mismanaged, and the report was referred to the RCMP.

If the bailout is guaranteed, then every actor in the chain is rational to keep going, and none of the underlying causes are anybody’s problem. Bid competition, standardized station designs, labour arrangements, whether the tunnel was necessary. You only fight those battles if losing them costs you something.

One of the things I’m proud of as a Canadian is that most political stripes support transit expansion in some form. Whereas in the US the fight is often transit vs. no transit, here most everyone thinks we should have more transit. Which is great for getting money for transit. But it also means there’s less political pressure to ‘prove’ transit projects provide the best value for the dollar, further leading to complacency and a broken incentive structure.

Now watch what happened in Ontario this spring.

In April, the province bought a used Bombardier Challenger 650 for around 30 million. The news came out on a Friday, and by Sunday Ford had announced he was selling it. His own MPPs told the media (anonymously) that he’d eradicated his brand and this was the start of his undoing. In May, when it turned out 200,000 of the cost couldn’t be recovered, that generated another full week of coverage.

A few weeks later Metrolinx released its annual report, which disclosed that they were writing off 500 million in recently completed signalling work around Union Station. GO Expansion required a redesign of the tracks and platforms at Union, which made most of the earlier work useless.

The Minister’s office said the program was being phased. The NDP transit critic renewed a call for an inquiry. And that was it.

Now, I don’t think anybody actually believes a jet matters more than half a billion dollars in signalling. Yet somehow, 200,000 got more coverage than 500 million.

The difference is that the jet is something you can picture. Wasting money on signalling systems is a lot harder to process than wasting money on a private jet.

We hold people accountable for things we can see, but infrastructure costs are almost entirely invisible. Which means the discipline that’s supposed to keep costs down never arrives, and the ambition that produces announcements never gets checked by anything.

The same pattern shows up inside the agencies themselves. After the Confederation Line disaster, the public inquiry found that the City of Ottawa and its private partner had lost sight of the public interest while rushing to open a line already 15 months late. It issued more than 100 recommendations. Within days, Ottawa council created a light rail subcommittee to provide oversight and ensure the mistakes were not repeated.

In January 2025, council voted to dissolve that subcommittee. The stated reason was that councillors had a heavy committee workload.

Nobody sat down and consciously decided to stop caring. It just happened.

an anglophone problem

There’s a strong counterexample to this, just a five hour drive away.

Montreal is building the REM, a 67 kilometre automated light metro network, for about 150 million per kilometre.

That’s the same technology as the Ontario Line, for less than a tenth of what we’re paying.

So when we say Canada can’t build, Montreal’s answer is that you can’t build.

The difference was the delivery model. The REM was built by CDPQ Infra, an arm of the Quebec pension fund. They had their own money in the deal, so the pressure to be efficient was coming from inside the house.

And it isn’t like the REM is perfect. Costs rose from 6 billion in 2018 to 9 billion. But unlike with most projects, CDPQ Infra was forced to absorb the overrun itself.

Then, when politicians demanded that parts of the proposed REM de l’Est (a stage 2, if you will) be buried rather than elevated, CDPQ Infra ran the numbers and walked away from the project entirely. Somebody with money on the line said no to political meddling. That has never once happened here.

The point here is that Quebec didn’t want a train any more than we did, nor were they any more ambitious. Somebody in Quebec simply had something to lose.

a train to please everyone

Alright. Now the high speed train.

The Quebec City to Windsor rail corridor has been studied at least 16 times since 1973.

In 1984, VIA looked at a 300 km/h line and called it expensive but feasible. Seven months later the government fell and nothing happened. In 1995, a joint federal, Ontario and Quebec study landed on Montreal-Ottawa-Toronto as the best option. In 2002, VIA proposed ViaFast, which would have done Toronto to Ottawa in two hours. In 2011, the EcoTrain consortium reported that high speed rail was technically feasible but would be very expensive.

50 years of continuous, bipartisan ambition, and not one kilometre of track. If ambition were the constraint, we’d have had this train in 1990.

Then in 2025 the whole project changed shape. High Frequency Rail (HFR), which was scoped at somewhere between 6 and 12 billion and was about running conventional trains on their own dedicated track more often, became high speed rail costing 60 to 90 billion. As far as I can find, no comparison of the two options has ever been published.

Perhaps, the reason we keep doing this is because the project on paper is better than any project we could ever actually build. Every year it stays in planning is another year it stays perfect.

Actually building the project requires dealing with the ballooning stop count, rerouted alignment, consultation anxiety, and cost number that no one knows yet.

British Columbia joined Canadian Confederation on the condition that somebody build a railway. The founding bargain of this country is, literally, a train.

And every generation since has reached for one whenever it wanted to feel like a country. Every so often somebody says, “[insert country] has high speed rail, why don’t we?”

But I think we don’t really want a high speed train. We want to be the type of country that has one. We want what a high speed train stands for - an ambition about an object, not about any actual outcome. And so, we dream on.

I’m not here to make a case for or against Alto. What I want to take away from this is because this project has so much aura of ambition attached to it, we’ve allowed these feelings of grandeur and being a “real country” to drown out the rational conversation about what the business case for high speed rail actually is.

ReNew Canada’s 2026 report counts 25 major transit projects across the country worth 123 billion combined. Alto is between half and three quarters of that on its own. There is a real opportunity cost here, but it is largely being ignored because none of it is as sexy as a 300 km/h bullet train.

The foundational question we need to be asking, one level down from whether we should have high speed rail is how we can maximize the overall transport utility in the country. And maybe the answer is in fact Alto. Or maybe it is not. But to date, no one has asked. Ambition about projects, not outcomes.

Alto’s original route was planned to run north, roughly following Highway 7 through Peterborough. It’s shorter, it’s more direct, and there are fewer homes in the way. The entire design premise is that trains get up to 300 km/h as fast as possible after leaving Toronto and stay there.

In March, the mayor of Kingston issued a statement calling for the line to follow the 401 instead, with a stop in their city. Doug Ford also came out backing a 401 alignment with a Kingston stop. Now, the 401 is more than 80 kilometres south of Peterborough, so Peterborough started worrying it would be dropped from the route, and the city government put out a post urging its residents to go flood the consultation.

In June, the same day Alto released its Consultation report, the Transport Minister directed Alto to assess a southern route including a potential stop in Kingston.

In July, Alto’s CEO said Kingston would probably get a stop, because the public was asking for it.

People will tell you Kingston is too small at around 130,000, especially when compared to the combined 10 million in the Toronto and Montreal areas. But Peterborough is 85,000 and Trois-Rivières is 140,000, and both of those are confirmed stops.

The difference, though, is that nobody is bending the line for them. Peterborough and Trois-Rivières are on the route because the route already goes past them. Kingston is the only stop being purchased with a reroute.

And what does the reroute cost? Alto’s own description of the two options is that the northern one reduces travel distance and community impacts, while the southern one is less direct but simplifies construction. So, the north was chosen for time, and the south is being chosen for cheaper construction, because farmland is easier to cut through than the granite of the Canadian Shield.

Except the construction isn’t really cheaper once you account for what delays things in this country. Simplifying construction is a claim about earthworks, but getting the thing built is far more than that. The southern route requires buying farmland one parcel at a time from people who don’t want to sell it, which will almost certainly drag out over years of litigation, protests, and delays. Land acquisition and municipal politics are what turn rail projects in this country into decade-long fights, and the southern route gets way more of both.

One more thing then, about consultation.

The people who show up to a consultation are the people with something to lose, and what they stand to lose is specific and immediate. An expropriation notice. Noise where there’s currently no noise. Lost farmland. Or even reduced train service at their local stop.

The people who stand to gain can’t show up, because no one knows who they are yet. Whoever rides this train in 2045 might be 12 years old right now. They might live in Calgary. Their benefit is 20 minutes, spread thin across millions of people and three decades. Their voices aren’t going to be reflected in such a report.

A consultation report is, by construction, a record of objections.

Everybody in the Kingston story has something at stake this year, but the rider in 2045 wasn’t in the room, and couldn’t have been.

smaller is better

So, where do we go from here? I’m not sure, but here’s my 2 am thought.

Build smaller things.

Not because small is virtuous, and not as a consolation prize for a country that can’t manage big ones. Instead, because on every mechanism that has gone wrong in this essay, small projects are better positioned than big ones.

The first is accountability. A project shorter than a career can be judged, with clear responsibility for who is to be celebrated or blamed. Eglinton outlasted four premiers. Alto’s full network will open (optimistically) in the 2040s, and not one person who approved it will be in office when it opens. You can’t hold anybody to a promise that outlives them, which is why nobody has ever faced consequences for any outcome we’ve discussed. Doug Ford blames Kathleen Wynne, who’s been out of office for eight years. Justin Trudeau, up until his resignation, regularly pinned problems on Stephen Harper.

But a bus lane finishes inside a single council term, and whoever promised it is still sitting there when the trip times come out.

Likewise, there are also fewer contractors and other stakeholders involved, so accountability is more direct.

The second is that small projects aren’t worth meddling with. Kirby happened because a station is a prize. It has a location and a ribbon to cut. The bigger the project, the bigger the prize, and the more it’s worth somebody’s while to bend it away from what the analysis said. Alto is the largest prize this country has offered in 50 years, so it’s no surprise then that every politician wants a piece of it for themselves.

The third is that there are just fewer moving parts. Making structural improvements to how things are done is always easier at a smaller scale. There are fewer stakeholders, fewer contractors, fewer dollars, fewer work areas… it becomes easier to make change in a team of 50 than in a team of 5,000.

Now I’m not claiming that “small” is all we can ever do. What I am saying is that it’s a great place for us to begin.

Which brings me to the buses.

Toronto’s suburban bus grid is one of the best things in North American transit. Finch, Dufferin, Sheppard, Lawrence, buses every few minutes, all day, every day, running through car-dominated postwar suburbia. If you grew up here you’ve probably never thought about it once, because it has simply always been there.

It was assembled corridor by corridor over about 40 years, and every single decision that built it was small. Add a run. Tighten a headway. Extend the span of service by an hour. Introduce an express. Not one of those decisions was worth a press conference, yet taken together they produced the most useful piece of transit infrastructure in the region.

Starting small is not a new idea - we did it with the buses, and it led to the largest transit success this region has ever had.

Yet, as any bus rider in this city will tell you, the bus grid is falling apart right now.

Traffic got worse, so a bus that used to complete 24 round trips in a day now completes 18, which means it comes less often on precisely the same budget. Service quietly got worse without anybody deciding it should. And the number politicians announce is service hours, not frequency or travel time. Shuttle buses during subway closures count toward service hours. The buses replacing Line 3 count. Nobody is technically lying, but the number tells you nothing about whether your bus is coming.

That’s the same failure as Kirby, and the same failure as Finch West sitting at red lights, and the same failure as a two hour Alto travel time that turned out to be negotiable. In every case, we measure the project, and define success by that, while the actual outcome is thrown by the wayside.

Now admittedly, small projects do die in ways big ones don’t. A single ward councillor can kill a bus lane. But losing that fight costs you a bus lane, and you can come back next year and have it again. Losing the Alto fight costs 90 billion and a generation of transit progress.

Final thought for this section: all of this is predicated on everyday voters caring. Until cost overruns and delivery failures become a deal-breaker issue for voters (which, looking at the dollar amounts involved, it really should be), nothing will change.

how you get back to big things

I want to be clear that I’m not arguing we should never build big things. I’m arguing we have to earn our way back to one, and that there’s an actual mechanism for doing it.

The first part is competence. Spain builds cheaply because Spain builds constantly. Standard designs, crews who did the last one, methods that carry over from project to project. Cost control is a muscle, and ours atrophied because we do one megaproject a decade and start from scratch every time. You can’t rebuild that muscle on a 90 billion dollar bet. You rebuild it by doing a hundred small things and getting slightly better at each one.

The second part is conditioning. Right now, if you tell a Torontonian that a transit project will come in on budget, they’ll laugh at you, and they’d be right. We have no recent evidence that this is a thing our institutions can do. A string of small projects delivered on time is the evidence you need before anyone will let you attempt something serious. And it sets expectations for future projects, which in turn enhances accountability and pressure to deliver.

And the third part is momentum. When 15-minute weekend Lakeshore GO train service was announced, nobody took it as a revolution. They ran more trains, and suddenly 15-minute regional rail service went from a transit nerd fantasy to something people in Oakville consider normal and would be angry to lose. That’s a rider base that didn’t exist 10 years ago, created entirely by this service. And now, every one of them has a stake in the next expansion.

Alas, it runs backwards just as hard. Eglinton took 14 years and 13 billion dollars and became a punchline, the result of which is that surface light rail is now politically radioactive in this city for a generation.

So the sequence isn’t small things forever. It’s small things until we can be trusted with big ones, and small things first because they’re what generates the trust and sets the expectations in the first place. To know how to build a bullet train, we first have to know how to build a conventional one.

what is ambition

A while back I wrote a post about how this country has stopped being ambitious. I still believe it. But I think the critical nuance is not whether or not we have ambition, but what we are ambitious about. And to that extent, there are two types, as I’ve hinted at throughout.

The first is ambition about outcomes. More people getting where they’re going, faster, for less. Fewer people who need a car to have a life. A city that works better next year than it did this year. That kind of ambition is measured in minutes and dollars, and it’s almost entirely invisible.

The second is ambition about objects. A bullet train. A tunnel. A station with a nice roof on it. Something you can stand in front of. The concern here is less so the end outcome, and more so how grandly we can get there.

We have an enormous amount of the second and almost none of the first. After all, ambition about objects is glamorous and tends towards exciting projects like high speed rail. Ambition about outcomes is technical, keeps going after construction is done, and gets you nothing you can photo op.

Don’t get me wrong, ambition about objects is great. But when we focus on the project itself without attention to the actual outcome delivered, it means one or more of the following occur:

• Projects don’t get built, because studies that chase the idea of the project are more attractive than the messy execution

• Large and glamorous projects get prioritized over more down-to-earth improvements

• Projects are manipulated for political interest

• Operational delivery is overlooked in favour of continued expansion

• Leaders are not held accountable for project costs (‘what matters is we’re getting a train’), so there ends up being less funding for other initiatives down the road

The leaders who built the original Yonge subway in four years weren’t ambitious in the Alto sense. They weren’t trying to prove that Canada was the sort of country that has subways. They just looked at a streetcar line that was overwhelmed, decided a subway would fix it, and built one, quickly, for about one twentieth of what we now pay per kilometre.

Which makes me suspect that the argument we keep having, the one about whether Canada needs to dream bigger or scale back, is aimed at the wrong variable entirely. Alto is maximally ambitious but will probably deliver nothing for 20 years. The bus grid wasn’t an ambitious project and yet it delivered everything. Ambition is simply what we argue about, because opinions about ambition are free. It’s sexy to say let’s build high speed rail. It’s less sexy to say let’s build some more track sidings so VIA trains can pass freight ones.

The bus grid was never announced, and there was never much fanfare around it. It was built by people adding one more run at a time, yet it does more for more people than anything this region has attempted since.

Ultimately, the most valuable thing we’ve ever built is also the least visible, which means our politics is close to incapable of producing another one. We can announce a bullet train tomorrow. We’ve been announcing it since the 70s. What we can’t seem to do is quietly run more trains, every year, forever, with nobody clapping. And until we can, every large thing we attempt is going to cost 2 billion a kilometre and open in the 2040s, and we’ll keep telling ourselves the problem was that we didn’t dream big enough.

Yes, I used AI to turn a lot of my ideas and thoughts into more refined prose. No, neither the ideas in the piece nor the piece as a whole is AI.

These are my personal views and don’t reflect the views of any other entity.

This is insane.

I show a few people that same night. Everyone has the same reaction. We laugh about it, mess around with it for a bit, and move on with our lives. It’s a cool thing. A novelty.

That was four years ago. I think about that moment a lot lately. Not because it was particularly significant at the time, but because of how much has changed since, and how fast. And because I’m not sure I fully processed what I was actually looking at that night.

chat.openai.com

I scroll Twitter and LinkedIn too much. And my feed has been overrun by two types of posts.

The first is the startup bro variety. YC founders and a16z investors talking about how AI is going to change everything, how legacy companies are already dead and just don’t know it yet, how if you’re not building with AI you’re already irrelevant. These posts usually come with a 47-tweet thread that opens with “I’ve been thinking a lot lately...”

The second type is the doomer variety. Long anxious essays about how we’re sleepwalking into catastrophe. How the jobs aren’t coming back. How society as we know it is cooked.

I’ve been rolling my eyes at both for a while. But recently I’ve been taking the time to actually read them. And I’m not sure how to feel.

All this discourse reminds me of the climate anxiety phase my generation went through five or ten years ago. Back then I kept seeing people genuinely freaking out: questioning whether to have kids, whether to bother saving for retirement, whether any long-term plan made sense. The anxiety felt overblown to me. Performative. I laughed it off. Not because I didn’t believe climate change was real, but because the panic felt out of proportion to anything I could see directly in front of me.

I can’t do the same thing with AI. And I think the reason is that this time, I can see it happening.

I’m in my final year of a business degree. And lately I’ve been sitting in lectures thinking about whether any of this will matter in two years.

Not in the abstract “will my degree be useful” way that every student worries about. In a much more specific way. I’ll be in a finance class working through a model and think: Claude can do this. Faster than me, cleaner than me, probably with fewer errors. I’ll be in a group presentation and think: if Claude can synthesize this material and structure an argument better than I can, why does my ability to stand at the front of a room and explain it matter? Presenting has always been treated as the safe, irreducibly human part of knowledge work. Eye contact. Reading the room. Fielding questions. But if the underlying thinking and structure and content can all be done better by a machine, what exactly am I bringing?

Anthropic (the company that makes Claude) recently published a paper on AI and the labor market. They built something called an observed exposure measure, which tracks not just what AI could theoretically do but what it’s actually being used for in professional settings right now. The headline finding is that the gap between AI’s capability and actual adoption is still enormous. In computer and math roles, AI could theoretically handle 94% of tasks. In practice it’s covering about 33%. Long way to go.

That sounds reassuring. In some ways it is.

But here’s the part that got me. Among workers aged 22 to 25, hiring in AI-exposed roles has already dropped roughly 14% compared to pre-ChatGPT levels. The door is quietly closing on my generation, and AI hasn’t even approached its theoretical ceiling yet.

Jobs with higher AI exposure are also projected to grow more slowly over the next decade. And the paper explicitly names the scenario they’re watching for: a “Great Recession for white-collar workers,” where unemployment in some occupations doubles from 3% to 6%.

I know the counterarguments to my worry. AI can’t make judgment calls. It doesn’t understand relationships. People want the human touch. You need someone who can read the room. I think that’s all true right now. But my mind keeps going back to the same question: is it true because humans are actually better at those things, or just because we’re used to humans doing them? Is this just a form of status quo bias that probably won’t last? If the AI is really that much better than a human, who cares if it has emotions? Maybe in the future, the results AI produces speak for themselves, and everything else will fall into line around that.

There’s a concept in philosophy called “god of the gaps.” As science explains more of the world, religious explanations get pushed into whatever corners science hasn’t reached yet. The divine retreats into the gaps. And the gaps keep shrinking. (For the record I think this is a flawed argument, but bear with me).

I think about this constantly in relation to the “humans are irreplaceable” argument. Every time someone makes that case, they point to whatever AI hasn’t figured out yet. Five years ago it couldn’t write coherently. Then it could. Couldn’t code. Then it could. Couldn’t reason through complex problems. Now that’s genuinely debatable. Each time a gap closes, the argument shifts to the next one. Judgment. Relationships. Emotional intelligence. Creativity.

Maybe those gaps never fully close. Probably they don’t. But I keep asking a different question: even if there’s always something humans do better, are those remaining gaps enough to build a career on? “Humans of the gaps” - forever retreating to whatever corner hasn’t been automated yet - is that really the future we are destined towards?

Not long ago I was trying to get Claude to help me with something simple in a spreadsheet. I explained what I wanted. It gave me something that looked right. I ran it. Didn’t work. I told it what went wrong. It apologized with the classic “Oh, you’re right!” catchphrase that’s become symbolic of AI, re-explained its reasoning, gave me a revised version. Also didn’t work. I rephrased the problem three different ways. Same result, different packaging each time. After forty minutes of this I gave up and figured it out myself in ten minutes.

This wasn’t a one-off. Anyone who actually uses these tools will tell you the same thing. There’s a persistent gap between how AI performs in a polished demo and how it behaves when you’re in the weeds of a real, slightly messy problem. It hallucinates confidently. It apologizes and then makes the same mistake. It goes in circles without flagging that it’s stuck.

So maybe the “not reliable enough” argument holds. Maybe AI never crosses the threshold that causes real mass disruption. Maybe the demos are always better than the reality.

Except I already thought that once. Four years ago I would not have predicted where we are now. In 2022 this was a party trick that made me and my friends go “this is insane,” then move on with our lives. Now it’s a workforce strategy being discussed in boardrooms.

The other classic counter-argument to all of this is that human desires are unlimited. So as AI fills some of them and some jobs are lost, new ones will be created. Every wave of automation has eventually created more than it destroyed. ATMs didn’t kill bank tellers. Computers didn’t eliminate office workers. New industries emerged, employment held up. Real historical pattern.

But this argument operates at a level of abstraction that doesn’t actually answer my question. Yes, on a long enough timeline the economy adapts. But the transition period is not nothing. People lose careers in the gaps. And the new jobs don’t automatically go to the people whose old ones disappeared. A 45-year-old lawyer replaced by AI is not seamlessly pivoting to whatever the new economy needs. “The economy creates new jobs eventually” is cold comfort if you’re the one falling through the gap in the meantime.

My worry isn’t really about whether new jobs exist. It’s about whether I’ll have the skills for them. And that uncertainty just sits there.

The economics of the AI industry are also worth flagging, because they don’t make sense. These companies are burning enormous amounts of capital. Compute costs are massive. None of the major labs are profitable. Pricing right now is heavily subsidized. What happens to “AI is cheaper than humans” when the models are actually priced to cover their costs? And when the market is so monopolistic that firms can charge essentially whatever they want? I don’t know.

Then there’s the social side.

If you’re as chronically online as I am, you’ll get what I mean. Cluely is the most well known example. They built a tool that sits on your screen during job interviews and feeds you answers in real time. They launched it by filming themselves getting kicked out of Y Combinator demo day for using it to cheat, then posted the video as marketing. The pitch was essentially: integrity is for people who can’t get away with ignoring it.

You could write that off as one bad actor. But the texture of it: shamelessness dressed up as disruption, edginess as a substitute for substance, it shows up everywhere. The LinkedIn posts announcing an AI-native something-company that’s just a GPT wrapper with the energy of someone who has just achieved immortality. The YC batches where every third company is applying AI to an industry they don’t know anything about. The a16z content machine, which at this point functions less like a venture fund and more like a media operation for a vision of the future that happens to be very convenient for a16z.

The people going into this space are genuinely geniuses. And a lot of them are building ChatGPT wrappers with a nice landing page, or becoming what, to borrow a phrase I saw on Twitter, influencers cosplaying as founders. Which, fine. People follow incentives, and the incentives right now point hard in this direction. But you look at the aggregate of that talent and you wonder what else it could be pointed at. The same person spending two years building sperm racing could be working on public health systems, or education infrastructure, or climate technology - problems that are deeply important and chronically underfunded precisely because they don’t have a clear path to a $100M Series B.

As a society, we’re pulling a generation of capable, motivated people toward a very narrow set of problems, because that’s where the attention is. And attention is a powerful recruiting tool. Before you point it out, I see the irony in myself saying this.

Some days I think maybe AI really is the most important problem to work on right now. Maybe concentrating talent here makes sense. I genuinely don’t know. The pull is just there, people follow it, and the opportunity cost is invisible so it doesn’t get discussed.

I don’t know what any of this means for me, or for my generation. And I’m not sure writing this piece has helped me figure it out. If anything, it’s made the uncertainty feel more concrete, which I’m not sure is better.

I’ve been trying my best to stay with the times. Using Cursor to build things despite having no programming background. Making myself actually use the tools rather than just reading hot takes about them. In fact, Claude helped me with a lot of this piece. It made the writing process much easier. It also made the uncertainty that much worse. There’s something strange about using the thing you’re worried about to articulate why you’re worried about it.

The range of confident opinion out there is wild. Some people think this is civilizational-level disruption: UBI is inevitable, the social contract needs rethinking, Andrew Yang was ahead of his time. Others say it’s a tool, relax, the economy always figures it out. Both camps say their thing with identical confidence. Both cite data. I have no idea who to believe, and I’m increasingly suspicious of anyone who seems sure. The certainty itself feels like a tell. Nobody actually knows how this ends.

What I keep landing on is this: the anxiety I feel about AI is not irrational. The Anthropic paper found signals of disruption in the hiring patterns of people my age, and that’s coming from a company with every incentive to say everything is fine.

I think about that night in 2022 a lot. Sitting there staring at my screen, feeling something I couldn’t quite name. I still can’t quite name it. It was something close to the feeling you get when you realize a situation has already changed and you’re only just catching up to it. Like the thing you were looking at had been growing in the dark for a while, and the link my friend sent me was the first time someone turned a light on.

Four years later I’m still not sure what to do with that feeling. But I’m pretty sure ignoring it isn’t the answer.

Over the course of the twentieth century, America developed a right that fought the government and a left that hobbled it

And so writes the back cover of Abundance.

If you’ve spent much time on the politically homeless corners of Twitter, you’ve probably heard about this book already. As did I. And somehow, somewhere, I made the decision to buy it.

In many ways, the book reflects problems that most people already agree exist.

• We can’t afford homes.

• There isn’t enough clean energy being generated.

• Governments operate on outdated systems and technologies.

And it proposes a novel but not entirely new way of thinking about them.

Broadly, I resonate a lot with this book and what it has to say about progress. But before diving in, there are three disclaimers I want to give.

1. One of the biggest criticisms of Abundance is that the people who support it tend to be bad political actors. And I won’t deny that that is true in many cases. But I also think it’s important to separate the *idea* of Abundance from its real world political proponents.

2. There are some ideologies that, naturally, Abundance comes into conflict with. But w.r.t most others, there isn’t a conflict and believing multiple are correct is possible. Abundance isn’t an end-all-be-all, but rather just one way of thinking about things.

3. This is a criticism of American, and to an extent Canadian, ways of thinking. It doesn’t, and shouldn’t be taken, to represent the rest of the world.

And with that, we can proceed.

One Thesis, Many Ways

There are many ways to state the key argument of Abundance.

Progressives have great goals. But they’ve forgotten how to achieve them.

The government is too focused on process, and not focused enough on results.

There is not enough state capacity.

They all center around the same concept: government needs to be better at getting stuff done.

The problem we face in the 2020s is that we are building too little, and we are often paralyzed by process.

Take the example of San Francisco. By most metrics, it should be one of the best places to live in the world. It has an amazing climate, plentiful energy resources, and an economy the size of a small country. Yet turn on Fox News, and “if you vote Democrat, your city will turn into San Francisco” is used as an attack every time someone even slightly left-of-center runs for office. And although there are of course nuances, by and large the attacks on topics ranging from homelessness to affordability to congestion are correct.

For another example from the same part of the US, consider the California High Speed Rail project. Originally approved for $33 billion in spending in 2008, the project was supposed to open in 2020 from Oakland to Los Angeles. And yet in 2025, the agency responsible for the project is unsure if it will ever be able to finish a small portion of that from Merced to Bakersfield (where?!), let alone the entire line.

These examples aren’t isolated. We are missing state capacity.

At an abstract level, to understand why we can return to the quote at the start.

The right doesn’t believe in big government. They perceive it to be ineffective and inefficient. Looking at the way many regions in North America are governed and you’d be tempted to agree. But this is a self fulfilling prophecy. When you think government is doomed to fail, you strip away any investment - be it financial or political - into it. And so it actually does fall short.

The left, largely as a reaction to the right, defends the current system of governance at all costs. Some may push for what seems like change or reform, but it’s often just more of the same. More community consultation. More process orientation.

The result of all this is that no one asks the question: how can we make government better?

And so, government ends up falling short. “Lack of state capacity,” we can call it.

That’s the high-level theory. Diving to a more concrete grounding now, we can also consider a few key drivers of missing state capacity.

A Focus on the Demand Side

A demand side solution, instead of making more of something, tries to better provide access to what we already have. While the book doesn’t explicitly condemn demand side fixes, it does flag their exclusive presence as problematic. Fundamentally, subsidizing demand is a bit of a cat and mouse game - the more you subsidize, the more demand goes up, the higher prices go, so the more you need to continue to subsidize.

Consider a classic example: rent supports, which involve subsidizing rent payments. In the short term, this is effective as it means more people can afford rent. But in the long-run? More people affording rent means more demand for housing. Unless new housing is created, rent prices will increase. So to keep it accessible, governments will need to subsidize rent even more. And the cycle continues.

Appeal to All

Politically, it’s popular to make everyone happy. Of course it is.

So, discussions about land acquisitions for infrastructure projects drag on. Court battle after court battle, as private landowners refuse to sell their land to the government to build on. And so the project stalls.

So, NIMBY legislation gets passed. Housing projects are paused while consultation after consultation happens, only for the entire project to eventually get cancelled.

So, environmental regulations become weaponized by special interests. Although when they were introduced in the 70s they were well intentioned, today they can hold projects up for years as local groups push for review after review after review.

All these things sound really great. Consultation with the local community is amazing!

But through this, we forget about what we’re actually trying to accomplish.

We need not look to the United States to see evidence. Just in Toronto, Bathurst Street, a corridor that carries 35,000 transit riders a day, was supposed to have transit priority lanes installed from the Waterfront to Eglinton. To no ones surprise, rounds and rounds of community consultation yielded heavy opposition from organized homeowner coalitions. And surprise, a few weeks later, half the project was cancelled.

Trying To Do Everything

Closely related is the concept of infrastructure as general policy. When a government initiative becomes a vehicle to accomplish as many policy aims as possible, nothing ends up happening.

Returning to San Francisco, Abundance cites a case of housing contracting rules that seek to accomplish far more than just building housing. Known as 14B, the regulation initially required there be a preference for minority or female owned contractors. But when the state banned such requirements, the city instead changed them to preference small contractors with under $12 million in revenue.

It’s no surprise then, that today the majority of relevant contractor types in San Fran are almost exactly that size. And knowing the construction industry… economies of scale matter. Bigger contractors can buy better tools, develop better worker training programs, conduct better quality control, acquire better expertise, and so forth.

The forced use of these small contractors drives costs up, with housing prices correspondingly increasing - even though the whole point of the housing construction initiative was to bring them down.

But there’s more. A review by the Arts Commission is required, for design purposes. Then a review by the Office of Disability, which sounds great until you realize it’s just a duplicate of the already existing ADA regulations. And countless others.

Per local builders, demonstrating compliance alone can add six to nine months to a project’s timeline.

Yes, you read that right. Not even complying. Just demonstrating.

Thinking closer to home, we can also see this through “Buy Canadian” requirements that are frequently imposed on government contracts. In many cases, Canadian suppliers are far from the best value ones - so procurement contracts end up costing more, for less.

Another example is when infrastructure is used as a job creation tool. Now having jobs be a by-product of building is awesome. But when job creation becomes the primary goal (which happens quite often), it creates a perverse incentive structure. More employees are hired (because job creation!), so the project costs more and more. While this is good for employment, it’s awful for actually building the infrastructure. Higher costs and longer project times mean in the long run, we can build less.

The New York Times reported, for instance, that a subway project in New York involves four times as many workers as comparable builds in other developed nations. So the gripe about a bunch of people standing around at a construction site doing nothing? It’s not wrong.

(Admittedly, the reality is that this is often the only way to gain political support for these projects. So even if normatively I think it’s really bad, I also understand why it happens.)

Ability

The fourth area, and perhaps the broadest, is a general hollowing out of government over the last few years. Part of it has been driven by a push for “less government.” When public sector salaries are substantially lower than the private sector, it becomes harder to attract and retain the best talent.

(I would posit that this isn’t the fault of the public service. Largely, public servants function at the will of political leaders - it’s these politicians who set the tone and lead down this path.)

Here’s the thing. Government is not doomed to this. In many places, there IS state capacity. Research from NYU, for example, found that governments in most of the rest of the world (including developed countries) are able to build transit infrastructure for a fraction of the cost of North America. Even at home, as we saw with the development of COVID-19 vaccines and their subsequent rollout, government can get stuff done when they commit to it (more on COVID vaccines later).

Abundance in Practice

You know how a textbook is often structured like “theory”, then “applications?” Well, we’ve reached the applications stage of things.

First, the elephant in the room: housing. In much of the western world, housing has become an asset. It’s something you invest in, and you hope the value of it goes up over time. These aren’t greedy corporations or money-hungry machines - most housing investors are everyday people and these homes represent a big portion of their retirement savings.

Like with any good, the more housing there is the cheaper it gets. Supply and demand.

Naturally then, this pits people against one another. Homeowners who want less homes, vs prospective homeowners who want more homes.

But I think I’ve talked a lot about housing on my Substack already. So instead, I want to focus on a few other areas.

Environmental Reviews

In the mid to late 1900s, there were a series of successive environmental disasters that led to (understandably) the introduction of dozens of pieces of permitting legislation. They require extensive reviews of builds by dozens of agencies for everything from noise to rainwater to heritage preservation to social impact.

Now don’t get me wrong. Environmental reviews are important. But for one, the fact that there are so many of them means they drag on for years. By the time a project is approved, market conditions have changed significantly and oftentimes it no longer even makes sense to proceed with construction.

Second, they often overlap extensively. The same thing will be checked by several agencies with almost identical requirements and specifications. This takes time and resources.

Additionally, these reviews are often weaponized to stop projects. “Weaponized by who?” you may ask? Well, just about everyone. From environmental activists who it seems would prefer no one ever built anything at all, to local homeowners who don’t want to give up their land, to neighboring businesses concerned about noise impacts.

Much of the legislation allows for lawsuits as a key mechanism to stop development - lawsuits that turn into appeals and more appeals and more appeals. Combined with what can be described (politely) as a slow judiciary, this drags on forever. And courts, in the end, often end up siding with the plaintiffs.

The irony of all this is in the types of projects that most often get held up.

For one, clean energy. As the world transitions away from fossil fuels, new energy sources are needed. We need to build solar farms, wind farms, hydroelectric plants, and yes, nuclear plants. What more, we need to move the energy to where its needed. The best place for solar in the US, for example, is in flyover country. But where the power is needed? Along the coasts. We need new transmission lines to get the electricity from A to B.

Another is rail infrastructure. Returning to California High Speed Rail, local opponents sued on everything from clean air to noise impacts to eminent domain cases. At one point, there was a case related to the impact on pollution stemming from tree removal.

Seriously.

In all this, we seem to have forgotten about the ENVIRONMENTAL BENEFITS OF OPENING A HIGH SPEED RAIL LINE??!!? Or a new solar farm replacing a choking coal plant!?!?

This is a focus on process, not results.

We worry so much about the impacts of doing something, we forget about the harms of not doing it.

Organized Groups

Another key driver is the rise of organized groups. These can be everything from local residents associations to labor unions. Because while individuals may lack the resources to derail major projects, these groups don’t face that problem.

They have donors. They have lawyers. They have PR teams. If they don’t want a project built, they have the means to stop it. And oh do they have reasons to not want a project built.

Pollution impacts.

Construction traffic.

Emergency vehicle access.

Noise from operations.

Heritage buildings.

Impact on local residents.

Views of the lake.

Shadows cast by the sun.

Gentrification and displacement.

The fact that, heavens forbid, someone may make a profit off of it.

In real terms, this usually means any one group can say no and derail everything. But for the project to proceed, everyone needs to say yes.

And that happens about as often as you think it does.

Again, the concerns raised are usually not wrong. Compared to project benefits though, they mostly become marginal.

“Ah! We can redesign the project to mitigate the harms!” proponents claim.

But when you have a list of complaints that long, by the time you’ve worked to accommodate every one of them, the project has either dragged on so long it’s functionally dead or it has been diluted so much the benefits have disappeared.

More cynically, that’s exactly what many of these groups want.

To make matters worse, the cycle compounds. When we don’t do stuff, when governments fail to build these projects, it projects an image of incompetence.

So now, people are even less inclined to support these projects.

Imagine if California High Speed Rail had opened by now, shuttling people at 300 km/h across the state. Imagine the political momentum we’d have for High Speed Rail everywhere else.

Instead, people look at California, and go, “look what happened when they tried it.” Everyone nods in agreement, and we never get a high speed railway.

Science

The third area Abundance deep dives into is science. Now I'm not an expert on this - in fact, I know next to nothing. But I think the insight they provide is interesting.

Historically, governments have been massive funders of science research. After all, the return on most research is quite uncertain, and often takes decades to pay off. Many scientific innovations don’t go anywhere at all, and others, even if successful, aren’t (and shouldn’t be) commercialized. It simply does not make financial sense to a for-profit entity.

But as of late, a few problems have emerged. For one, we’ve become too risk averse. The focus is on publishing papers that are in line with and comply with standard scientific orthodoxy. There is less boundary pushing, and less out-thereness. Part of it may be due to the fact that science is becoming more stable. But the other is that increasingly, this is what government funding programs look for. They want to make investments that are high certainty, even if low return.

You know those memes that are like “US government spent $250,000 to study whale poop,” or something to that effect? We actually need more of those. Because that is how we learn about the world. And despite the silliness of it all, whale poop might just lead to the discovery of the next Penicillin.

99.9% of whale poop studies won’t go anywhere. But that 0.01% is where the next Penicillin likely lies.

(Fun fact: the book actually spends a while talking about how Penicillin was discovered. It’s quite a cool story, and not that different from the whale poop example).

And then, there’s the bureaucracy. Much like when it comes to infrastructure or building, science has become swamped in red tape. One estimate found that almost half a researcher’s time is spent in filing grant applications, updating providers about project statuses, and pursuing funding channels. This is largely driven by the increased complexity of accessing such funding - the need to provide more and more information, share more and more updates, and submit more and more documentation.

This is partially a good thing. After all, it encourages transparency and accountability in the funding process. But it also means that less science is being done. There is a balance that needs to be struck here to allow scientists to get back to doing science - even if it means sometimes, grant money goes to waste. Because the alternative of paying leading researchers to fill out paperwork all day is even more wasteful.

The third challenge they identify is a missing focus on implementation. The “real” success of science is not in the initial breakthrough, but in the ability to roll it out widely, reliably, and at scale. Technologies that exist in the lab but not in the real world are functionally useless.

The book cities the example of the light bulb. Although its initial invention was important, it wasn’t that a certain combination of materials could produce light which ultimately led to a lit-up society. It was the ability to source, produce, manufacture, and distribute it widely and at a cost people can afford.

This misguided focus can be seen in many places, but no where is it clearer than in solar energy. The foundation of this technology was developed in the United States. But after coming up with it, the Americans largely abandoned the concept. After all, at the time gas prices were falling, and the climate was not at the forefront of peoples’ minds.

It was not until European and Chinese researchers and manufacturers got in on the action and figured out how to make the technology en masse that prices for solar became competitive with those of fossil fuels. Today, 70% of the world’s solar panels are made in China, and since China started manufacturing, prices have fallen by 90%.

As the authors quote John Arnold, “America has the ability to invent. China has the ability to build. The first country that can figure out both will be the superpower.”

Abundance In Crisis

Despite all this, there is a silver lining. Hope is not lost.

Because, we’ve seen that the government is not doomed to fail. Science is not doomed to fail. When we put our minds to it, we CAN do great things.

During COVID-19, Operation Warp Speed defied all expectations and got a working vaccine developed, approved, and distributed within a year. In a field where usually this takes decades, it was a truly unprecedented development. How did it happen?

Within days, the virus was sequenced with the information being shared with laboratories across the world. The government provided expedited funding to multiple vaccine candidates spanning across companies and technologies. This, of course, included investment in MRNA, which at the time was seen as an unproven, untested science.

Meanwhile, before any vaccine was ready, they had begun to coordinate distribution and logistics. Everything from vials to shipping routes to cold storage began planning right away. The government enlisted the Department of Defense along with dozens of private companies who had expertise in doing just this. IT systems were set up, vaccination sites established, and so forth. There was no “this is the responsibility of a different level of government” nonsense. Everyone did what they had to do.

As soon as a candidate was ready, approvals were expedited, with overlap between stages and unheard-of coordination amongst government agencies. And as soon as they were approved, the vaccines flew out the door.

Consider another example. When a bridge along Interstate 95 (the American East Coast’s primary highway) collapsed, the government machine came together to get it rebuilt. Anyone familiar with how these things normally go knows they can take years (it took, if I recall correctly, six years to build the exit overpass near my house - and that isn’t even counting planning time).

The bridge was replaced in twelve days, from start of planning to opening.

Normal rules about when construction can be done were lifted. The endless cycles of procurement were skipped. Many environmental reviews were bypassed. Rules about preservative construction were waived. A livecam was setup to monitor progress, 24/7.

Many argue that it’s this bridge repair that actually saved Governer Josh Shaprio’s (who oversaw the reconstruction) political career. Lesson? State capacity is popular.

We can do great things when we want to.

And the times in which we’ve done that seem to have a common trend.

Think about examples of great state capacity.

Apollo was developed during the space race with the USSR.

The New Deal was introduced post Great Depression.

A splurge of deregulation occurred post 1970s economic crises.

Regardless of whether or not these actions are good, it’s clear that our government is best at getting something done during times of crisis.

But why?

Climate change is arguably a crisis, so could we use that to loosen permitting regulations and build out a clean energy grid? Illness is arguably a crisis, so could we use that to realign scientific innovation towards outcomes and widespread access? Housing affordability is arguably a crisis, so could we use that to loosen restrictive zoning regulations?

Turning [crises] into national priorities is, and always has been, a political choice.

Many Questions, Few Answers

Thus far, we’ve been talking about problems.

Now the book does provide a few potential solutions. One such example is scientific funding that prioritizes delivering results, instead of just rewarding effort. Others, like lifting zoning restrictions and reducing community consultation on projects, are heavily implied.

But on net, the authors don’t provide too many specific policy solutions or any indication of how they can be pushed forward. They even admit as much in the conclusion.

And I think that that’s okay. The Abundance issue goes beyond just specific policies. It’s about a mindset shift, one that recognizes that we cannot continue to prioritize special interests, be they purportedly environmental, social, or otherwise, above nation building projects that will lead to substantial quality-of-life improvements for millions of people across the country. It’s about creating state capacity, a government that doesn’t get hobbled by frivolous lawsuits and excessive consultation, but rather puts boots to the ground and starts getting stuff done.

This book is not a policy paper. There will be plenty of opportunities for that to come (and to be honest, most of these policies are already out there). Rather, it’s the foundation for one.

Abundance is not easy. But we are seeing progress, including here at home.

The rise of the YIMBY movement has recently led to the legalization of sixplexes in much of Toronto.

Mark Carney is working with provinces from coast to coast to deliver on much-needed infrastructure project.

Admittedly, much of the Abundance movement we see remains in the rhetoric stage. Political leaders will talk nice things about state capacity or the need to nation-build. But when it comes to putting their money where their mouth is, progress often falls short. After all, it’s one thing to badmouth special interest groups. But when they come out masquerading as a socially noble cause, it becomes much harder to say no.

And this brings us to the ultimate political challenge in making Abundance happen. It’s always more politically attractive to not prioritize long-run, national-building projects.

These projects take years. By the time the new homes you approved, the new clean energy grid you built, or the new subway you tunneled opens, you’ll be long out of office. The benefits are so long run that the political calculus becomes untenable. Comparatively, the harms of construction, of trees being cut down to clear a path, of properties being expropriated, start today.

So yeah. It’s hard.

But we’ve reached a point where we need it.

To stop climate change, we NEED to build a new clean energy grid.

To stop thousands of people from dying on our streets every year, we NEED to invest in better road design and communities.

To end the homelessness epidemic, we NEED to build more homes and drive housing prices down.

To combat the world’s deadliest diseases - today and tomorrow, we NEED to invest in a more efficient, risk-rewarding science system.

Fundamentally, Abundance is not neo-liberalism. It’s not about less government and totally free markets. It’s also not traditional progressiveness.

Rather, it’s an ideology of smart government. It says we need a government that can intervene properly, effectively, and efficiently. One that can get things done.

As the final pages of the book turn, we’re left with a concluding thought that should be the political mantra for the next decade and beyond.

We want more homes and more energy, more cures and more construction… Abundance is liberalism, yes. But more than that, it is a liberalism that builds.

Images

https://www.reddit.com/r/ProfessorFinance/comments/1m27umr/shortage_of_housing_subsidize_demand/

https://x.com/CaHSRA/status/1768726425857827220

Everywhere I go, I see the posters. “Let’s make the whole place shimmer.” “The Eras Tour is here.” Rogers, RBC, Hotels.com… every company had a piece of the sponsorship. And I get it. It’s the event of the year.

But being one of the millions of people who never got a code, seeing these ads everywhere kind of sucked.

Theoretically, I should have tickets. Back in summer of 2023, I joined the pre-sale line with six different accounts. Three of them had different phone numbers. I did everything I was supposed to. And yet, waitlisted across all of ‘em.

In retrospect, maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. Reading the news a few days later, I learned that **30 million** people (or at least accounts) had joined the lottery in the hopes of getting a ticket.

Even with my six accounts, that put my odds at fewer than 1/10.

So, on that November day, I open Instagram during my lunch break and see that Rogers is driving around the city handing out last minute tickets. My anxiety fills up - I really really want it.

As soon as the workday ends, away I go. During the elevator ride down to the lobby, I make a mental map of the route I am going to take. Up Simcoe to Richmond, East to Bay, North to Dundas, East to Yonge, South to Front, then West to the Rogers Centre. Along the way, I’d hit almost every point of interest - City Hall, Eaton Center, Union Station, and of course the Rogers Centre. Surely they had to be at one of those sites. Surely.

I dash out the front door, hop on a Bikeshare, and away I go. I WILL find the Rogers man, and get these tickets.

As I’m going, I’m scanning the horizon, looking for anyone wearing a bright red sparkly outfit (what they were wearing on the Instagram post). I had a few false alarms where I thought I saw them, but really, it was just some rando.

Each destination I pass with still no sighting, I die a little bit more inside. I knew this was going to be a longshot, so maybe, it (once again) wasn’t that surprising that I wasn’t having any luck.

And then, I arrive at the Rogers Centre, and right in front of me stand the red Rogers banners, complete with photographers and all. “Maybe today is my lucky day,” I think to myself.

I run into line, not even bothering to dock my bike. The security guard approaches me.

“We’re done for the day.”

“Will there be more?” I reply.

“No.”

There’s a famous saying that goes, “enjoy the journey, not the destination.”

Ok, maybe not quite famous. But the car commercials use it a lot. So that has to count for something.

And to an extent, I always thought that this was kinda bs. After all - if the purpose of the journey was to get Taylor Swift tickets, but I was unsuccessful, doesn’t that just make the journey a failure? How could I enjoy a failed journey?

Besides, I had just wasted a few hours running aimlessly around the city. What a shame.

But looking back on this experience, it codes as relatively positive in my mind.

Not just the act of biking around, but the whole fiasco of trying to get tickets. From registering for codes on six different accounts, to creating a sob video on TikTok begging Avion, to cold-emailing the partnerships department at work to see if they had any extras.

It was… fun?

I’m not quite sure how to describe it, but the adrenaline rush I got every time the Twitter account that tracked the TicketMaster queue tweeted out the words “GO” made it almost all worth it.

The act of trying to find these tickets felt almost like scavenger hunt, where I had to plot my next steps out very carefully.

After all, what other reason would I get to hop on a bike and whiz across downtown, trying to trace down a man in a red suit? It was like a maze for grown ups, except this one had a clear and defined purpose. And that made me very happy.

Plus, it’s a cool topic to yap with people about.

In fact, at a networking event, I was talking to my SVP and spent 20 mins complaining about my lack of tickets.

In a cringy way, the mass of Torontoians who had lost the Ticketmaster war began to feel like a community. Both in conversations I had with friends and random posts I saw online, I began to feel a sense of validation that I in fact was not the only one.

All of this is to say, although I may not have reached the destination, I still enjoyed the journey.

And it seems as if this isn’t the only case that this thinking applies to.

Take travel. Sure, the trip itself is a lot of fun, but you know what else is? Tracking flight prices every day, seeing if they’ll drop. Daydreaming about different destinations, imagining myself at each of them. Browsing Expedia for hours on end, trying to find affordable hotels in one of the most expensive cities in the world.

And of course, for me there’s also the literal connotation of the words “journey” and “destination.” I like trains. So the physical journey of getting someplace is sorta cool too.

It’s about the journey; not the destination.

But back to Taylor Swift now. And as I sit here, thinking about ways I could make this Substack stretch out longer, another thought occurred to me.

“I don’t really like Taylor Swift’s music.”

I’m surprised I didn’t notice this sooner. Like every time TTPD (or most of her other albums save for a few), came on my Spotify, I would press skip.

I’m not sure if this makes it better or worse, but this wasn’t intentional. I was never consciously *aware* of the fact that I in fact wasn’t a big fan of her music.

So… then why was I so passionate about her tour anyway?

It took a while for me to figure that out. But eventually, I think I settled on a few factors.

The first is the experience. Not necessarily the songs, but the environment - everything from light up friendship bracelets, to stadiums of 50,000+ singing at the top of their lungs, to whimsical dancers and their massive flower petals towering above the stage.

It’s not just “a concert,” as one person on Tiktok described it. It’s a “sensory experience.” And to me, that’s really freaking cool.

But the second, more important reason, was because everyone else was.

Ok. Maybe not everyone. But within the context of my social circles, a lot of people were. This was amplified especially by TikTok, whose algorithm one day decided that it was going to make me into an Eras Tour diehard. And so it fed me a plethora of related content.

And you know what, it worked. I became hooked.

The security guards dancing along to Shake It Off.

Taylor’s mother greeting the fans along the walkway.

The lighting strike hitting during We Are Never Getting Back Together.

The marriage proposals during Love Story.

The breakdowns and catharsis during Gracie’s opener That’s So True.

I think that this is very similar to the whole “the Eras Tour is an experience” thing I talked about previously. Perhaps the best way to put it is that TikTok showed me what this experience really is. As I went further and further down this rabbit hole, I fell in love.

But TikTok wasn’t the only influence. It was also my friends.

There are a few people in particular who I knew have been massive, diehard Swifties from day one.

And as much as I wanted tickets for myself, arguably an even bigger motivator was I wanted to find tickets for them.

I knew how happy they would be if they could get to go (alas, most of them lost the Ticketmaster war just as I had); so in a way that’s also what kept me searching.

And similar to how this process brought me from being mostly apathetic about Taylor Swift to literally selling my soul in an attempt to get tickets, I think this is a powerful example of how things we think are fixed are actually quite malleable.

The same way my interests ended up being shaped by external forces, so can so many other things.

From the food I enjoy.

To the careers I want to pursue.

To the hobbies I have.

And while some people may say that’s a bad thing, I think in many contexts it’s okay.

If I had let my thoughts of Taylor’s music being mediocre prevent me from going down this path, I would have missed out on all I was able to get out of it.

At the end of the day, we exist in a society. We care about the thoughts, feelings, and desires of those around us. And to an extent, for those we really care about, we internalize them as our own. That’s good - it’s what makes us human.

So by extension of that, it shouldn’t be frowned upon to let that influence our decision making.

And… because of the online world we live in, perhaps we can even apply the same logic to those whom we interact with on the internet. Of course, it may be at a much weaker scale, but given the amount of time we spend living the lives of strangers online these days, an agglomeration of what we see could also be considered quite proximal.

Of course, this doesn’t mean I just let myself be influenced and consumed by every little external influence that exists. That would, needless to say, not end well.

But sometimes, it’s okay to submit to things that I know are benevolent, or are unsure about.

That’s how I discover new things. How I move outside my comfort zones, and how I grow.

Thinking about this, it kind of makes sense. If I refuse to allow myself to be subject to external influences, then all the growth needs to come from within.

And as great of an inspirational quote this is, it just doesn’t seem to be viable. Self-guided change is difficult. Absent a mad scientist rewiring my brain chemistry, I just don’t see how feasible that is.

In this case, the growth for me was the social pressure that moved the journey forward.

The journey that turned me into a Swiftie.

Maybe then, the journey is not just important by its own merits. It is the journey that makes the destination that much more interesting.

The journey makes the destination.

Continuing down this thought train, I realized that there’s nothing about Taylor Swift concerts (or, really anything else for that matter) that is intrinsically satisfying. Rather, it is our brains that go, “ah. This combination of soundwaves will trigger the happiness neurons.” Or, “seeing this person dance will make me feel excited.”

Did I mention I had no idea how the brain actually works? But I think you get the point.

Then if this is the case, it also stands that we can probably change the way our brains assign these positive emotions. In fact, when we work hard on something, it gains a special status in our memories. So when we actually achieve it, our brain assigns additional happiness-neuron-firing to it.

Maybe this is evolution’s way of incentivizing us to work towards more difficult to obtain things. Mother nature knows that if we aren’t properly rewarded for this, then we would simply not do it. And in the context of surviving in the Savannah, I can’t imagine simply “not doing” things that are hard will end well.

Going back to the travel example, we can see the same thing again.

I can ask myself - what do I do on vacation? Sure, there’s some cool sights, but a lot of it is also things like shopping, eating, relaxing, or walking.

You mean to tell me I couldn’t have done that in my home city? That there isn’t a single restaurant in Toronto that has the quality of pasta I headed to Milan to eat?

There probably is.

What’s different is the *experience.* When I get on a plane or hop on a train and travel to somewhere far away, my brain goes, “aha, this is special. This isn’t something I do every day.”

So it cherishes more.

Again, the journey makes the destination that much more meaningful.

So, it’s now late December. The Eras Tour is over.

And I did not get tickets.

Quite disappointing, I know.

And I’m not going to sit here and postulate about how because I had a “good journey,” that that is somehow able to compensate for not being able to go.

Because that’s just not true.

But I will say, it’s certainly softened the blow.

I wrote a Substack a while back about how we should focus on the things we can control, not the things we can’t.

In this case, a similar line of thinking applies. I couldn’t control the destination. Whether or not I got tickets ultimately came down to raw luck. But the journey… that I had much more say over.

The fact that I decided to go on that crazy bike scavenger hunt.

The fact that I spent a lot of time talking to friends about this.

The fact that I turned on post notifications for all those tickets X accounts.

This is not unique to Taylor Swift.

I can’t control if I get the job or not, but I can control the amount that I put into the application.

I can’t control if my friends think I’m a cool person, but I can control how I choose to treat them.

I can’t control if it’s -20 degrees for my entire vacation, but I can control the planning that goes into the trip.

After all this then, I realized that appreciating the journey is valuable not just because it brings happiness. It’s also because that’s just what I have far more control over.

So if I’m more sure that something will have a positive outcome, then that’s what I should lean into.

In a way, this is coping. But if there is no other choice, nothing else that can be done…

Although I didn’t get Eras Tour tickets, I did my best.

And that’s all I can really do.

Image sources: tiktok.com/discover/not-having-tickets-meme-eras-tour, reddit.com/r/memes/comments/db2o8l/the_road_less_traveled/?rdt=48859

Credit cards. Street names. Random buildings.

But nothing more than transit projects.

If you have spent some time around me, you might have heard me make the claim:

“Toronto’s transit system is the best in North America relative to our size.”

And you probably reacted with something along the lines of, “Are you crazy?”

To be fair, the bar is not exactly very high. “Best transit system in North America” is like saying ‘Best Chinese restaurant in Iowa’ or ‘CS student who takes the most showers.’ But still, it is a good bar to understand where we are at.

Today, I want to take you on a little journey through time, to better understand what exactly is the deal with transit in this city.

1849. The first transit system in Toronto opens. It was a lowly stagecoach, pulling passengers from Yorkville to St. Lawrence Market. And it was… wait for it… privately operated (*collective gasp of horror*). Over the next 80 years, multiple different other systems popped up, each serving their own little bits of the city. Some used stagecoaches, while others began laying the city’s first streetcar tracks. Some were radial lines, whereas others primarily served suburban communities. Some provided good transit service, while others, not so much.

Fast forward to 1920. The province looked at this mess, and goes “nuh uh.” All the private systems became integrated into the newly formed Toronto Transportation Commission (later renamed to the Toronto Transit Commission, or TTC). Over the next few decades, the TTC gradually took more and more control of operations, unifying things like fare payment (that’s TTC speak for tickets), vehicle fleets, and running schedules. During this time, the streetcar network also exploded in size, providing increased coverage across what (at the time) were the far reaches of the city’s suburbs.

Toronto 1932 streetcar map.

The transit boom continued into the 1950s, when, in 1954, the TTC formally took over all transit operations in Toronto. That same year, riding on the post World War II economic high, Toronto opened Canada’s first subway. The line ran down Yonge Street from Eglinton to Union, with extensions to St. George, Keele, and Woodbine opening in the years following.

Those decades also saw enormous transit service growth. Streetcars ran as often as every 2-3 minutes during the peak and every 4-5 minutes at all others times (compared to now, when most routes only come every 9-10 minutes - oh, how we’ve regressed).

Then towards the end of the 1960s, a new transit system was emerging in the region. GO (which, I bet you didn’t know, stands for “Government of Ontario”) started as a three year experiment, providing commuter service between Pickering and Oakville. It proved to be a massive success, and over the coming decades service was steadily expanded.

Another development during this time was the growth of other GTA transit agencies - MiWay in Mississauga, York Region Transit in York, Durham Region Transit in Durham, etc. As these regions, for the first time, transformed from rural villages to integral parts of the Toronto urban fabric, their transit systems provided much needed connectivity for locals.

Come the 1970s, however, and tides began to shift with the removal of streetcars in most of Toronto. Previously, routes like Bay, Weston, and Bathurst North that operated extensive streetcar service had their tracks ripped out and replaced by bus service.

This was also when Toronto’s much esteemed suburban bus network system took shape. You have probably heard me yap about how lucky we are in Toronto to have buses along key suburban routes like Finch, Dufferin, or Sheppard running every few minutes all day - this is where that started.

Continuing into in the 1980s, things were once again looking up. The province announced the ALRT project, a new technology that combined commuter rail, light rail, and heavy metro to provide fast, frequent, and electric interurban service throughout the region. They planned, after successfully deploying the concept in Toronto, to export the technology to the rest of the world. Nothing ever came of this concept at home (aside from Line 3, and we all know how that went), but Vancouver did have better luck when they based their SkyTrain system off of the same concept.

Fast forward to the 90s, and that is when everything went down hill. At this time, the province’s finances were a little fucked (recession and what not), so transit service was the first to go. The Eglinton LRT version 1, of which a tunnel had already been dug, was filled in (yes, they literally dug the hole only to dump the dirt back), GO service was cut back, as were local buses throughout the region. It was not a good time.

Then in 1998, amalgamation happened. The old cities of Toronto, North York, Etobicoke, and Scarborough merged to form the new megacity simply known as “Toronto.” New mayor Mel Lastman, trying to appeal to suburban voters, built the Sheppard Subway (now known as Line 4). Deemed the subway to nowhere, it was supposed to be extended after a few years, but of course that never happened. The line’s initial ridership was so dismal that at one point, the TTC considered closing it all together on Sundays.

Throughout the early 2000s and 2010s, the transit network cycled through several boom and bust cycles. Service improvements, then cuts, then some more improvements, then some more cuts. First it was the 2008 recession, then cuts under Ford, then cuts under Tory, then COVID. Back and forth, back and forth.

During this time, we also went through a whollle bunch of transit plans. I mean, just about any government policy in this country has a bit of a reputation for making a dozen plans and acting on none of them, but this period was especially bad. The Globe and Mail made a comedic video on this back in 2013: take a watch.

To make things even more complicated, in 2008, the provincial government went, “you know what we need? ANOTHER regional transit agency!”

And sure enough, Metrolinx was born.

Jokes aside, Metrolinx has done a lot of good for transit planning in this region. Being provincially controlled, they are less subject to the whines of local NIMBYs than municipal planners are, meaning they can push through projects faster. And if it was not for them forcing PRESTO down the throats of every GTA transit agency, there is a good chance we would still be paying with paper tickets and tokens.

Most importantly though, they provide a regional perspective on things. Initiatives like GO Expansion, new wayfinding standards, OneFare, and economies of scale vis a vis bus purchases are unlocked only when you have the size and all-encompassing scope Metrolinx does. There is, after all, a reason why virtually every other city in the world has a similar organization.

That brings us to the late 2010s/early 2020s. And you know what, we have made a bit of progress. As in, we have built some transit. But there is a problem.

Projects Recently Completed

Most rapid transit builds completed in the past few years have unfortunately been vanity projects. Consider the TYSEE (Toronto York Spadina Subway Extension) into Vaughan. Putting aside the chronic budget overruns and delays, the experts at the TTC had argued the line should only extend to York University because there was insufficient ridership demand any farther north. But the provincial government at the time said, “if you want our money, you need to run the line all the way up to Vaughan.” Is it a coincidence that Vaughan just happened to be a major swing riding the Liberals really wanted to win?

I will leave that up to you.

It is no surprise then, that while the TYSEE stations are some of the most gorgeous in the network, they are also some of the least used.

On opening day, I was there, and got interviewed by CBC about this.

Well, 12 year old Andre Zhang was right.

The other problem is that this is not just a one time investment. You see, because of the low ridership (and low ticket revenue), the TTC loses a lot of money on operating the TYSSE. And you would think that the subway into Vaughan’s operating costs would be covered by the City of Vaughan, right?

No.

Toronto taxpayers and transit riders are paying for it.

Make it make sense.

Other examples of these vanity projects include the Mississauga Transitway and York Region VIVA BRT. These two have a combined price tag of **one billion dollars** and not much to show for it. I mean, sure, the stations are nice. But these corridors have ridership dwarfed by pretty much every random Toronto bus route.

And is that really a surprise when this is the land use around the Mississauga Transitway

Seriously. Not only is it in the middle of a field, but there is not even *parking.* I mean, who is the intended rider of this bus?

And this is the timetable for the VIVA Yellow, the route that uses the bus rapidway on Davis Drive in Newmarket.

While we can never fully understand the rationale behind these projects, I do suspect it has a lot with governments of all political stripes trying to court voters in the 905.

But on the up side, splashy transit projects spur housing development. Even if the transit is useless. So maybe it is not all bad.

Oh well.

Point is, we repeatedly see that this is the story of transit planning in this city. Transit is not placed where its needed the most - rather, it is built where it brings the most political leverage.

It is all politics.

And now, where are we today? Our transit system consists of an embarrassingly scant core network of two and a quarter subway lines, complemented by a frequent but slow and unreliable network of buses and streetcars that love to get bunched together. Connecting to the suburbs is GO, operating primarily as a commuter rail service that gets people into downtown in the morning and out in the evening. Then, we have all the 905 transit agencies, providing core service along a few key routes but other than that running buses every 30 minutes or worse on most major corridors.

Sure, there has been some increases in transit service. Brampton and Waterloo specifically have seen massive boosts in ridership, driven in part by explosive population growth. And GO has introduced enhanced off peak service along its Lakeshore, Stouffville, Barrie, and Kitchener lines

But there is so much more on the horizon. And that is what I want to spend the rest of this piece talking about.

Projects Under Construction

First, the elephant in the room.

The Eglinton Crosstown and Finch West LRTs (what’s left of David Miller’s Transit City plan) are (finally!) nearing completion, and both should be operational by this time next year. These projects have faced extensive price overruns and delays, and have also been criticized for excessive stoppage. I mean, the Finch West line, for example, stops on average every 570 meters - that’s closer to a bus then it is a subway (Line 1 has a station every kilometer).

Another major problem is a lack of transit signal priority - that means that the LRTs will have to stop and wait at traffic lights just like any other car. In every other city around the world, their signal programming will automatically extend green lights and hold red ones to allow for faster travel speeds on transit. You know, if you’re spending like ten billion dollars to build the line you might as well help it run a tad faster. Right?

Not here.

But you know what. Let us be positive. They are done (almost). Some transit is better than no transit. This is a victory.

Out west in Mississauga, the Hazel Mccallion Line (AKA Line 10) down Hurontario Street is also coming along nicely. This project has largely flown under the radar so far (probably a good thing), and is poised to bring a north-south link to the Peel Region for the first time.

Looking a bit further ahead, the next wave of projects are also getting underway. The Eglinton Crosstown West extension, Ontario Line, and Yonge North subway extension have (finally) after decades of yapping, begun construction, and are all poised to open in the next decade. The Ontario Line is particularly notable for using driverless light metro technology, adopted widely around the world but (for some reason) not yet in the GTA.

Beyond that, many initiatives are in planning but not yet funded. In Toronto, the Waterfront East LRT will provide connectivity to the fast growing docklands district, and the Eglinton East LRT and Sheppard Subway will bring rapid transit to Eastern Scarborough for the first time. The Dundas West, Queen, and Highway 2 BRTs in Halton, Peel, and Durham, respectively, will enhance connectivity along their key corridors, and hopefully (unlike the ones in York Region) actually have buses run on them.

And then, there is the biggest project of them all, and you probably have never even heard of it.

GO Expansion. Or, as the OGs call it, GO RER.

Its goal is to transform GO from a commuter rail system into a regional one.

What is the difference, you ask? (Ok, maybe you didn’t. Too bad, I’m telling you anyways).

A commuter rail system serves, as the name suggests, commuters. It imports workers into the city en masse in the morning, then exports them back out to their suburban homes again in the evening. A regional rail system, on the other hand, operates more akin to a subway. It connects people to all destinations at all times of the day.

Thus far, GO Expansion has two main stages.

Stage one, which began in 2012 and is almost complete, is about enhancing service delivery. Over the past two decades, GO has acquired most of the track it runs on from its freight partners. This means that they own most of the physical infrastructure and no longer need to compete with freight trains for space. With this newfound ownership, they have begun double tracking. Whereas previously most lines only had one track, they are adding a second track on core sections, allowing trains to run in both directions. This work also requires rebuilding stations with new tunnels, bridges, and platforms.

The results of these improvements are starting to show. We now see trains on the Lakeshore lines every 15 minutes on weekends, on the Kitchener Line every 30 minutes during the midday, and additional service improvements are expected soon.

And if you have been on a GO train outside rush hour in the past few months, you will know - these changes have led to explosive ridership growth.

But it gets even better. Under stage two, which is just getting started, GO is electrifying their network. Currently, their trains run on diesel, which is expensive, loud, dirty, and inefficient. Electrification involves the purchase of dozens of electric locomotives, the installation of thousands of kilometers of overhead wires, and construction of associated power substations. Not only does this allow trains to run far more often, it means they can run way faster and closer to one another.

This project is, for the first time, being led by DB (the German national rail operator). For a long time, activists and experts alike have been talking about looking for best practices outside of North America and to the rest of the world, and it is exciting to see that that is what GO is doing.

As a corollary to this is the plan to add new stations (or, for those of you old enough to remember, the remnants of John Tory’s SmartTrack) in the City of Toronto, leveraging the existing trackage to provide additional connectivity within the city. New stations include at St. Clair/Keele, Spadina/Front, and Midland/Finch. Exciting stuff.

So, that is what is happening.

I do not need to tell you how great it is. When I say that Toronto is in the midst of North America’s largest transit expansion, I mean it. It is an exciting time for our city.

That being said, not everything is fine and dandy. Equally as important as what is happening is what is not.

Let’s start by talking about the bus network. For decades now, buses have been the backbone of the transit system in the GTA. But the problem is, they are not flashy. Running more buses doesn’t give politicians the same wonderful photo ops and talking points that opening a cavernous (if empty) subway station does. So, bus service suffers.

Recently, Mayor Olivia Chow (a supposed defender of the TTC and transit) announced bus service would be back to “99% of pre pandemic levels soon.” Sounds great, right?

The problem is, you know what is included as “bus service?”

a) Shuttle buses used during subway closures

b) The buses that replaced Line 3

And think about how many buses it takes to replace a single subway train.

So when she says “service is increasing,” what she really means is “we are shutting the subway down more and more and replacing it with buses.” Clever, right.

Here is another gimmick they use.

If you know anything, you will know that the traffic in this city has gotten so much worse over the past few years. And so, that means bus service has deteriorated.

Think about it this way. If it takes a bus an hour to make a round trip, it can make 24 of them in a day. But if it takes an hour and a half to make the same trip, then it can only make 18. So, the bus comes less often.

And this is exactly what is happening. While politicians boast that the number of service hours is increasing, the actual amount of service (i.e., how many buses arrive per hour) has actually fallen.

Similar patterns of neglect of the bus system can be seen all around the GTA. With a few exceptions, most bus routes and frequencies have not changed since the early 2000s. But think about how much our region has grown since then. And you will see why this is becoming a problem.

RapidTO, an initiative designed to help speed up bus service by painting dedicated bus lanes, has now been in planning for five years and only 1/5 corridors has been implemented (with no clear timeline for the rest). Routes like the 35/935 on Jane or 54/954 on Lawrence carry upwards of 30,000 people per day, yet the buses are stuck in a sea of single passenger cars, often taking more than 10 minutes to clear a single intersection.

This is not some fancy rapidway or transitway. This is quite literally red paint on the ground. How long could it possible take?

The same is true on a regional scale. GO Bus service along some of the region’s busiest highways comes only every hour or two outside of the peak periods, with poor local transit connectivity. Buses to popular destinations such as Niagara and Kitchener are often overcrowded, and it is routine to be stranded at a stop because a bus is full and to be forced to wait a full hour for the next one.

And of course, we need not even discuss the abysmal state of 905 local buses. Many corridors do not even have service, and those that do see buses every thirty minutes to an hour. When the service is like that, anyone who can afford to will drive.

All this is to say, building up the backbone of the local transit network is simply not a priority for politicians of any political stripe.

The same can be said for Toronto’s streetcar network.

Reading through the TTC’s service planning document, the average speed of the 501 streetcar is around 9 kilometers an hour.

Yes, you read that right. Nine.

The 510B along Spadina, which runs in its own dedicated lane, is even worse. 8 km/h.

I remember seeing a tweet (which I can no longer find, unfortunately) of a few guys dressed up as a TTC streetcar participating in some sort of charity run event. One of the comments was, “they are moving faster than the actual streetcar does.”

This would be funny if it was not actually true.

Why are streetcars slow? There are a bajillion reasons. They include:

• Too many stops too close together

• Traffic, including street parking and left turning cars

• At cross streets with track switches, the streetcars absolutely crawl through them, taking FOREVER

And to make matters worse, because they are slow, streetcars are even more prone to bunching than buses.

Annndddd to make matters double worse, because they are so big and carry so many people, they do not come that often to begin with.

[When the TTC upgraded to the new streetcars that had double the capacity of the old ones, they took it as permission to run less cars. Since, y’know, there’s the same overall capacity.]

That is why it is quite common to be waiting 25+ minutes for a streetcar to show up downtown during rush hour.

It is often said that the reason Montreal is such a bike city is because their local transit is so shitty. I think we are starting to see this in downtown Toronto as well.

The third and biggest problem is that things just cost so much damn more to build.

In 2018, when Doug Ford announced his slate of transit initiatives, the three flagship projects were expected to cost a combined 30 billion dollars.

Now, six years later, the Ontario Line alone is projected to almost hit that number.

When things cost too damn much to build, we build less of them.

If you want a detailed overview of what is going on, check out the Transit Cost Project. But here is the tldr:

• Construction workers are heavily unionized and in short supply, so they make BANK

• We like to build really big and elaborate stations that look nice but are not functionally necessary

• We like to tunnel things instead of putting them on viaducts (which are much cheaper) because people do not like seeing or hearing trains

• We do not standardize designs or construction methods, instead insisting on doing everything from scratch

And things are not just a little expensive. They are very expensive.

I am talking more than double the price of equivalent projects in other countries.

And before you ask, no, this is not because they use child laborers or whatever. Looking at the phenomenon of “infrastructure cost disease” (as its known), it transcends national borders - there are many wealthy countries that can build for cheap too.

And finally, I would be remiss if I did not mention the whole other host of little things that should be improved:

• Adding PRESTO to the Bikeshare and the Islands ferry system

• Adopting a unified wayfinding (signage) scheme across the region

• Actually enforcing fares and ensuring people pay for transit so the system has the funding it needs to operate

• Closing Yonge/Bloor streets to non-local car traffic during subway closures so shuttle buses can move at a (half decent) speed

• Better communications regarding the status of projects - what work is being done, timelines, and what the fuck is going on

So, where does this all leave us?

I think that at the end of the day, I stand by what I said at the start: we have a good transit system.

We have politicians of ALL political stripes who at least PRETEND to care about transit (the same cannot be said for the rest of the continent. Consider the Democrats in New York or the Republicans in California. Everywhere else, it seems to be a competition of who can destroy transit faster).

We have a population who, by and large, are willing to take transit when it is fast and reliable (just look at the explosive growth weekend GO Train ridership has undergone, largely with suburbanites who normally drive around).

We have literally tens of billions of dollars poured into our transit system - funding that is committed to yielding real, tangible results.

Is there room for improvement? Of course there is.

I think that unlike issues of healthcare, education, or the economy, most people do not really know what is going on (not saying they are experts on those either, but at least it is comparatively better). Greater public education about how transit works, the issues they face, and how we can fix them will help transform our systems dramatically. I think I have touched on many of these issues (in brief, of course) above.

But all this being said, it is important not to lose sight of this most fundamental fact.

We are building more transit than anywhere else in North America. Our transit is not perfect, but it exists. And it is getting better.

In 15 years time, our public transit will be unrecognizable when compared to the system we have today.

And that is something we should be proud of.

Streetcar map from:

https://www.blogto.com/city/2019/02/toronto-streetcars-map-1932/

When I first started brainstorming for this post, I knew I wanted to write about the meaning of life. Some real deep, philosophical stuff. I thought about discussing what it meant to be human, the value of constraint, or perhaps the empty void that most of us exist in on a daily basis.

And then I realized, wtf am I doing? If you have met me before, you probably know I hate talking about big, lofty concepts. The more abstract, the more philosophical something is, the more turned off I am by it.

So, let me try to distill it down. Put it into normal words, if you will.

“The meaning of life.” Perhaps, we can call this the pursuit of happiness. After all, is the purpose of living not to be happy?

Now here I must disclaim that happiness does not need to strictly refer to going out and partying. It can also include finding joy and meaning on a deeper level (whatever that means for you). Either way, it is anything that makes your brain go, “I want more of that.”

So, the original question becomes, “what makes us happy?” And I believe the answer to that can be summarized in two words: other people. Let me explain.

Like with most of my Substacks, I am going to start with a story from back in elementary school. 2013.

At that time, I was the type of kid to hang out with the teacher at recess and head straight home after class every day. Social interaction was something I so deeply lacked (this is my really nice way of saying I had no friends). Part of it was because I was just shy. And the other part is that I was a bit of an asshole.

But, did I want friends? Oh yes. I think that all of us, to a certain extent, desire friendship. The shy, introverted me really hated social interaction not because the idea of talking to others was repulsing, but rather, because of a crippling fear that the conversation would go wrong. In a perfect world, I would be able to snap my fingers and just like that, all my friendships would be forged.

I think that this is the way most introverts are. It is not that we do not want to have social groups, it is more so we are daunted by the process of forming them and are unsure where to begin. We have this chronic worry of being judged by others, of our dignity collapsing in on itself.

Anyways, regardless of why, there I was in my sad existence.

Things got a little better in middle school. Especially towards the end of grade eight, I began to meet some people who I felt like I vibed with. Although we still primarily conversed in a school setting, at least there was some interaction. That was already a big step up.

I remember right after grade eight graduation, lying in bed and thinking about what the future held. I asked myself, “would I be able to make more friends in high school? Or would all the progress I had made come falling apart." Most of me thought that I was at the peak and it would be all downhill from there.

Enter grade nine, high school. This was a clean slate - I knew basically no one and could start fresh. I tried to take advantage of that in the first few months. And I met so many great people, but aside from two or three, most of them felt like school friends. You know, the ones you are friends with because you sit next to each other in class and talk about homework. But all things said, I was still not really *close* with most of my friends. Again, a lot of it was my fault. I did not make a proactive effort to connect with people, and at times was still quite an asshole.

Oh well.

And then COVID-19 came along.

For that year, I interacted with like three people who were not my parents. It was a tough time. I crawled into my shell and somewhat gave up on the world.

Back in person in grade 11, and things started to get much better. COVID-19 was the first time I really realized how much I actually craved human interaction. And it gave me the opportunity to think about the things I was doing wrong and how I could fix them.

I began to really try to talk to people. Made plans to go out with friends. And really put in a conscious effort to care about those around me.

It is still not perfect - far from it. But looking back, I really can not articulate how lucky I feel right now. The past three and a half years were the first time I really felt like there were people I could trust, people who cared about me, and those who I felt a sense of connection to.

The purpose of this little story is not to talk about introversion or extroversion. That is a subject for another day. Rather, I simply want to highlight the joy that interacting with people has brought me.

Going back to the introduction then, I think that all of us crave this to an extent. It is what we so desire.

At this point in the discourse on happiness, we reach the typical “let’s get real stage.”

All this wishy washy stuff is nice. i FeEl ThErE aRe PeOpLe WhO cArE aBoUt Me.

“But let’s get real. You know what’s also really freaking awesome? Succeeding.”

For many of the people around me, it’s to break into investment banking. Or MBB (MBB are the three big consulting firms - McKinsey, Bain, and BCG). Or to break into Silicon Valley. Or to break at WUDC. Or to break into someone’s [REDACTED].

Point is, everyone wants to break into *something.* And, the argument goes, this is where true happiness comes from.

And for the longest time, I bought into this way of thinking too.

“If I can get into Waterloo CS, then I’ll be happy.”

“If I can get a 100 on this exam, then I’ll be happy.”

“If I can just break at one tournament, then I’ll be happy.”

And you know what? Doing those things did make me happy.

But why?

Waterloo CS made me happy because it showed those around me that I could do it.

Getting a 100 on the exam made me happy because it showed myself that I was smart.

Breaking at a tournament made me happy because it gave me social status and validation - I was no longer just another rando in the debate circuit (ok, I probably still am. But at least I am a little less of a rando than before).

The common thread in all of these?

The real joy from the success was not in the success, it was in the validation that followed.

There is no intrinsic benefit to doing well (except maybe money). Rather, it is others reaction to it that we crave.

To an extent, I think that this makes sense. We are all, after all, highly social creatures for whom being included in the group is how we survive and thrive. And if we are not just tolerated, but actually admired, then that is just the icing on the cake.

So, we like to succeed because we want others to like us. That is the positive side of things.

Normatively though, is that bad?

To an extent, yes. In an ideal world, all validation would come from ourselves. We would learn to love ourselves for who we are, not caring what others have to say or think.

But, as George Costanza said, “we live in a society.” (Admittedly, the phrase is used in a widely different context nowadays. But let us pretend you do not know that).

It is simply not realistic to tell people to be happy with themselves when both their own instincts and the world around them are constantly reminding them that they need the approval of others.

Sure, maybe I can tell myself that I am smart. But if I keep failing my courses, sooner or later I am going to realize that I am just gaslighting myself.

So in a more practical context, we are always going to want the approval of others. It is simply a fact of life.

But I do not think that means we cannot approach this approval in a healthy way.

I have literally no life, so I am going to pull another example from me trying to find a job.

For the longest time, I dreamt of being able to make that snobby LinkedIn post. You know, the one that goes “I am thrilled to announce that I will be joining X as a Y this summer! Thank you to Z who has guided me on this journey.” The social validation that I expected to come out of that was beyond belief, and in my head I would just keep on hyping it up.

But when I actually made that post, I realized something. Sure, people left their nice comments and congratulated me. And you know what, I did feel pretty good about myself. “I’m employed. RBC wants me.”

The problem is, that feeling lasted about three days.

After that, things went back to normal.

So, the question I asked myself is, what gives? I had expected this moment to bring me never-ending happiness and joy. So why did it go away so soon?

After strolling endless laps around my neighborhood talking to myself, thinking about this, I came to a conclusion.

Validation is not belonging. Approval is not acceptance.

Ugh. I am already starting to sound like one of those corporate DEI experts posting on LinkedIn, blabbering so many words without actually saying anything.

But hear me out here.

Validation is temporary. It arises not because of who you are, but because of something external. Maybe you got a good grade. Maybe you did really well in a competition. Or maybe you managed to get your dream job.

Neither others not yourself love you. They love the accomplishment.

And the problem with accomplishments is they quickly move on.

People cannot talk about your trophy forever (nor should they). They have their own lives too. They also have other peoples achievements to worry about.

Belonging, on the other hand, is much more intrinsic. When you belong, it is not because people like what you have done, but because people like you. Things like your personality, your vibes, your interest in others, and your spontaneity. When that is what people are into, then, you can say you belong.

So, let’s go back to the story I told earlier. Sure, throughout elementary and to an extent middle school, I felt validated. After all, I got good grades and won lots of awards. People called me “smart,” and I am not going to pretend that that did not feel good. But ultimately, it never made me truly happy.

I was only a part of things when I did well, which meant there was extraordinary pressure on me to keep succeeding. I felt obligated to maintain a facade of smartness; like one bad mark could tank the little morsel of reputation I had left.

The difference for me, why I was so much happier in my latter years of high school and now university, is because for the first time, I was not just validated. I belonged. I knew that there were people (albeit not everyone, but that is okay. I am a lil weird, I know that) who liked me and cared about me for who I am.

People connected with me over things that were not ‘strictly business.’ They took an interest in what I had to say and how I was doing.

That is a freaking awesome feeling.

I think the story that really illustrates this I have actually told before on my Substack, but I will tell it again.

When I first joined Hart House (UofT’s debate organization) in September 2023, I had an insatiable desire to prove myself. I knew that I had a little bit of recognition (once someone told me, “I know who you are, and this is not it”), but not much. I thought that I needed to succeed somehow - be it competitively, in the club leadership hierarchy, or in the who has the most upper year connections contest.

To be clear, I did not actually care about any of these things. The only reason I bothered doing any of them was because I thought they would win me the respect of others, and in the process, make me more included in the club.

And you know what, to an extent, it helped. But these things only validated me. Yes, when I became novice rep people said “congratulations” and came to me with all the questions you might expect a novice rep to be asked.

But looking back, that was not really satisfying. Sure, it had brought on the momentary dopamine, but the relationship was not authentic. Rather, the genuine bonds I formed with people were the ones that arose not out of a desire for validation, but rather, just because I actually tried to be friends.

Now to be clear: I am not saying that I do not crave validation. Everyone does. And as I previously discussed, I do not think there this is anything wrong with it.

Oftentimes, it can be tough to break into a social circle and become a part of it. Having the validation of others at least gets them to talk to you about something.

But validation should only be the first step. The foot in the door, if you will. It is unrealistic to keep running the rat race forever, constantly finding new sources of success to keep the validation flowing. Rather, once you have that initial checkmark, it becomes a platform to build that more genuine, authentic sense of connection.

Once we find that sense of belonging, I believe that all the other things become less important. Including validation. By extension, this also means we care less about awards, less about material successes, and less about proving ourselves. Because by this point, we do not need validation anymore. We have, as much as I hate to use this word, transcended it.

I have little doubt in my mind that being novice rep gave me exposure to many people who otherwise would have no idea who I was and it definitely put my name out there. But from there, I knew that even if I wanted to, I could not keep winning awards forever (a little bit because I did not want to put in the enormous effort required, a lot because I physically lacked the skill to do so). So, I pivoted, really trying to find opportunities to get to know the people behind the roles.

I went out for dinner and tried to talk about non-club related things. I asked about their personal lives, learnt their stories, and worked to find areas over which we could connect.

Did I click with everyone? Of course not. In some cases there was just no synergy, while in others I made major mistakes that still haunt me. One of the areas I especially struggled (and continue to struggle with) is expressing my care for others. I really do take an interest in people’s lives, but sometimes I am stumped as to how I can outwardly show them that. And being a chronic yapper, the conversation often ends up being all about me, so I begin to feel bad. It is a work in progress, to put it nicely.

But you know what? That is okay.

No one feels a sense of belonging with every single person. Neither did I.

I had, however, found belonging with many. And that felt amazing.

So, I have yapped a lot. Now, let me go back to the title of this piece.

The pursuit of happiness.

Looking at everything I have said, the thought journey I have been on, I can now say:

“Joy is a sense of belonging.”

It is about being with people that truly care about you, and who you truly care about right back.

For different people, this can take many different forms. Maybe belonging means in a big community, or a small group. Maybe it is just with one person, or 100. Maybe belonging means you sit around a hot pot yapping, or perhaps it is with people who you do not see that often, but you know are there for you.

There is no one definition of belonging.

But I think that when we begin to pursue relationships that are more individual focused and less task oriented, it makes all of us happier.

When we begin to approach friendship and interaction not as a source of validation, but rather, as a source of belonging.

Then, we have joy.

Joy is belonging.

To Dan, who has been there for me since the first day we met.

What did your teachers tell you? What were the posters hung on the wall?

“There is no I in team” (Counterpoint: there is a me though)

“Character is what you do when no one’s looking” (Overrated)

“You can be whatever you put your mind to” (No, you literally cannot)

And if you were anything like me, you probably thought that these were nothing more than sappy bs that people tell kids to make them feel better about themselves.

Looking at these quotes now, they still seem sappy and sort of fake. Misleadingly inspirational and deceivingly simple, if you will.

But over the last few years, one of them specifically has really begin to resonate with me.

“Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react.”

Cringe? Of course. True? Also yes.

Hear me out.

Since I was young, I have struggled with mental health (as many young people seem to be these days).

In grade nine, I was diagnosed with something called OCD. Now the pop culture conception of this is as being “particular about blocks and cleanliness.” Washing hands frequently. Insisting that the 4x4 grid which had 15 elements gain a 16th to make a perfect square.

And although that is one form of it, it’s not what I suffer from. Instead, once I hyper-fixate onto something, my brain will not let go. I must spend every waking moment thinking about it.

But the problem is, this thinking brings me great anxiety. So then I try to resolve it. Usually, I can’t. So the anxiety gets worse. And so I think about it more. So the anxiety gets worse. And the cycle repeats, over and over, until it turns into a depression-like state.

On the off chance I am able to resolve the problem, you know what my brain does?

“Ha. You thought you could get away with it? You thought you could escape the stress?”

Sike.

Here are ten other things to worry about.

And the cycle repeats itself.

“Obsessive Compulsive Disorder” is the full name. I think it’s pretty intuitive.

Once I finally moved off the waitlist and got into treatment, my psychologist gave me some advice that prompted a drastic mindset shift. And I’m going to spend the rest of this Substack explaining my interpretation of what she told me.

The first thing I had to do was recognize that my thoughts, my anxieties, were not rational. As in, they did not stem from an actual worry about the issue at hand. Rather, it was my brain simply searching for something, anything to worry about. I could be on a tropical beach in Hawaii, pina colada in hand, having everything I could possibly desire (both physical and emotional), and still, I would be stressed.

From here then, the acknowledgment becomes as follows. A one question quiz, if you will, to see how I should react to the situation.

Q. Do you have any control over it

A1. YES - then exert that control. Make the change.
A2. NO - then stop thinking about it. Because it won’t change anything.

I think that oftentimes, I want to tell myself I am in situation 1. That I do have complete and total control over the problem. Maybe it’s a way to justify the stress I’m feeling.

And from that, I’ll take action to try to make the change. If I’m worried about a job application, I’ll go and complete the application. If I’m stressed about an exam, I’ll go and study a bit. If I’m freaking out over an upcoming networking session, I’ll go and search for a few of the networkers on LinkedIn so I’m more prepared.

And you know what? That works.

Because it means that I’m using my anxiety for something. It’s no longer just obsessing over something, but it’s channeling that obsession, directing that energy into actual action.

The idea is, stress evolved as an evolutionary mechanism to help us adapt to and respond to risks and dangers we face. I have no idea if this is true or not. But if it is, then all I’m really doing is using stress for its original purpose.

After all, if I’m going to feel anxious, I might as well put that anxiety to good use. To motivate some sort of action.

But here’s the kicker. Many times, the answer to the question is actually “NO.” That I cannot exert control over the situation.

If people want to be assholes, I can not change that.

If the administration is out to get me, I can not change that.

If the job market is just so freaking brutal that there are 600+ applicants for one position, I can not change that.

And in these cases, it’s this mantra that I keep telling myself that has kept me sane: “if you can’t control it, then don’t think about it.”

The reasoning for this is quite intuitive. Stressing about a problem will not make it go away. It won’t give me any more control over the situation either. Heck, it may even give me less.

If I dread seeing someone, thinking about them all day won’t make them go away.

If I know I’m fucked for the exam, sitting there freaking out over it won’t make me pass.

Accepting that fact was crucial for me, because it meant that I could shift my focus away from “how do I solve this problem” and instead towards “how do I better manage this problem.”

Let me say that again.

I do not think it is about solving problems. It is about managing them.

“Isn’t this just a semantic difference?”

No.

Because solving a problem is about addressing the root causes. And as great as that is, it’s not always possible. Remember, many things are out of my control.

And even if it’s possible, fixing things won’t actually make me feel better. Because OCD induced anxiety is not rational. I’m not anxious about anything because that thing is particularly bad (although my brain will come up with 20 reasons to tell me that it is). Rather, I’m anxious about that thing because my brain is simply looking for something, ANYTHING, to be anxious about. It needs that level of despair. And if I somehow manage to make this source of anxiety go away, I’ll simply find something else to freak out over and self-justify that as being the end of the world.

All this is to say, it’s very difficult for me to actually make myself feel better my tackling the problems head on. So instead, I have to manage them.

“Life is 10% what happens to you, and 90% how you react to it.”

Control the 90%.

Now this sounds intuitive enough. But the real question is how? How can I actually manage my emotions?

The first step is a mindset change. That is what I talked about earlier. Recognizing the fact that I should not try to solve the problems, but rather, I need to manage them. From here, I’m able to guide my actions.

What has really worked for me is distracting myself.

A lot of my anxiety occurs in the morning as I wake up. A thought will pop into my head the second I open my eyes, and it’ll stubbornly stay stuck there. So what I do is I force myself out of bed and outside for a walk.

By filling my time with other things, I remove the opportunity for me to keep thinking about whatever I’m anxious about.

If I lie in bed trying to think through my stress, I know that I can be there for hours at a time. But if I take that first step of getting out of bed and doing just about anything else, then I remove the opportunity for myself to be anxious. Because I’m literally too busy doing other things.

The same logic holds true for other situations too. I’ve found that when I’m with friends, I tend not to worry as much. Yes, because their company is comforting. But also because at a more brute level, I am just too busy doing stuff with them to be able to entertain anxious thoughts.

For others, I imagine you’d have your own things that when you’re doing them, you’re fully focused on it.

Does this mean that I’ll never be anxious? Of course not. After I get home from hanging out with my friends, for instance, a flood of thoughts will rush into my head and the despair will continue. But this is already a win. Because even if there are 2-3 hours of anxiety there, I still got 5-6 hours of no anxiety. That’s far better than the 0 no anxiety hours I would’ve gotten if I had just sulked at home.

So that’s the first part. Distract yourself.

And the second? Focus on the present.

Whenever I’m doing something, I do my best to focus on it. My mind LOVES to wander to anxious thoughts, but as soon as a thought pops into my head, I actively try to drown it out.

A lot of times, this looks like me literally telling myself, “Andre, it’s your OCD. Stop thinking about this.” Repeating this over and over again, it works. Soon, I actually stop thinking about it. And I’ll recall back to the one question quiz to rationally remind my brain that I don’t need to worry because worrying will not accomplish anything.

Distraction can also help with this. As soon as the urge to be anxious pops up, I’ll really try to dig my heels deeper into whatever I’m doing. It’s not easy - it takes me proactive mental effort to focus on what is going on in the moment. Simply doing actions is not enough. I need to actually remind my brain to focus on said actions. Think about them not only in passing, but consciously and with intent.

And that crowds out the anxious thoughts.

Is this easy?

Of course not.

I’m not going to pretend like I have it all figured out. Because I really don’t. OCD is a bitch. Anxiety is a bitch. And it’s not as easy to make it go away as telling myself, “I don’t need to worry about this anymore.” There are days when, despite doing all this, I still feel like shit.

But it’s a continual journey that I’m working on. And it’s what I am trying my darn best to do.

What has really helped all throughout goes back to the entire mindset shift. Really acknowledging that the source of these thoughts is my OCD, and that to combat them I have to manage the problem, not solve it.

Some of my friends that I’ve shared this approach with have called it self gaslighting.

And you know what?

I actually kind of like that term. Because it accurately describes what this is.

You are questioning your own reality. Manipulating your own brain into believing that everything will be okay, regardless of if it will.

And as bad as it sounds, it’s what’s saved my mental health.

At the end of the day, I do what I can to solve my problems and stressors. Directing anxiety towards action, if you will. But once that’s done, I’m trying to recognize that regardless of if I’ve solved the problem, I won’t feel any better.

I’m going to say this again.

Solving the problem won’t make me feel any better.

So, for the sake of my own sanity, the only choice I have left is to distract myself and focus on the present moment. Every second I can spend not anxious, even if the anxiety returns later, is a second in which I have lived a better life.

It’s a second that I’ve reclaimed from the anxious forces.

It’s a second that my life has become materially better in.

And it’s a second that means the world to me.

This is not meant to be mental health advice or a diagnosis. What works for me may not work for everyone. If you want to chat about mental health and/or anxiety and/or OCD, my DMs are open.

They might tell you they’re going out to dinner.

Maybe they’re watching a movie.

Maybe they’re streaming a game.

But for me, I am weird.

From February to April, I have been/will be on the organizing team for **six** tournaments (perhaps seven, if I get lucky).

Each one of these is dozens upon dozens of hours of planning, not to mention a full weekend spent during the actual event. And the question people ask me constantly is, “are you fucking insane?”

And to an extent, the answer is yes. I think that if you define insane as being interestedinaverynicheandspecificsetofthingsthatbasicallynooneelseisinterestedin, then yeah, I do fit that.

So, "why do you do this?”

And the real answer is, I do not know. But in the whirlwind of emotions that have followed since HHHS yesterday, I have had some time to reflect (when I probably should have been doing my OB project. Group, if you see this, I am sorry). And I think I have some ideas.

First, what is it *not* because of.

As nice of a story as it would make, it is not because I feel some sort of pRiNcIpLeD ObLiGaTiOn to the debate community. Because truth be told, I feel no such thing.

Along the same lines, it is not to somehow “keep the circut going” or because I feel that I am doing something to help people. It would be nice if I was that altruistic, but alas, like the typical business student, I am not.

Third, it is not for pay. I have never been paid or requested pay for any OrgComm commitments thus far.

So then, why is it?

The first, and most common thought I get is that I am a masochist.

When there is a hoard of 25 emails lined up in the tournament inbox (as there are right now, which I should really start replying to), that makes me happy.

When shit hits the fan, the entire event is delving into pure chaos, and I need to run around like a rat with its head cut off yelling at people, that makes me happy.

When there is a crushing load of things to worry about and a to-do list longer than the required reading for a university humanities course, that makes me happy.

When there is logistical nightmare after logistical nightmare that needs to be sorted out and dealt with, that makes me happy (did I mention, I love logistics).

To be honest, I do not know exactly why these things bring me joy. I think a big part of it is in the adrenaline rush and the sense of excitement. When things start picking up, my emotions tend to aggravate as well. Not in an ‘I am angry way,’ moreso in a ‘this is so cool’ way. It is akin to going on a long, slow, roller coaster for weeks at a time, where each crisis that is faced and each thing that needs to be dealt with is not treated as additional workload, but rather a new source of fun.

An additional aspect probably has to do with the sense of uncertainty. There is a real thrill in not knowing what is going to happen next, in never being able to figure out what is going to hit you. And the even bigger thrill is in knowing that it will be your job to deal with it.

It is like that meme, where the dog-thing is sitting in a burning house going “Everything is fine.” Except whereas that is satirical, in this case, everything IS actually alright.

To be clear, the organizing experience is not all sunshine and rainbows. I think that there are quite a few systemic issues with a) the way OrgComms are set up/roles are split and b) norms about tournament running that everyone must follow for no apparent reason other than it is the way they have always been done. But trying to navigate this frustration and these challenges only adds to the experience.

So maybe, the reason I do this is because I am a masochist. (If you are going to say that this is not actually masochism, stfu. I know. Alas, I can not think of any better word).

But I do not think that that is the full answer. After all, if I really wanted to be stressed, I could just switch into a STEM program. It is not a sufficent explanation. So, I keep thinking.

And soon, I realize that another big part of the equation has to do with the people.

I would not say I am an optimist or a pessimist. Deep down, I read a lot into people and often become quite weary, but I try not to let these thoughts affect the way I act around them.

In a tournament context though, I genuinely believe that this is the setting in which people are at their best. And it makes me so happy to see.

Of course, there are always the exceptions. The debaters who will, despite 50 warnings, still decide to pull out Google (tangent: it BAFFLES me how bad at cheating most people are. Like if you are going to use the internet, at least do a better job of hiding it). The judges who will be assholes and go on powertrips to poor little kids. Etc.

But these are outliers.

I have orgcommed more tournaments than I have competed in (yes, seriously). Time and time again, I have seen people come together here like nowhere else.

This weekend, at HHHS, we had a number of issues (which, if you were there, you probably know about). But the entire team - tabs, CAs, equity, and runners - worked as one well oiled machine to push through it and keep things going smoothly. People pushed aside their grievances, their gripes, their tiredness, their lack-of-being-paid. The amount of commitment, dedication, passion, and expertise from everyone was insane, with a sole focus on keeping the tournament on track. And as sappy and cliche as this sounds, being able to be (somewhat) a part of the process is really damn inspiring.

There was also one other story from HHHS that I wanted to share. I was standing on an inside balcony overlooking the lobby, one floor down, at a box of merchandise that was left unattended. As I was on my phone, replying to messages, I caught out of the corner of my eye a coach or parent (not sure who they were) take a hoodie, then out of their own volition, put the cash payment onto a plate next to the boxes and write their name on a piece of paper. That was really heartwarming. It made me happy.

But tournaments are not just about the orgcomm or parents or coaches. They are also about the debaters. And that is the other part of the answer.

I know that I am too much of a people pleaser, and that there are a lot of other considerations in running an event like this. Yet at the same time, I do view a big part of this role as a customer service one. My job maybe is not to make the debaters love me. But it sure as hell is to make sure they have a good time.

This is why I love the award ceremonies so much. Seeing the look on their faces, seeing the partners jump up in joy and shake each other when their names are called, that makes it worth it. Watching so many people achieve what, for most of them, is a dream, is an incredible feeling.

And having these tangible results to your hard work, being able to see and know that you played a small part in these emotions, it put me on the verge of tears.

And of course, I am not going to pretend that praiseful messages like this do not make me pretty damn happy either.

So then, another part of the equation is that I like both pleasing people and seeing people pleased. That brings me joy.

But still, that is not everything. There are so many other ways I could put my own mental sanity on the line to make others happy. That still does not explain why I love tournaments specifically.

The third, and by far the biggest reason why I love doing this then, is that is gives me a sense of purpose.

The day-in-the-life of a university student, which I am sure that may can attest to, is boring and monotonous. There may be a lot of social events, a lot of drinking, and a lot of studying, but nothing really happens. Grades fail to motivate , and the prospect of a co-op placement is far and distant.

The end result then, is that it feels like I do not know why I even bother doing stuff. It is all a void, a meaningful less rat race. Something something hedonistic treadmill.

But running tournaments, it changes that.

Clearly defined goals and outcomes? Check.

Visible and tangible results? Check.

Power and agency to get things done? Check (mostly).

They give me a sense of purpose, a reason to get my ass out of bed every morning and go do something that matters. To deliver an experience better than the ones that I got when I was a debater (I know this sounds cocky as fuck; I am not saying that it actually is better - just that this is the goal). To put a smile on people’s face.

I am reminded of a quote from my favorite TV sitcom, Abbott Elementary. “When something was off, [they] always tried to fix it.” And for me, this is what running tournaments is all about.

On HHHS day one, the lunch line turned into a disorganized mob that had neither order nor efficency. Things were off. So for the second day, I worked with the team to hold people in the hallways, only letting a few into the serving lobby at a time. And sure enough, we cut down the food serving turnaround to half of what it was the day before. 430 people in 14 minutes - not bad, imo.

Being able to see things that could be done better, then actually having the ability to find and implement new solutions that yield tangible results, that is what these tournaments provide me with. There is a unique sense of structure within the organization and tournament running that create the “goldilocks zone” of freedom - where I can do what I want while also not being totally lost in the trenches. The sense of ownership and responsibility that is derived as a result, for me, is so important.

Closely related to the idea of purpose and equally as important, is that these tournaments give me something to **look forward** to.

In the weeks leading up to HHHS, I would often count down how many days were left until it was time. As it went from early January, to late January, to mid February, I could feel the excitement grow. It is hard for me to pinpoint exactly why I was so giddy. But yeah, it was insane.

Then, as tournament day was right around the corner, part of the excitement subsided.

Let me explain. And I am going to invent some new words here to assist.

“Positive excitement” is everything I have talked about thus far. All the joy, the purpose, the meaning.

And what I will call “negative excitement” is the dread that, after these two days are up, I will be back in a life of boringness and nothingness. That the joy I feel will come to an end. I tend to feel a lot of this in my life - social gatherings, schools, vacations, etc.

I know that a lot of people feel negative exctiement as the wonderful thing is coming to an end. But uniqley to me, I feel it before the trigger has even started. It is akin to dreading work post-weekend on Monday, when right now it is only Thursday.

If we plotted time against positive and negative excitement, it would look something like this. Orange is positive, grey is negative.

Now this is not very good, is it! Any increase in positive excitement is cancelled out by the dread of negative excitement.

So, what do I do to fix this?

I sign up to orgcomm even more tournaments.

If I can have the next orgcomm opportunity lined up before the negative excitement from the current one starts to pick up, then I can eliminate most of the dread in feeling that after this tournament is over, there will be nothing else to do. Because now, there will be something to do!

At this point, you might think that I am crazy. One of my friends who I told this to said it was akin to an addiction.

And maybe they are right.

Perhaps then, the reason I organize debate tournaments is not only because I love doing them, but I am addicted to doing them.

Much like my love of TikTok, I can not stop. Because as long as I keep going, as long as I keep doing more and more, the excitement and joy and purpose and meaning and passion and happiness keep going. And I love that. The feeling that I always have something else to look forward to, something to think about, something to get excited about.

So yeah. I probably am a bit of a masochist for that. And I probably do enjoy the tournament organizing experience. But at the end of the day, the real reason I do this is because it lights a fire within me and gives me something meaningful to spend my moments thinking about. And you can call it whatever you want. A job. A passion. A masochistic tendency. An addiction.

But no matter what label you or I pick, what does not change is that I fucking love this job.

Please keep giving it to me.

This post is not meant to be a HHHS debrief, nor is anything here restricted to/specifically about HHHS. That being said though, it would be a grave injustice to make it through this entire post without reemphasizing that organizing is a team effort. I wrote this piece from an individual POV, but all of the individual benefits I discuss are only possible because in every tournament I have been on the OrgComm for, I have been guided, led and supported by an amazing team of people. These are some of the smartest, most caring, most passionate, and most competent folks I have ever met, and they are the sole reason why anything even remotely related to what I wrote about is true.

You might have heard this Benjamin Franklin quote before.

And usually, it is used when people talk about the latter. No one likes taxes.

But what about the former? What about death?

It seems that as a society, we have collectively decided to just not talk about it. Zip. Nothing.

That is not to say, we do not obsess over people dying.

I am sure you have seen the news stories. “Woman dead after car crash.” “More than 20 000 feared dead in catastrophic earthquake.” It seems to be the media’s favorite thing to report on.

And yeah, we talk about famous people leaving our world all the time. We memorialize them, discuss their legacies, and increasingly, have political debates about whether or not they were a good person.

But while we love to talk about dying, we do not truly talk about death. Neither as a concept, nor an experience. What is it like? What happens when we die? How should we think about our own deaths? What about the deaths of others?

We dress it up in euphemisms. If you notice, two lines back, I "said “leaving our world.” That is a popular one. “Deceased” is another. So is “no longer with us,” or “passed away.” No one wants to say the word “dead.”

And maybe, that is understandable. After all, death is terrifying. As philosopher Stephen Cave put it,

“We have to live in the knowledge that the worst thing that can possibly happen one day surely will, the end of all our projects, our hopes, our dreams, of our individual world. We each live in the shadow of a personal apocalypse.”

A few weeks ago, my Grandma died. We saw it coming - a few months before that, she had been diagnosed with a fast-moving, largely incurable cancer.

At her memorial service, my mom said lovely things about my Grandma. But in her words, she repeatedly spoke as if death was not the finale.

“We will meet again.” “This is not goodbye, just see you soon.”

And in a way, I think this encapsulates how we struggle to come to terms with the finality of death. Most people, myself included, can not comprehend a world with nothingness.

Maybe, as some will be quick to point out, it is not nothing. And perhaps they are right. Many (but not all) religions have teachings that tell us, death is not the end. Some believe in heaven/hell. Others, reincarnation.

But even if that is the case, I think that most people still cannot imagine such a different world. As hard as it is to understand total darkness, it is equally as tricky to imagine pure bliss. Or, being reborn as a butterfly.

The point is, whatever we believe happens after death is so different from the world we live in now, it is virtually impossible to envision.

What makes it even scarier, is most of us are not completely sure about whether the next world we think exists, even exists at all. After all, nobody truly knows what happens after we die (if you find out, please do let me know). And what we humans fear more than anything, is uncertainty.

So, most of us just choose to pretend it does not exist.

But here is the problem. Ignoring something does not make it go away. Not talking about death can not make us immortal.

As a result, when neither individuals nor society wants to talk about it, when the inevitable happens, it becomes that much worse.

But this was not always the case. In fact, up until a few hundred years ago, death was a topic discussed rather openly. Religions provided great teachings on why it exists, what it means, and how we should view it. Many people took comfort in such ideas.

When death actually came, religious and cultural communities were there to provide support; to help family members process what had happened. Oftentimes, this would be accompanied by elaborate rituals and traditions, infused with hope and blessing.

Yet today, in a west that has become increasingly secularized (largely due to extraneous, non-death related factors), such things are becoming increasingly rare. Organized religion is on the decline, and although many new-age movements have arisen, none have been able to fill the void. And for those who still embrace religious practices, it tends to happen privately. We have cast religion, and with it, much of the discourse surrounding death, out of the public sphere.

To be clear, I am not an advocate for organized religion, nor do I mourn over its declining influence in western society. But I think that if we want to understand how we can find new ways to help us deal with death, we must first understand the role it has played for most of human history.

With all this said then, what have we devised to replace it?

Well, a pseudo-network of support groups and therapy networks, both online and in-person, have popped up. A new trend seen in some places are “death cafes,” where people go to talk about, well, death. Yet none of these band-aid solutions have taken off.

Some would argue that it is because no matter how much you talk about it, it does not make the problem go away. Nothing can make the problem go away.

And that is true.

But I think there are a lot of problems in our lives we can not make disappear. But we still find new ways to talk and think about them.

One such approach was proposed by Cave, in his Ted Talk “the 4 stories we tell ourselves about death.” He put it better than I could ever paraphrase, so I will let his words speak for themselves.

“Just as a book is bounded by its covers, by beginning and end, so our lives are bounded by birth and death. And even though a book is limited by beginning and end, it can encompass distant landscapes, exotic figures, fantastic adventures. And even though a book is limited by beginning and end, the characters within it know no horizons. They only know the moments that make up their story, even when the book is closed. And so the characters of a book are not afraid of reaching the last page.”

I think that in some ways, this is incredibly helpful.

Yet it also still encapsulates the mindset that death is something we do not think about; that we cast aside and push away. Yet I am pretty sure if you told Harry Potter after the end of the last book, his character would simply cease to exist, that he probably would not be too pleased.

Another way that we have tried to fill the void left by religion is science. No, not the traditional “let’s do brain scans on people” science. Instead, people are turning to things like freezing their bodies in the hopes that one day, geniuses will be able to unfreeze and “resurrect” them. Others say that within our lifetimes, we will be able to upload our minds to a computer server and continue to exist there.

Now I am not a scientist, and in the same way I did not make a comment on the veracity of religious claims, I am not going to do so for these beliefs either.

But up to this point, I still feel as if we are not coming to terms with death. We are still trying to find ways to tiptoe around it, to deny its finality.

What then, hypothetically speaking, does not tiptoeing around it look like?

Well, it probably means changing the way we talk about death. That as a society, we begin to view it for what it is - a permanent, irreversible, and drastic moment that upends everything we have ever known or experienced since the beginning of our existence. It means acknowledging its finality, and its mystery.

Or maybe, it just means we just start talking about it again. Even that would be better.

My mom, she flew out to Seattle (where my Grandma lived), one week before she died. And in those seven days, she saw a remarkable change in the way my Grandma acted.

Previously, she had been rather gloomy. Not depressed, but definitely not cheerful either. She would frequently remark about how she was not sure why she was alive. Yet in that week, my mom told me about how Grandma, for the first time in a long time, wanted to be alive. When faced with the reality that her time was limited, she began to cherish her last moments. She wanted to do, well, life-things, because she realized that it was the last time she would be able to do them.

“We don’t realize what we have, until it’s gone.”

And research tells us, this is how it often goes. I am sure you have seen the quotes, about how on their deathbeds, people’s greatest regret is that they did not live life more.

So perhaps, this is why we should normalize truthful discourse about death. If this final moment that is always creeping up on us, if living with this over our heads can inspire us to live better lives, maybe it is something we should talk about more. If we were all reminded, constantly, that our time in this world is limited, we would indeed probably bicker less about little things. We would spend more time with loved ones. And we would cherish the moments that matter most.

People love to talk about the wisdom of the elders. But maybe, this is the greatest piece of wisdom of all. And now, there would be something to back it up.

Would this make the actual notion of death less scary?

I think so.

In a society where ideas of death were frequently discussed, people would be better equipped to handle the death of those around them. Although the grief would not go away, it would be less of a surprise. Death would no longer be this far off, abstract concept that caught you off guard. Rather, it would be something that you had seen coming, and had almost, in a sense, prepared for. There would be less regrets, less “I wish I had done that while I still had the time.”

Most importantly though, I think that everyone, in some way, shape, or form, has struggled with death anxiety. Maybe it was when you were confronted with your own mortality, or perhaps when a loved one passed away. Death is a common experience for us all. But in a society where no one wants to talk about it, it feels wrong to bring it up. No one wants to be reminded of it, so we all stay silent.

What do we do instead? Well, we stash it away in the darkest corners of our brains, trying to cope with it on our own. But as any mental health expert will tell you, this is not healthy. Especially for something as difficult to comprehend and as irreversible as death. In a world where we talked about it more, people would be more willing to share their struggles, their stress, and their anxiety. And we would have far more supports to help them cope.

In fact, I could argue that death would become the one thing that truly brings everyone together.

But hang on.

Let us take a step back, and think about this again.

Is this mindset not just holding the threat of death over people’s heads to force them to live a good life? Blackmail, almost. “Live a good life, or you will regret it.”

Could you live a good life under those circumstances? Would you truly feel “alive?”

I mean, 99% of people would say no. Being constantly reminded of your ultimate demise is not a great life philosophy, even if that demise is used to motivate you.

So, what would work instead?

Maybe we could normalize discourse about death, without using it as a threat. A more moderate version of the above, if you will.

One such change that has arisen out of this is the rise of hospice. Increasingly, in someone’s final stretch, healthcare has become less about prolonging their life by a few more days, but rather, more so about making those last moments as comfortable as possible.

Consider my Grandma’s case. She and both her children all agreed that there was no point in pursuing the aggressive chemotherapy treatment for her cancer. All the pain and suffering it brought was simply not worth it, even if it did mean she would have a chance to live several weeks longer. Instead, the nurses spent her last days giving her lavender baths, painkillers, and lots of plushy pillows.

“Dying with dignity,” as it is known, represents a mindset shift, away from continually trying to avoid death at all costs and towards making every last moment of life count. In this field, death is not an absolute evil, but rather, a part of the circle of life.

Another, perhaps more controversial way of thinking that has been proposed is in the concept of “we are all dying.” The reasoning goes, from the moment we are born, we are all on a slow march towards death. Every second of our lives, we are undergoing the process known as dying. So even though death is the finale, it is not a one act play. It is simply the culmination of our lives.

The logic then asks, what is there to worry about? Death is a part of our lives, a conclusion of the saga we have been preparing for our whole lives. It is our one common experience that unites all living things on this earth.

Does that make you feel better?

Maybe we could try even harder to erase it from our minds.

As a child, I had a crippling fear of death. And for a while, it consumed me. I could not do anything, go anywhere, meet anyone, without thinking about death. And then my psychologist asked me, “what does worrying about it do? Will it change anything.”

“No, it won’t.” I responded.

“So then stop worrying about it.”

And perhaps surprisingly enough, this mindset worked. Whenever I started thinking about death, I would repeat this line in my head. Over, and over, and over. And maybe I was denying reality in its most extreme form. But it made me feel better.

Or maybe, we could turn back to religion.

Research has shown that one of the big reasons people become religious is to find comfort from the fear of death. And although that is usually framed as a bad thing, I do not think that that is necessarily the case.

If religious beliefs genuinely make people feel better, if they are able to provide that level of comfort, then we should embrace them with open arms. Maybe they are true, maybe they are not. But here is the thing - it does not matter.

As much as some people like to claim religion is an unproven framework, so is every other way of thinking about the world. The lives of the most devout theists and the most ardent atheists are both filled with untested assumptions that form the foundation of their beliefs. In this way, it becomes about picking the most convenient assumption for our lives. And I would say, being able to deal with death is pretty damn convenient.

(That is not to say, religion and/or atheism have no evidence for them. Just because people turn to religion to help them cope with death does not render religion true/false. And although I am not religious, I think that the case for theism is stronger than most people assume. But that is a topic for another day.)

As a little child, I always thought about death. Then, I stopped. But now, what has happened over the past few weeks has really made me think once again about what it means to die.

Not so much in a “what is out there” sense (because I think I have accepted that I will not figure it out until it is too late), but more so in a “how does this affect our lives while we are still here” way.

And in seeing how my family has gone through this, one thing is clear.

We need to change the way that as a society, we talk about death.

Stashing it away until it confronts us head on, then not knowing how to react, that simply does not work.

So, what do we do? How do we, as a society, confront the inevitable darkness that is our ultimate demise, without terrifying people in the process? Well that, I do not know.

If I had the answer to this question, I would have been famous by now.

After all, for thousands of years, we have tried (and largely failed) to figure it out. Different cultures and thinkers have put forth different ideas, but thus far, none have been a slam dunk.

What I do know though, is that at the very minimum, we need to be ready to have a conversation about how we are going to have a conversation about death.

And as unpleasant as this topic is, that means beginning to actually talk about death in the public realm.

Not just in a superficial, “oh this celebrity died” way, but at a much deeper level. If we want to find ways to help people cope with their own mortality and the mortality of those around them, we need to be willing to at least acknowledge that this mortality exists.

The gap between our private experiences with death and what we as a society are willing to talk about, that has got to be closed.

After all, death is the one thing that every single one of us will face.

Having to find a better way to cope with it, that should be something we can all agree upon.

seriously.

if we agree at be somewhere at four pm. be there at four pm.

things happen, sometimes you’re late, that’s understandable.

but i’ve realized, the amount of chronic lateness in this world.

it’s insane.

if you agree upon a time then be there for it.

if you know that the ttc might decide to stop working, then leave earlier.

if you know that your mom might yell at you before you head out, then wake up earlier.

if you know that a last minute hassle of you trying to gather your things will happen, then leave some buffer time.

if you know that you’re gonna want to buy coffee before you arrive, then plan for that in advance.

just leave earlier!!!

and if you know you can’t make the agreed upon time.

then don’t agree to it in the first place. tell me 4:30, not 4:00.

i don’t know about you. but my greatest pet peeve isn’t someone not paying me back (although it is annoying). it’s not uncleanliness. it’s chronic lateness.

chronic lateness is really really bad.

as one of my middle school teachers said

“if you’re not early, you’re late.”

The clouds don’t seem to be moving, with the sky having transformed into one grey blob. No sunlight, no colour.

On the ground sits a pile of leaves, leftovers from the fall cleanup. Every time a gust of wind blows, the leaves get lifted off the ground, up, up, and away. They do their little dance, swirling around in a circle, spinning a couple laps before coming to rest in their new resting place. A couple moments of silence, then the gust picks up again and the cycle repeats once more.

It’s been an interesting few months, and I’m still not quite sure what to make of it. Maybe the best way to put it is that, “things happened.”

First, some context. My university choice, personally I would describe it as “unconventional.” Most other people? “Batshit insane.” In fact, I’m still frequently asked if I have any intention of transferring elsewhere, and although I don’t, I’m also not going to pretend like that thought hasn’t frequently crossed my mind.

So then, what happened?

The First Few Weeks Happened

Or more accurately, they didn’t happen.

Frosh was disappointing. We spent more time sitting on bleachers listening to speeches and watching other people do talent show performances than actually any of the regular “frosh” stuff. In fact, after the let-down that was day one, many people (myself included) skipped most of the second day. I still recall my group leader, who remarked, “I dont know why they put all this boring stuff in first, the fun stuff is only after 8 pm.” He was right. While admittedly a small part of it was exciting (specifically the foam party), overall it felt like a waste of time and money. Not a great start; but then again, it’s UTSC. If you made a ranking of party schools in Canada, we’d probably be at the very bottom.

I also met a few really nice people during frosh. Unfortunately, I haven’t talked with most of them since. I guess when Tiktok told me, “you won’t find your forever friends right away," this is what it meant.

A few days after orientation ended, classes began. In the first few weeks, I tried really hard to be a “good” student. I had scheduled myself mostly 9 AM’s against the advice of pretty much everyone because I figured that they’d force me to get out of bed at a good hour. And initially, it worked. I lugged myself to all my lectures and tutorials.

I also took good care of myself. I went to bed and woke up at reasonable hours. I went to the gym three times a week. I rarely skipped meals. And I involved myself in as many opportunities as I could.

I still remember telling a friend in the second or third week, “my goal is to not say ‘no’ to anything someone asks me to do.”

To be honest, it felt great. “I’m slaying this so hard,” I remember telling myself. I was feeling quite upbeat about university.

lol. wasn’t i a silly one.

Reality Happened

In case you hadn’t figured it out yet, my desire for excellence didn’t last long.

I started not going to classes - by early October, I was skipping around 50% of my lectures/tutorials. And come November, I was attending a mere six hours of class a week (only those that had participation grades). It’s true what they say - once you skip one, you’re not gonna stop.

Speaking of stopping, I stopped pretty much every good habit I’d tried to get myself into it.

I stopped going to the gym. Pan Am was too far of a trek for my lazy ass.

I stopped eating three meals a day. On a good day, I would have two. On a bad day, one (and this is with an all you can eat dining hall. Some friends who had to cook themselves ate once every two days).

I stopped having a regular sleep schedule, at least compared to my own standards. Relative to other university students, I still probably seemed like sleeping beauty.

And I stopped trying to go to every workshop, every session, every event I could find. In many cases, I’d fill out the sign up form thinking it’d be a good way for me to force myself to go. But when the time came, I just didn’t have the mental willpower to drag myself out of my room.

So yeah, university student things.

To be clear, it wasn’t all bad. There were some good parts.

I still ate and moved around a decent amount. The “freshman fifteen,” which says that new university students will either gain or lose fifteen pounds, never came to fruition.

I kept up with academics even if I didn’t go to class. I did the readings before the lecture and studied throughout the term so that during finals season, while everyone else was stressing, I was quite relaxed. The classes I did go to, I participated in. And I got good grades.

I still went out and about. A lot. I spent at least one or two days a week downtown for various things which usually was not “fun.”

On that, I spent a lot of time at Robarts Library on the UofT main campus. I was simply so much more productive there - probably because the commute each way was 90 minutes (my GO Train Presto Card spending over the past few months has been crazy) and so I was able to pull the “you can’t let that time go to waste” card on my brain. Plus, my bed being very far away helped as well. A lot.

And, I still took care of myself.

One of my favorite things to do when I was feeling stressed (or when I just had some spare time) was to hop on a GO Bus in the evening and ride to wherever it took me. GO Buses were always quiet places, and when it was dark out, the drivers would turn off the lights inside the bus. I’d put my headphones in (after spending an embarrassingly long time trying to untangle them), turn on my Spotify, and just gaze out the window as we sped down the highway. It was peaceful, quiet, and relaxing. Self care is so awesome.

My experiences over the past few months have largely validated the things I’d heard about what university is like. Things that people had told me, but I hadn’t fully believed.

That it’s difficult to make friends and actually get to know people beyond a “I sit next to you in class.”

That you’re mostly on your own, and if you want help from professors or the school you have to seek it out yourself.

That you shouldn’t buy the hardcopy of the textbook no matter how much they tell you to.

That taking 9 AM classes means you just end up skipping all of them.

That you should get your own source of income so you’re not as reliant on your parents.

That you should join clubs and involve yourself in campus life.

Let me explain a little bit more.

Making Friends Happened (somewhat)

At the start of the year, I really did my best to put myself out there and interact with new people. But then I got lazy and failed to stay in touch with them. And so, most of those relationships quickly went away.

Being on a university campus with 15,000+ people (90% of whom are commuters), I could’ve gone an entire year without seeing someone. Especially if they were in a different program.

Moreover, at UTSC it felt like everyone just had their own things to do and were less interested in interacting with strangers. Studies were intense, work obligations arose, they faced difficulties adapting, etc. There was simply less social capital left to go around, especially since most people were commuters.

But even in a residence context, the same thing held true. Going in, I thought I’d become besties with just about everyone on my floor and get to know most people in my building. Needless to say, that didn’t happen. Even now, I can do a lap around the dining hall without encountering anyone that I regularly talked to.

All this is to say, it was difficult to find a big group of friends. Of course, there were a few that I clicked with and a couple more that I enjoyed talking to. If you’re one of those people, if we still have these relationships in spite of everything, I hope you understand how much you mean to me.

As for everyone else, well, it was like a whir. Maybe some would be okay with this. But if you’re like me, a socially awkward introvert who nonetheless loves talking to people, it definitely wasn’t ideal.

Self Sufficiency Happened

In high school, the refrain I kept hearing (especially from one teacher in particular) was that your university professors won’t care about you. But in my one semester of experience, what they said was only somewhat true.

If you take this to mean that your professors won’t guide you every step of the way, that is absolutely the case. When you don’t turn in an assignment, they won’t come after you. When you skip class, they won’t come after you. When you’re struggling, they won’t come after you.

You see the trend here? They won’t come after you. In this respect, you need to keep yourself accountable and be your own advocate.

But if you interpret this as saying that they’re not invested in your success, I think that that’s not true (at least with the profs I’ve had). Not only was the teaching quality excellent, I’ve found that everyone did what they could to help me. When I reached out for support - be it thru email, office hours (GO. SERIOUSLY. Everyone tells you to go but no one actually does), asking questions, etc. they would always give me as much help as they could. It was lovely.

TAs, however… goodness.

You know the saying, “when you have nothing nice to say, keep your mouth shut?”

Well, I’m keeping my mouth shut.

Slacking Off Happened

To be honest, I don’t know why I stopped going to class/tutorials. Maybe I just didn’t find the lectures helpfully because the content wasn’t very difficult. Maybe I was lazy. Maybe it’s because most of them were at 9 AM.

Regardless of the reason, I don’t blame myself for this. After all, my grades were good and my mental health was there. In fact, I’ve realized that it’s totally normal to slip and fall in the first semester. University is an adjustment for everyone and I have to give myself some breathing space. The high standard I adhered to at the start of the year was never sustainable.

Thankfully, the one thing I was able to maintain the entire semester was completing readings and exercises in advance of, or latest within two days after the lecture. This proved to be a lifesaver - it made it easier to understand the content and saved me from so much stress during exam season. In fact, I don’t think it was until midterms, when my friends started panicking about how behind they were on the readings, that I realized just how much content a typical university course covers.

Things From High School Happened

Okay, I’ll admit it. By this point, I’m milking the subtitle format a little to the point where it doesn’t make sense anymore. What I’m trying to say here though, is that they weren’t kidding when they said IB makes first year easier.

For one, the Higher Level Math transfer credit allowed me to get out of doing MATA34, the Calculus for Management (business) course. And what a lifesaver that was. That course had a crazy workload, difficult assessments, and no curve.

But even in my other courses where the content wasn’t directly transferable, IB taught me so many important skills that made life easier - everything from how to take notes, study, manage time, analyze things, work with data, approach mathematical concepts, write, etc. Whereas I saw many other friends have to learn these things on the fly, having done IB meant that I had these skills from the outset. And that proved to be a massive advantage.

Work Happened

While in high school, I worked on and off (primarily during breaks), but never held a real job for more than a few weeks. Come the start of first year, that changed.

This semester, I still didn’t take on too many hours per week, but I did get paid quite well and gained really good experience. Were there some times during which I felt so tired and done with everything and was really tempted to just call in sick? Oh yeah. But from a retrospective point of view, working taught me a lot. In many ways, it was a respite from everything else that went on in the week. My job wasn’t easier than everything else that I had to do, but it was different.

And of course, the pay was nice. It alleviated me from having to constantly beg my parents for money, which, as a university student, would’ve been an awkward interaction.

So yeah. Work was fun.

Getting Involved Happened

At the start of the year, I joined two clubs.

One of them was the Management Consulting Group. Really fancy name!

I’m not going to delve too much into details, but this didn’t deliver what I was hoping it would. Nonetheless, I’m well aware that having a business-y club on my resume is very helpful. So I did my best within it even if I didn’t find it very fun.

The second club was Hart House Debate.

“Ah, but isn’t Hart House at main UofT downtown?”

Yes. It is.

Usually, I bundled my study trips downtown to coincide with Hart House meetings. Like clockwork, every Tuesday I’d head to Robarts in the morning and study there until the evening, after which I’d walk over to Hart House for the club meeting. Then every other Wednesday morning, I’d return first for the exec meetings, then stay in Robarts and work for the rest of the day. It quickly became a routine.

Rather surprisingly, I enjoyed debate, but it wasn’t the main reason I was active in this club. “Organized arguing” in and of itself wasn’t enough to get me to spend three hours on the bus/train commuting.

Rather, it was everything else about the club that made me keep wanting to go back.

It was at Hart House that I met so many fantastic people. Fantastic in that they were amazing people to talk to and hang out with, but also fantastic in the sense that we shared a lot in common. After meetings, we’d go head to Robarts to study more, and even though I had a long late night commute back to Scarborough, I never wanted to leave. I guess debate attracted a particular type of person with a unique personality and set of interests, and I vibed really well with that (it also attracted a lot of Asians, but we can ignore that for now).

Like seriously. The number of public transit nerds in Hart House was insane. I loved it so much.

Hart House has also given me the chance to do things that I find meaningful (disclaimer: a typical person would probably not use the same adjective to describe what I was doing). Being on both the exec and outreach teams, I’ve had the chance to work on projects that I actually care about. And that’s been amazing

Plus, as a part of the club, I got to travel to cool places! (Thank you high school debaters who, through your tournament registration fees, are subsidizing my trips).

So yeah, clubs were cool. But I realized that not every club was for me. I should’ve done more window shopping and looked beyond what I thought will fit me well. Because the club experience is determined 20% by the “category” of club (e.g., business competition, fashion, music…) and 80% by everything else - the people, the club culture, and opportunities within.

I think then, this is a common theme I’ve picked up on in the past few months.

I didn’t have everything sorted out.

I didn’t need to have everything sorted out.

Let things play out. See what happens.

From here then, perhaps I can try again to answer the question that I get asked quite often - do I regret choosing UofT Scarborough? Well, that’s TBD.

That probably isn’t a very helpful answer. Lemme give it another shot.

It’s complicated.

Better?

Jokes aside, on one hand, the academic quality was fairly strong. It is, after all, UofT. Our class sizes indeed were smaller, and our professors were excellent. Additionally, because UofT Scarborough is the little brother amongst the three UofT campuses, they’re more creative with their program design and course offerings. That’s a good thing.

Plus, being a smaller and less prestigious campus also means that there’s less competition for resources. Not as many people at office hours. Much easier to get an appointment with the co-op office. Workshops and recruiting events didn’t have long waitlists. etc.

Now for the downsides. And there were two big ones.

First. I didn’t travel downtown for Hart House because I loved spending three hours on the bus/train every week. Scarborough simply didn’t have the same level of extracurriculars that main UofT did.

Second, and probably more importantly, it had to do with the culture. I saw a TikTok a few days ago about someone comparing experiences at target vs non target schools (which is a fancy way of saying, do the big investment banks/consulting firms go there to recruit), and they posited that the main difference between these schools wasn’t academics, but rather how much students “do” business outside of class time. I think that this couldn’t be more true. People at UTSC did well in business courses, but there just wasn’t that same culture of internship/networking/case competition grindsets that you’d find at like a school like Queen’s.

Now was that bad? Some would say no, but in my mind, it definitely was a problem. Because while it’s true that this competition does lead to a less stressful and cutthroat environment, not having it made me become demotivated. Whereas elsewhere, if everyone around me was doing them, I’d feel pressured to partake as well. And let’s be real here - these things are important.

So with all this in mind, do I regret going to UofT Scarborough?

For now, the answer is no. Three months in, on net, I’m glad I made the choice I did. I’ll see if, over the next few years, this changes.

It is now the early morning as I return to my desk and continue writing. The weather forecast tells me that there’s going to be some snow today. Maybe, then, we’ll have a white Christmas after all.

Looking out my window, I can now only barely make out the faint shadows of the leaf piles amidst the darkness outside. And yet, the dance of the leaves continues. I wonder if it’s been going on all night, and if the leaves have gotten tired. Wind gusts, leaves swirl, then they slowly drift to rest. Wind gusts, leaves swirl, then they slowly drift to rest. On, and on, and on.

In many ways, this cycle represents what the first few months have been like.

In the light of day, every moment felt like non-stop action. The leaves kept swirling and swirling and swirling, going round and round in a circle. There was no stopping, even if I wanted to.

Come night, it was the time to reflect. In the dark, my memory of it all becomes a blur. Even though the leaves still swirl as each flashback still races through my mind, the lines have turned wobbly and it feels as if everything has become mixed together.

Back in late October, I remember sitting in my dorm, pondering about how I was already halfway through my first semester. It struck me - “this is going by really freaking fast.”

Well, it’s now the end of December, and that sensation hasn’t gone away. Move in day, Friday September 1st, seems like an eternity ago, yet it also feels like yesterday.

I think then, that this is my biggest reflection on university.

When I fell into a daily routine, when I was all on my own, it felt like a lucid dream. Every day was the same and I was on my own adventure. One day faded into the next, and I began to forget when I was at. Yesterday felt like a month, and a month felt like yesterday. It’s hard to describe this feeling in concrete terms, but I hope you understand what I mean.

Since going to university, I’ve began to lose all sense of time, of idea, and of continuity. Things happened, memories were made, experiences were lived, but in my mind it’s all a jumble now.

Perhaps that’s a good thing. When the leaves are blown around and then come to rest again, they settle in different formations every time. But no one can tell the difference. In the same way, if the memories are in my head, maybe it’s okay that they’re a little mixed up. What matters is I remember that I had a good time.

Or, maybe I should simply invest in a leafblower.

Editing note: it’s currently 7:31 pm on December 19th. This is going to get posted very soon. On final editing, I realized writing the whole thing in past tense makes it seem like I’m leaving UTSC, leaving my friends, leaving Hart House, leaving my job, etc. I’m too lazy to go back and change everything to present tense (like seriously, that means rewriting half the piece). So instead I’m just going to say this - don’t interpret my use of past tense as being that “I’m done with X now.” Because I’m not.

Hang on. Let me rephrase.

When you woke up this morning, what did you *not* expect to do?

Read a blogpost on signage in the Toronto subway, probably.

And yet, here you are.

I think that most people would agree, the signage on the Toronto subway is pretty bad.

For one, it is so inconsistent. There are five generations of signs used across the network, heck, sometimes all five might even be found in the same station. Fairly evidently, this is bad for user experience. The lack of visual branding is incredibly disorienting and it gives the impression that the system is poorly managed. If you can not even make your signs work, how can anything else be done well?

But putting this gripe aside, there are bigger problems vis a vis functionality.

Let us look at a few signs I noticed on my commute from downtown to Scarborough a few days ago.

I can see where Eastbound Trains are, but where are Westbound ones? No sign to be seen.

What Subway is this? The sandwich shop? If you can even make out the faint silver letters that say “Subway,” that is.

What is “Greenwood?” Is it the entrance to a subway station? A coffee shop? An apartment complex? I guess we will never know.

Oh look. It is an elevator with *access!* Access to where though?

Line 1 Northbound or Southbound? Here is the kicker. Line 1 is a U-shape. So from this station (Bloor-Yonge), if I was traveling to anything west of St. George, I would still be heading Northbound but would have to somehow know that I should follow the signs for Southbound. Confusing.

This exit, does it go to the Eglinton Ave. Parking? Or to Eglinton Ave. AND Parking. Oh, and it actually leads to the bus terminal as well. But you would not know that from the sign.

Want to figure out when the next train is coming? I guess you will have to stand right under the screen, because on the massive TV screen the actual important information is relegated to a tiny corner.

Although this is not technically a sign, looking at these gates covered with marketing you would think that you can only tap your PRESTO or American Express card. Little would the common man know, any other contactless card works as well.

Stairs. Escalator. TO WHERE??? THE MOON?

Looking at this one, you will notice that it is not in fact a TTC sign. But for many people with vision impairments, this is how they see backlit white text on black background. So, basically every TTC sign ever. And that is an accessibility problem.

—

Point is, from an intuitive user perspective, the signs are not great.

So how do we make them better?

Well it is first important to understand how people interact with signs.

Contrary to popular belief, signs are not just (or at least should not just be) put up based on vibes. Rather, there are people who spend their whole lives researching ways to make them better (seriously, go and search it up).

Underpinning their study is a basic underlying premise - when people are in public, they do not use their brains.

Consider this situation. A few weeks ago, I was at the airport waiting to board a flight. The gate attendant comes onto the PA system: “form two lines!” No response. So she says it again: “there are two of us scanning boarding passes. Please make two lines. Two lines!” Slowly, people begin to form two lines.

Less than a minute later, I look at the boarding area again. Guess what. It was back to one queue.

Like boarding airplanes, creating signs is not easy. It is a science, which, when done right, is based on several key principles.

The first is the concept of decision thresholds. Every time someone is presented with options on what they can do - turn left, turn right, scan through the gate, go up the stairs, use the machine, etc., they need information to make that choice.

The job of wayfinding (the study of signage) is to give them that information. Fairly straightforward, right?

Below is a infographic from Metrolinx’s wayfinding standards about some sample decision points.

From here, what logically follows is that whenever there is a decision point, the relevant signage needs to be provided. Sounds pretty straightforward.

Well, you remember what I said about how people do not engage with signs in a very intelligent manner? Chances are, if there is an overwhelming amount of information, they will at best miss something or at worst simply ignore the whole sign. The opposite is also true - if you do not give people enough information, rest assured that your average rushed commuter will not be filling in the gaps that the sign missed.

This leads us to the second principle, progressive disclosure. It tells us that at each decision point, signs should provide people with the information they need to make that specific decision. Nothing more, nothing less.

The important implication of this is that the signage gradually discloses more and more information as someone walks through the station (hence, “progressive disclosure"). When travelers are outside, they might only need to know that this is a subway station, so that is all you tell them. Then as they get to the ticket machines/fare gates, people might want to see if the trains are running well to determine if they should buy a ticket. So there should be a screen showing service updates.

The next decision point will probably be if they head downstairs or not, and for this, a sign that says, “Subway” with an arrow down is sufficient. Then, let us say they arrive at a landing. There is a flight of stairs continuing down to Line 1 and a path that continues straight to Line 4. This is where the rider needs to decide which route they are taking, so this is where the signs should show the actual train line number. Not before - because up until this point, they have no use for that information. And this principle continues at platform level, on trains, when exiting the station, etc.

The third principle is prioritization. And the reason for this one is the same - there is only so much space on signs and you want people to be able to find the place they are looking for in as short time as possible.

Consider the sign shown below. Although not technically a TTC sign, it exemplifies very nicely how not to apply this principle.

Where do you think that the average commuter in the York Concourse at Union Station is trying to go? VIA Rail? Platform 6? The TTC? All good answers.

But you know what is not a good answer? The Air Canada Centre. Yet that is the piece of information that’s most centrally shown here (side note - there are so many other problems with this sign - what do the numbers mean? How would a visitor know that UP Express is actually the airport train? Why is it so unclear which things are straight ahead and which are to the left?).

The prerequisite to properly prioritizing information is finding out where people actually want to go. This makes use of traffic modelling, observation, and data analytics to determine people’s walk patterns. Metrolinx calls the main routes people take “priority thresholds” and the less traveled paths “secondary thresholds,” with other agencies using different names.

Once this is determined, signs must be set up so the most visually salient aspects correspond to these priority thresholds. Usually, this is on the center-right side of the display, but will vary by display height, angle, etc.

An interesting question that arises here has to do with “contingency thresholds” - when someone has made a wrong turn at a past decision threshold and is now on a path they are not supposed to be taking. For instance, if the previous sign along the hallway said buses turn left, does the next sign in the same hallway still need to contain information about buses? There is no right answer , and there is actually considerable debate about how important contingency signage is. On one hand, it does improve the user experience (remember: people love to ignore signs), but it also leads to extreme clutter and crowding out of more important information.

Closely related to prioritization is the materiality principle. I remember first hearing this term in an accounting context, where it describes only needing to include things on financial statements that will have an actual impact on user decision making. In wayfinding, the meaning is slightly different - what it says is do not repeat information.

Consider this sign

How many times can it tell the user that the exit is on the right? Let us count

1. The little green man

2. The words “Exit”

3. The words “Woodbine Avenue”

Is all this information really necessary? Does repeating “exit” three times add any actual value between cluttering things up? Probably not.

Just the words “Woodbine Avenue” or “Exit” are probably sufficient.

The fifth principle is all about positioning. And if you guessed that it is about where the sign goes, then good for you.

A common sense interpretation is that signs should be placed at decision thresholds, but in many contexts, they should actually be just beyond the physical location of the threshold so as to leave some “reading space” in front of them. They should also be facing perpendicular to the direction of travel so that they are immediately noticeable - almost never parallel.

Some signs are “supporting” signage - that is, they provide additional information which is too complex to put on the main sign. A textbook example of this is the little line diagrams which show direction of travel (pictured below, on the left). These signs supplement the primary sign (in this case the (1) Northbound on the right) and are meant to be read in conjunction with them.

These signs should be placed close, but not too close to their parent sign. On one hand, someone who is confused by the parent sign should be able to quickly glance around and locate the supporting signage. On the other hand, putting it too close risks having people stop to observe this more information-heavy signage, blocking a key thoroughfare that the parent sign is likely located on. These types of signs are also called “slow signs,” meaning they are designed for someone to stop and read (as opposed to simply scanning them on the go).

The physical form of the sign also matters. Many transit systems in Asia and Europe have adopted floor signage, with continuous lines to guide users towards their destinations. This placement is a mixed bag - on one hand, it makes things much simpler as there is no need to constantly search above for arrows - simply follow the lines! Besides, most people’s natural inclination when they are walking is to look down anyways, so they are more likely to notice this wayfinding. The challenge is that, well, they are on the floor where people WALK. If I was on the edge of the walkway, and the lines ran down the middle and were hidden under hundreds of hurrying feet, then the wayfinding would not really help me.

Even within a sign, positioning matters - and this is the sixth principle. It should be easy to distinguish between the different elements on each sign and their relationship with each other. Where does one place end and the next begin? Which arrow connects to which? These are questions that the user should never have to ask - it should scream out at them.

For instance, look at this sign. If I want to go to the Great Hall, do I turn left or right? It requires me to scan the entire line, find the blank space, and then establish that the Great Hall is in fact lined up with the arrow on the far right side.

What specifically then is wrong with the positioning of elements on the sign?

a) Arrows need greater visual salience - reverse the colour scheme on those blocks only so you have a white background and grey shape

b) Too many elements positioned horizontally side by side - stack them vertically to maximize usage of space

c) Use a clearer divider between what is on the left and right side. Perhaps a thick white line or white block

d) Reposition the numbers to make clear that they correspond with the little GO Train symbol next to them (e.g., Platforms 24-27 are GO Train platforms)

The seventh principle then, is accessibility. Let us return to those with vision impairment. There is a general rule that for every ten feet the reader is from the sign, the text needs to gain an inch in height (keep in mind this is a diagonal height, so it includes the vertical component as well). What more, certain color combinations work better than other. Backlit white text on a black background is arguably the worst and should be avoided where possible (remember what we talked about earlier?).

But there’s another type of accessibility, and that is for those who don’t speak the language that the sign is in. The TTC tries to overcome this through their use of pictograms, but the success of these is dubious at best. Like honestly, imagine being a tourist to this city, trying to figure out what the difference between these four icons is. Now try doing it when you are standing in a crowded corridor with a mob of commuters pushing you on all sides and the sign is five meters away.

To be fair, linguistic accessibility is never an easy task. And I think there is a valid argument that aside from proper nouns (e.g., Woodbine Avenue, Air Canada Centre), signs really just use the same few words over and over again (e.g., Exit, Buses, Subway) that can easily be learned. So to that extent, there is no need for any sort of universal “code” especially if it comes at the cost of clutter/crowding out.

The seventh and final principle is a more aesthetic one, and it considers the role that signage plays in developing the visual identity of a system. The use of consistent, effective, and iconic signage can help define a place and how we view it.

Think about the London Underground. They use an established scheme for their signs network wide, with a unique font (did you know - Toronto has that too!), styling, color scheme, and text choices. Are there many valid critiques that can be made of their signage? Of course. But the sense of consistency across the network creates a distinctly LONDON feel that resonates with visitors all around the world.

So then, how does the TTC do on each of these principles? Well, not well. Lol. I don’t think you needed to me to tell you that. So instead of bemoaning this further, let us talk about some solutions.

1. Remove old signs.

This is arguably the more pressing issue of most wayfinding issues on the network. Many stations will have several generations of signs which contain overlapping (and sometimes even contradictory) information. Not only that, the older signs often use outdated terminology. At Islington, there is a sign that says “to Drive In Pick Up” - what does that even mean?

Or, look at this. I mean, honestly, what is it trying to say?

Not to mention, they are just so freaking ugly.

2. Adopt worldwide best practices in signage. These include:

   1. Using lettered or numbered exits (e.g., Exit A, Exit B). This reduces the text that needs to be displayed on a sign, miniziming clutter and maximizing use of space. It also makes it easier to identify and remember which exit you need to take. More detailed information about where each exit goes can be shown on supporting signage to the side

   2. Stop using cardinal directions (e.g., Line 1 Northbound). When a subway line is in a U-shape, the terms “Northbound” and “Southbound” do not provide any meaningful insight about the actual direction of travel. If I am going from Yorkdale to Sheppard-Yonge, I would be heading “Northbound” but the signs I need to follow would say “Southbound.” That is far too confusing. Start using terminus stations instead (e.g., Line 1 to Finch).

3. Adopt the Metrolinx Wayfinding Standard

Seriously. Like the TTC’s way of signing things is so broken I am not sure it is worth fixing. Through countless generations of signs, they still have not figured out a way to communicate where exits are, nor bus route diagrams, nor anything else for that matter. To be honest, I think we have reached the point that there is no point to try to develop a whole new standard. Is this just laziness? Possibly. But if the rest of the GTHA is adopting the Metrolinx standard anyways, even if just for visual consistency sake the TTC should probably jump on board.

For one, Metrolinx has a lot of unique and innovative signage concepts that should be more broadly implemented. Consider this map design, which is an amazing slow sign at any sort of bus terminal decision threshold. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the TTC has nothing like it.

Or look at how they do platform level wayfinding:

Compared to the absolute disaster that’s the TTC.

You do not even need to understand the wayfinding principles to recognize that one is far superior to the other. In terms of organization, design, how they use icons, arrows, shapes, and just about everything else. Metrolinx actually has a clear layout that is quickly scannable while walking. There is a clear separation of elements, use of colour contrast to draw attention the arrows, and simplistic yet informative pictograms to complement the text. The TTC’s looks like it was made in Microsoft Word 1999 edition.

Here is another example. A (slightly lower res, I’m sorry) photo of the Keele station entrance. Note the information that progressive discourse theory tells us is unnecessary - most notably, the presence of the TTC logo. There is a lack of consistency as well - why is the bus icon shown for buses, but then the Line 2 icon used for subways?

Contrast that to the Metrolinx design. Much cleaner, higher contrast, and only gives the absolutely necessary information. A clearly better design - remember prioritization and materiality!

(Metrolinx does not back-light their signs, so the use of white-on-black is okay from an accessibility POV. I will say though, I am not a fan of the French).

Whenever I try to talk to someone about improving signs in TTC stations, I always get the response of “who cares. We have bigger things to worry about.”

And they are right. We do. Having good or bad signs will not make or break a transit system.

But we also must realize - this is not a massive investment. Sure, it may be low reward, but it is also low cost. Compared to just about anything else, it is just so darn cheap. Besides, signs have to be replaced over their lifespan anyways, so why not take the opportunity to do it better?

I think that part of the problem is the people who care about transit, they already know how to get where they need to go, and so signage is not something they worry about. Thus, the issue flies under the radar and receives very little attention. But for everyone else who may not be so familiar with the ins and outs of the system, they are the ones that need good wayfinding most.

Improving the transit user experience does not and should not mean that bigger problems do not get addressed. Whereas things like service levels are inherently political decisions, signage design is largely left up to the TTC itself. When was the last time you saw a city counciller make signage an election issue? All this is to say, it is much easier to get action on this issue because of how un-deep people’s passion for it is (except mine, of course. And if you’ve made it this far, probably yours too)

It is honestly not that difficult to put some better signs up in our subway system. And I do not know what we are waiting for.

This is a really low hanging fruit. Let us get it.

Image Sources

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https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.thestar.com%2Fopinion%2Fstar-columnists%2Funion-station-and-path-signs-need-less-design-more-direction%2Farticle_4245af26-e221-5f56-930c-5fbb434fe982.html&psig=AOvVaw31QQhvLqpQtYbcMy7zT8B4&ust=1701331595114000&source=images&cd=vfe&opi=89978449&ved=0CBIQjRxqFwoTCPDXg53g6IIDFQAAAAAdAAAAABAF

https://s3-media0.fl.yelpcdn.com/bphoto/_GQ3olKBaQBQ3V1NT1sidQ/180s.jpg

https://joeclark.org/design/signage/TTC/2015/TTCWayfindingStandardsManual_201409.pdf

http://www.gosite.ca/engineering_public/DesignStandards/DS-03%20MTX%20Wayfinding%20Design%20Standard%20v3.4%20190830.pdf

If you’re not a child, you can stop reading now.

Alright children.

It’s uni app time. Also known as probably the most academically stressed you’ve been in your life up to this point.

First off, take it easy. I know it might seem like the world is collapsing in on you. Here’s a lyric from one of my favorite songs that encapsulates how you’re probably feeling right now (it certainly was for me last year at this time).

Like your body's in the room but you're not really there
Like you have empathy inside but you don't really care
Like you're fresh outta love but it's been in the air
Am I past repair

A little bit tired of tryin' to care when I don't
A little bit tired of quick repairs to cope
A little bit tired of sinkin'
There's water in my boat
I'm barely breathin'
Tryna stay afloat

Take a deep breath. It’ll all be okay. You got this.

Now then, here are 11 things I wish someone told me about uni apps (Canadian ones, specifically). After reading this, you’ll probably think some version of “why is this guy so sappy.” And maybe I am. What I write here is not what Reddit tells you. Nor what your parents yell at you, after having had an hour long conversation with some kid who got into both Harvard and Princeton. But, for me, these are things I genuinely think are important.

1. Do what you love

Don’t sign up for clubs or extra curriculars because you suspect they’ll look good on your university application. Seriously. It’ll make you so miserable. Initially, you might not think much of it, but after a few weeks, you’ll live to dread the moment when it’s time to do “that thing” again. Oh, and also, the admissions officers (AO’s) aren’t dumb - they can tell when you’re only doing something to impress them. And believe me, they won’t be impressed.

What does make them happy, then, is when you do something you’re passionate about. Why? Because it means you actually care about it. You pour your heart into it, and you make a real impact. In both the process and the results, it shows. It’s better to do one thing well, then half ass ten different things.

Oh yeah. And the title of your position? It doesn’t really matter. You can be president of five different things and not really do any of them. Or, you can be a lowly member and yet still carry the entire organization on your back. What’s important is what you do, and how you do it.

2. Be authentically you

Don’t feel like you need to excel in something “traditional” to impress schools. You don’t need to be that Model UN sweat, or coding contest champion (exception: if you want to go to Waterloo CS), or be on student council.

No school is looking for all their students to be the same. AO’s love candidates with unique backgrounds and experiences. Sure, a business program might accept mostly people who have done case competition, but that’s not necessarily because they value case competitions, over, say, musical performances. Rather, it’s simply that most people who apply in the first place have done, well, case competitions.

What’s the takeaway? Be yourself. Both in the activities you pursue, and in the things you write about. No matter what the consultants may tell you, there is no “right” university applicant.

Besides, if a school doesn’t want you to be who you are (rare), you probably won’t want to go there anyways.

3. Reflect and ponder

After you’ve written about what you did and what you achieved, the next step is to think about how something impacted you. How you learned from it, and how you grew as a person.

You can BS this section. A lot of people do. And many get away with it.

But, as is a common theme you’ve probably noticed thus far, I am of the view that it’s better to introspect, to genuinely think, and to ponder. Again, AO’s are not dumb. They can tell when something is real vs. when it’s not.

Besides, reflection is cool. It can help you to learn a lot about yourself.

4. You can exaggerate, but don’t lie

I think this speaks for itself. Nothing more to add.

5. Don’t overlook Canadian schools

US schools are cool. But just because they’re American, doesn’t automatically make them better. Canadian schools like UofT are actually higher than some Ivy League’s in terms of university rankings, if that’s what you care about.

Plus, you’re saving a ton of money. Like 80k tuition a year, vs 15k. It’s a big difference.

All this is to say, there’s nothing wrong with applying to American schools. But don’t let their location in freedomland cloud your judgement. And definitely don’t neglect your Canadian university applications because you were too busy doing your commonapp. Falling into the trap of thinking that Canadian schools are “free” to get into is a massive mistake - they’re not.

6. Follow your heart

This is kind of an extension to the last point. There are some programs that everyone views as being the “best.” For business students, it’s Queens Commerce and Western Ivey. For wannabe doctors, it’s McMaster’s Health Science. For people who don’t shower, it’s Waterloo Computer Science. And so on.

Prehaps, on net, these programs are better.

But don’t just jump on the bandwagon. Do your research and consider what program you actually vibe with. Just because one option has more clout doesn’t make it the right one for you.

In fact, at the ‘best’ schools, it can be hard to stand out. When everyone is a high achiever, you’re just one in a sea of faces. But at a not-so-top school, you have a chance to stick your head out. There isn’t as much competition for resources, for opportunities. etcetera.

Along the same lines, be wary of peer pressure. You can, and should, consider what others have to say, but don’t buy into all that they tell you. What your friends look for in a school may not be what you want. It’s your life, and you know yourself best.

7. Plan things out

It’s already November. Early consideration deadlines at schools like UofT have already passed (note: this isn’t the same as early decision in the US - search it up if you’re confused). Every school has its own timelines - for OUAC, for supplementary applications, for interviews, for documents. And they’re not very good at reminding you about it.

Create a spreadsheet. Track your applications, deadlines, and what you still need to do.

Seriously.

It’ll help you so much.

And maybe, it’ll even make you a little bit less stressed.

8. Consider the trades

The trades are not for everyone. They’re certainly not for me. Anyone who has ever seen me try to use a screwdriver would concur.

But don’t just write them off just because of a perceived lack of social status, or because no one else you know is going into them.

People in the trades graduate sooner, and with less debt.

People in the trades are not working in a boring office all day.

People in the trades make a ton of money. Like however much you think they make, they make more.

People in the trades have a much easier time finding jobs. In fact, there’s a massive shortage of them across the country that’s only expected to get worse.

Give it some thought.

9. Learn what your dream program actually entails

I think everyone has some notion of what their favorite program looks like.

Chances are, they’re probably wrong.

There are a lot of misconceptions out there about what different fields of study really are about, driven by pop culture, parental discourse, and lofty ideas that arise from vainful attempts to justify childhood dreams (me fr).

Take the time to challenge these thoughts. Look beyond the homepage of the website and dive into the course calendar, where you can actually see what courses are on offer for your program. After all, that’s what you’ll have to be studying for the next four years.

On a semi-related note, explore what other options are out there. The number of conversations I’ve had with people about unique programs that exist, and they responded, “woah I didn’t even know that was a thing!” is concerning. Do your research. You never know what you might find.

10. Don’t be an entitled sob

Thus far, I’ve been pretty sappy. “bE yOuRsElF.” (no but seriously. be yourself). Not with this one.

Getting into a top school is not your birthright.

Not everyone will get into an ivy league. Not everyone should get into an ivy league

You might think you deserve it. That you’re qualified.

Here’s the thing.

Thinking something doesn’t make it true.

If reading this made you mad, then I’m probably talking to you.

Along the same lines, there will be people who you think aren’t qualified, who will get in. Maybe they’re lucky. Or maybe, your perception of them is just wrong.

This isn’t only me reminding you “don’t be an asshole.” I mean, of course, that’s part of it. But this is also a note to apply to REAL safety schools, even if you’re confident you won’t need them.” And by the way, UofT is not a safety school.

11. Put things in perspective

Here’s another thing that might make your brain explode.

The prestige of the school you end up in doesn’t matter that much.

It honestly doesn’t.

The quality of education delivered is not that different. The campus, the resources, and the supports, are all fairly similar. Lower ranked schools may have less stuff, but there’s also less people fighting to access said stuff. Plus, a university usually has 20,000+ students. You’ll find your people, no matter where you go.

The only thing is you might need to be a bit more self motivated at some places, whereas at others, the cutthroat competition will force you to be your best. As a friend told me when I was considering UTSC:

Everything the top business schools have, we have as well. The difference is the opportunities will not be handed to you on a silver platter. You have to reach for them.

If you genuinely care about university, then you probably have that motivation. That’s to say, the difference really is not that big.

I know it seems like the end of the world now. That getting into your dream school is the sole determinant of your lifetime success. But I promise you, within a few weeks of starting at your new place (wherever that may be), you’ll come to agree with me. That it’s really not that big of a deal.

University applications are tough. There’s no way around it. You’re trying to balance the stress of grade 12, and now throw on top all these essays and interviews and portfolios.

Know that everyone around you is going through the same thing, and they’re all struggling. It’s just some people are better at hiding it.

Be proud of yourself for even surviving the process.

Don’t exhaust yourself trying to be that ivy league student.

Take it easy.

Take breaks.

It will all be okay.

“Mhmmmm, that’s the competition.”

“No, he’s actually the target.”

“What?”

“No, he’s actually the target,” I repeated a little louder.

“Yeah. I heard you the first time.”

He looked at me.

I looked back.

He turned around and walked away.

—

If you ask me to pinpoint exactly when I found out I was gay, I would not be able to tell you.

But in a vague sense, ever since I was young, I knew that something was up.

Most of my friends were girls. I noticed that I moved around a lot when I talked. My voice was higher and more intonated than that of those around me. I was not into any of that ‘bro’ stuff. And I definitely did not consider myself “traditional” masculine.

In many ways, I never really fit in.

That is not to say that I did not get along with people.

My friends and I, we had some great times.

But some part of me always felt incomplete. Like there was something else I longed for, a hole in my identity. I am not sure how else to describe it, but if you have been through something like this, perhaps you understand what I mean.

—

This story starts in middle school. I was kind of an asshole back then, like a wannabe Ben Shapiro. I still cringe just thinking about it. Middle school me would have hated the person that I am today.

Maybe some part of me was trying to suppress the fact that I knew something about myself was different. Perhaps, eager to push that difference to the limit, I did it in the only way I knew how. Whatever everyone else was, I would be the opposite.

So yeah, that was not fun.

I think that the first time I really considered if I was gay was in grade 10. I am not sure what sparked it, but given my lack of remembering, it was probably something uneventful. The one thing I do recall was lying on the couch after dinner doing “ARE YOU A HOMOSEXUAL” quizzes. You know, the ones that had the sus ads and random popups which redirected you to a gambling site whenever you touched your screen.

I blazed through the questions. Then when I got to the results page, it told me the answer was “yes.” It then promptly reminded me that I was going to go to hell.

Over the next few months, I continued to think about what being gay meant. At that time, it was a totally new concept to me. Sure, I had some ideas picked up from TV shows plus whatever popped up on the first page of the Google search results for “am I gay?,” but that was about it. Growing up in an immigrant household, this was not exactly a dinner table conversation topic. And as for school, it seemed more intent on telling me about how oppressed gay people were rather than what being gay even meant.

That is to say, this journey was mostly a personal one. And the more I thought about it, the more that I began to realize that maybe this was the part of me which was missing.

After a few months, I came to the conclusion.

“Am I gay?”

“Yes. I am.”

It was like I had discovered something totally new about myself - akin to having woken up one morning with a new leg, or maybe a second nose. On one hand, it was kind of cool. But it also made me very, very confused.

I was not sure what to do next.

So, I tried to stash the idea away. Whenever my mind circled back to it, I would force myself to stop thinking.

That worked for a while. Until, it didn’t.

You see, there are a lot of hot guys on the internet.

—

After a while, I decided that it was okay if I was confused. I did not need to have it all figured out.

And I was able to make peace with this idea. But if you know one thing about me, it is that I can not keep a secret.

So the next logical step was to tell someone.

In the movies, coming out is made to be this really big deal where you prepare this whole sepal and rehearse it a million times. But for me, well, it just sort of just… happened.

One night, I was texting a close friend about something totally unrelated, and out of the blue, I randomly threw in there “oh yeah lol I liked this guy.” Nothing fancy, no hype, no long winded paragraph. Why I did that? I still have no clue.

He responded soon after with something along the lines of, “cool.”

That was all.

I am actually really glad this is the way that it happened. I did not want any sort of fuss, any long “OMG I SUPPORT YOU!!!” essay that would inevitably make things awkward for both of us.

To be honest, I think that he knew already.

With my parents, it was even more uneventful. I had written, “as a part of the LGBTQ community…” in one of my university application essays that I sent to my dad for feedback. And I had totally forgotten that it was there until he called me over and was like, “Andre, what is this?”

I responded, “Oh. I’m gay.”

Him: “We can talk about this later.”

We never did.

In a way, that was probably a good thing. I know that this process went far better for me than for most other LGBTQ youth, especially those in immigrant households. Plus, I do not think I was ready to have that awkward conversation anyways.

Then, a few weeks later, my mom asked me to help her add a rainbow pride banner to her work profile picture.

That felt really damn good.

Finally, there was my brother. I did not tell him until much later - when we were in line for the Yukon Striker at Wonderland (it is a long story).

His reaction was simple. “I know.”

All of this is to say, coming out does not have to be a glamorous, massive affair. Make it what you want it to be.

The vast majority of people in my life were so kind and so supportive. Their acceptance meant the world to me. They made coming out (relatively) easy, and were the reason my life could continue largely without disruption. And even those who may not have agreed with every choice I made on this front, they still approached the issue with a sense of respect and dignity. In many ways, after a week or two, it felt like nothing had really changed.

To be honest, some part of me believed that after coming out, I would be able to transform into a “true gay.” I think that activists and the LGBTQ community in general love to talk about things like ‘expressing yourself.’ And as well intentioned as they might be, the inevitable result is there ends up being a ‘right’ way to be gay. An archetype of a gay person, if you will.

At first, I bought into this. I thought that being a textbook homosexual would help me to fit in. Even if I did not vibe with straight culture, maybe I could find company in my fellow gays (I wish you could me cringing as I type out this phrase).

Here is the problem. I am gay, in the biological sense. But socially, maybe not as much.

I do not fit that mold that the community has created (to be clear: I mean the one that other gay people have. I am not talking about straight people here - in their eyes, I am so very gay).

Pride parades are not my thing. Neither are gay bars. I have never seen a drag race, never participated in a GSA (gender sexuality alliance) at school.

And I would not say my friend group is very gay either, at least not more than statistically average. In fact, I only met my first real gay friend this spring. I am not part of any sort of gay club.

I think that the closest I have ever gotten to doing a “gay activity” is debate (I swear there are more of us in debate than pretty much anywhere else). Oh, and trains. Definitely trains.

But that is about it.

So, at times, it has left me wondering. What am I then? Where do I fit in?

Does this make me any less gay?

If you draw a venn diagram of gay and straight culture, some people would fall squarely into one camp. Others in the middle. And then, there is me. Kind of floating around all over the place.

And while at times it felt bad, I have gradually come to embrace and accept it.

Being gay is not about fitting into a box.

For me, it is about having a voice that goes up and down five octaves at a time.

About moving around wildly when I talk and waving my arms like a crazy person.

About watching tiktoks of happy cute guys (Christian, I’m looking at you) and their relationships.

About being able to be close friends with girls without either of you fearing that the other is trying to hit on you.

Before I came out, I felt like I needed to suppress these parts of me. That they were not socially desirable.

It is only recently I learned, this is who I am. And that I could not stash it away forever.

Interestingly, coming out has also made me feel confident enough to embrace the quirky (if not overtly gay) sides of myself. Previously, I would avoid wherever possible talking about things I loved that were not so mainstream - trains, city planning, maps, credit card points, airplanes, etc. I thought people would judge me for it, and I did not want that to happen.

That is no longer the case. If you follow my spam Instagram or interact with me IRL, you know that I will find a way to make pretty much anything relate to one of these things. To be frank, I am not sure what exactly prompted this change, but I do have my guesses. Maybe my brain went, “Well, if people already know you are gay, any additional weirdness is marginal.” Or perhaps I felt that to be a textbook gay (in the eyes of society), I had to be quirky. And that left no choice but to embrace this weird side of me.

Since I came out, several friends have had conversations with me about their own sexualities. Oftentimes, I was the first person they told, and although I do not wish to speculate, I hope they felt the same sense of liberation, catharsis, and instrumentality that I did when I came out.

This does not mean I have it all worked out yet. Far from it, in fact. I still have a lot to learn, both about being gay and about being myself (if anyone has any gay rizz tips please send them my way. Like seriously).

But looking back, I have come a long way. I now have genuine joy in my personal relationships, and now feel as if I can truly be myself around the people in my life. Let me tell you, that is an awesome feeling.

Middle school me would hate the person that I am today. And honestly, that is pretty based. I think it is near unanimous that we were all a little weird back then. So I would like to think that I am doing something right.

Self discovery is never fast or easy. In the hubub of life, it can be easy to forget that we all need to slow down and learn things about ourselves. I know I certainly would do well to remember that.

Ultimately, identity is a complex issue. And I have not got any clue how it actually works. But through a lot of reflection, I have found a way to help myself understand it.

Imagine an artist painting a picture (ugly or beautiful, you decide). Just as they are on the verge of completion, they realize that they messed up somewhere. So, they go to cover the mistake up, but no matter how hard they try, they are unable to do so. Maybe the paint is too thin or something. Idk man, I am not an artist.

Just like fitting in is difficult, so is fixing the painting. I always thought that if I could just get rid of that final blemish and unlock that missing part of me, the work would be finished and all my problems would go away.

In my mind, coming out was like the artist finally succeeding. Their work was ready to be put up in the gallery, and I was ready to finally fit in.

The thing is, that joy the artist must have felt, it lasted about two seconds. Looking over at the other corner of their canvas, they quickly noticed that as they were fixing up their last mistake another drop of paint had accidentally dripped from their brush and created a new blemish. There was another thing that needed to be covered up.

In frustration, they threw their brush down on the table. And as they did, the paint droplets splattered all over the work.

Now, that one spot was no longer a sore thumb. It had become a snowflake in a sea of many. After a couple more glances and some huffing and puffing, the artist came to the conclusion that it actually looked quite nice.

Throughout this journey, I realized that I had always been the same person. That part of me that felt odd, that section on the painting that looked weird, that that was not a design error.

It is who I am. Finding identity is not about fixing the mistakes we see in ourselves but rather, about embracing them.

Maybe I am not gay in the traditional sense. But that is okay.

I am gay in my own damn way.

Image Sources

1. https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Flookaside.instagram.com%2Fseo%2Fgoogle_widget%2Fcrawler%2F%3Fmedia_id%3D3117970704162596830&tbnid=9ujK6EgorjbbHM&vet=12ahUKEwiIvre0zqaCAxVZNlkFHZJeCrMQMygIegQIARBB..i&imgrefurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.instagram.com%2Fp%2FCtFQdXxr6fe%2F&docid=BwdPb8srroMswM&w=1080&h=1080&q=gay%20agenda%20meme&client=firefox-b-d&ved=2ahUKEwiIvre0zqaCAxVZNlkFHZJeCrMQMygIegQIARBB

2. https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Fi.chzbgr.com%2Fthumb800%2F18128645%2FhEBE85171%2Fa-compilation-of-lgbt-memes-for-national-coming-out-day&tbnid=wcZs4YidQzlngM&vet=12ahUKEwju8feGzqaCAxXpDWIAHRKiAToQMygKegQIARBC..i&imgrefurl=https%3A%2F%2Fmemebase.cheezburger.com%2Ftag%2Fgay-marriage&docid=e1UV1p_4bleeLM&w=800&h=420&q=gay%20memes&client=firefox-b-d&ved=2ahUKEwju8feGzqaCAxXpDWIAHRKiAToQMygKegQIARBC

(I think this was actually his sneaky way of getting me to not go into city planning, which is what it wanted to pursue at the time. Well, his plan worked).

We were chugging along and I was feeling pretty good about things.

Until we got to housing.

The average house in the City of Toronto costs 1.25 million right now. Under current market conditions, that would make my mortgage payment more than $7 000 a month. Using the rule of thumb that housing is roughly 1/3 of your total income, that means I would need to make $261 000 per year if I wanted to own a house in this city.

Not happening anytime soon.

A little bit dismayed, but still somewhat hopeful, we repeated this process several more times, trying to find places where I could afford to live.

In case you had not guessed, it went downhill very fast.

On a $75 000 salary (which is already quite ambitious for a new grad in a non computer science field), I can afford… *checks notes* this piece of vacant land in Clarington, measuring 44 x 72 feet.

Vacant. Land. In Clarington.

Where on earth even is Clarington?

If you go to its Wikipedia page and scroll to the attractions section, the first thing you see is that it “has more Santa Claus/Christmas parades than any other town-sized municipality in Canada.”

Great. While sitting on my vacant, houseless lot, I will be able to watch a fictional character yell at and probably traumatize young children.

So yeah, the housing situation, it is bad.

For young people like me (and if you are reading this, probably you as well), this crisis is more than just vague words on a news headlines. It is a reality we have to confront head on. Which is a really nice way of saying, “we’re fucked. lmao.” Like many in this country, I have accepted that I am probably not going to be able to afford my own home for a long time after graduation. And even when I do, it will be some shack in a far flung suburb - not exactly a dream property, and definitely not what previous generations had to settle for.

The implications of this crisis, however, go far beyond the personal level.

Increasingly, immigrants are choosing not to come to Canada because housing is so expensive. Does that mean we will have an immigrant shortage? Probably not any time soon. Desire to come here still far exceeds placement spots. But it does mean that if this continues, the pool of immigrants we have to select from shrinks, and so our country will miss out on some top talent.

Furthermore, these high costs lead to a lot of money getting tied up in real estate. Investors choose to buy homes over other things because their value just keeps going up. For everyday people, they have less of a choice - if they do not fork over these funds, well, then they end up on the streets.

The issue is, housing is a fundamentally unproductive investment. When money is invested in something like stocks, it means companies can use these funds to invest in technology, develop new products, or hire more workers. When it is saved in banks, they can loan it out to other people or firms who then use it to finance various different productive activities. Or, when it is spent directly by consumers on goods and services, it increases company revenues, allowing them to expand and grow. No matter where it goes, that money is actively circulating through the economy, helping businesses grow and people succeed. But when you put all the money in housing, the value just sits there until you sell the home. No economic activity happens, and no one else is able to benefit from your investment.

That may seem like no big deal, but it actually is kind of a big deal. In fact, it is one of the key reasons why Canadian economic productivity per capita has fallen far behind that of almost every single G7 peer nation in recent years.

All this is to say, high housing prices kind of suck.

So, why is housing so expensive? Well, it is complicated.

First thing crucial to understand is that the housing market is really like the market for any other good. There is supply of housing, and demand for it. Each side of the equation plays in role in determining how many homes are on the market, and for what price they can be bought out.

Given that it tends to get most of the media attention, lets start with demand. Investors, especially international ones, are snatching up homes like crazy. To make matters worse, they usually are not renting them out or anything like that. Rather, the homes just sit empty. For these millionaire foreigners, it is a massive hassle for them to actually pay a broker, find someone who is willing to rent the home, manage the rental process, etc. In their minds, the paltry rent revenue they could otherwise collect is simply not worth it, especially compared to the other benefits they derive.

What benefits, you ask? Well, for one, the massive increase in home value. Then there are those who are simply looking for a place to keep their assets because the financial systems in their home countries’ are unstable. Others just need a Canadian address for tax or business purposes. And then these are people who use these investments as a cover for illegal activity. I kid you not - the housing market, especially on the West Coast, plays home to one of the largest money laundering operations in the world.

We also can not talk about housing without touching on Canada’s growing population. Immigration is on the rise - we are on track to admit 500,000 new immigrants annually by 2025. That is akin to adding a new Halifax every year. Immigration rates in Canada are by far higher than any other developed nation in the world

This in and of itself is not problematic. In fact, Canada desperately needs immigrants. Our population is aging, and we do not have enough working aged people to keep the economy going or to support the pensions of those who are now nearing retirement age. In a well functioning, free market, if demand for housing were to increase, over time, supply would be able to keep up.

But that has not happened. And so, we can say that most of the problems lie on the supply side.

Building housing is expensive. Really expensive. Usually, developers rely on financing from banks in order to cover a lot of the upfront costs, but the degree to which they can access this credit is dependent on interest rates. If interest rates become too high, then builders will decide to simply stop building. This, in fact, is what we are seeing now in Ontario.

The same is true for other costs, like materials or labor. In Canada, we currently have a massive shortage of workers in the trades (e.g. woodworkers, electricians…) that is only expected to get worse. If construction companies can not find people to build the homes, well, then no homes are getting built. And even for projects that do end up proceeding, they face significantly higher costs which inevitably get passed onto buyers.

But wait. That is only the beginning.

In most developed countries (including Canada), real estate has always comprised a big part of people’s retirement savings. When you are young, you buy a house. You live in it with your family, and over time you pay off the mortgage. Then, as your kids grow older and move out, and as you near retirement age, you do not need so much space anymore. So, you sell your big home and buy a smaller one instead. The surplus value of the original home then becomes your retirement fund.

For the longest time, this model seemed to work. After all, housing is supposed to be a fairly stable investment. The number of people is increasing, but the amount of land stays the same. So, housing prices keep (for the most part) going up. And as they do, the value of homeowners’ retirement funds grows. All is well.

Unless you are a young person.

You see, the problem is that the retirements of millions of people are now dependent on housing prices not only going up, but also staying up.

What this means then, is politicians do not want to do anything more than pay lip service to the housing affordability issue, because if housing prices really were to come down, it would spell doom for virtually every middle aged or older adult who’s life savings are in the value of their home.

So, housing prices stay high. Unlucky for us, I guess.

Another thing we have to talk about is NIMBYism, also known as ‘Not In My Backyard.’ NIMBYs are local property owners and residents who oppose housing (and other types of) developments in their local communities. To be honest, they have good reason to do so. More homes means more people, which means more noise, more traffic, more crime, more crowding, etc. Not to mention all the disruption that prolonged construction brings.

All this means, whenever a new housing project is proposed, they push back. Hard.

Compounding the problem is that generally, it is local politicians who get to decide if a housing development is approved. This makes them more sensitive to the concerns of a specific group of local residents (read: NIMBYs) as opposed to broader societal welfare. If 500 people oppose the new apartment building down the street, the federal MP who represents 150,000 constituents probably does not care, but the city councilor who only has 10,000 constituents definitely will.

It would be amiss not to also mention the role that public consultation plays in this. Usually, whenever a new development or changes to zoning laws are proposed, planners will hold a series of meetings with local residents to discuss their concerns. But the people who show up at these meetings tend to be opposed to the new housing, because, well, they already have homes. They do not care about housing supply, they just want to protect the neighborhoods they already have.

The residents who would live in these proposed developments, on the other hand, they are not going to be at these meetings. Heck, they might not even yet be aware that this is where they will be moving into in five years, if the project gets approved.

The result of all this then, is that bureaucrats and politicians alike are put under a lot of pressure by a small but vocal majority to, wherever possible, prevent developers from building housing.

And this shows in government policy. Municipalities usually have the power to decide what type of housing can and can not be built where. And they do what is called “zoning,” a process by which they draw boundaries on a map and say that “this area is zoned only for detached homes.” “Here, you can build up to five floors.” Etc.

The problem is, because of chronic NIMBYism, almost all of our cities nationwide are zoned exclusively for single family detached homes. In fact, pretty much everywhere, it quite literally is illegal to build anything more than that. The only way new housing construction can occur then, is through the addition of single family homes on the outskirts of cities. This urban sprawl is not only incredibly bad urban planning (that is a rant for another time), it is also inefficient. In a world where land is becoming incredibly rare, and given that a condo building with 20+ units takes up the same place as 3 or 4 single family homes, we should be making room for the former.

In an ideal world at least. In reality, whenever anyone tries to make any change, local residents revolt and city governments cave in.

But it gets worse still. Lets talk about leftists.

Those on the political left generally tend to be skeptical of corporations. Prime among them are big developers and housing builders, who they view to be “evil” and “profiting off of a basic human right.”

Taken to the extreme, this argument says that any policy which supports building more homes, short of a total overhaul of the ‘capitalist system that has commodified what is a human right,’ should be rejected because all it does is enrich greedy developers.

Putting aside this lofty and unhelpful rhetoric, it is also simply not true.

Yes, developers make profit off of building housing. But this profit comes from, well, building housing. Besides, these advocates’ alternative of co-op or public housing simply is not scalable.

The point of non-profit housing options is that they offer housing below market price. Which usually entails taking a loss.

The thing is, someone has to make up that difference. Rather unsurprisingly, the only group that has the resources to do that is the government. And given that housing is so expensive, the costs for this subsidization rack up quickly.

Consider Trudeau’s recent announcement in London where he committed 75 million dollars! How exciting. That will build, over the next few years, 2 000 homes.

Between 2016 and 2021 (the most recent data available), London’s population grew by almost 40 000 people.

You see what I mean? This model simply does not work. The long term goal should be so that only those who really need it have to rely on public housing - people with disabilities, those transitioning out of the shelter system, new immigrants. etc. Everyone else should be able to afford some type of market rate housing.

This attitude of animosity towards developers is not just about optics. It has real consequences.

The best example of this is how municipal governments across Canada have taken advantage of the situation to impose a whole host of taxes on developers.

And when I say a whole host of taxes, I really do mean that. As in, on your average Toronto house, $186 000 worth of taxes.

And you know who ends up paying these taxes? You! (Ok fine, it is a little more complicated than that. We will get there in a second).

To be clear, I am not arguing that the sole reason development fees are so high is because of some angry leftists. But I think it does play a role, albeit a small one. The other consideration is just that cities want money and developers are an easy target.

Tldr; there are simply not enough places where it is both legally permissible and financially viable to build new homes. Ergo, housing shortage.

Well then, how do we fix all of this?

First off, reduce the fees. Municipalities need money, yes, but there are so many other ways to raise it - by increasing property taxes on luxury homes, introducing vacant homes taxes, hiking parking levy’s… the list goes on and on. Taxing the construction of a commodity that everyone needs is just cruel.

At this point, the discourse usually goes, “what’s to say developers won’t just take the lower taxes but keep the profits and not actually reduce prices?” But this misses the point. The way we bring down housing prices is by increasing supply. And even if the savings are not passed on directly, what the increased profits do is they incentivize developers to build more homes. Projects that previously did not make financial sense because of these additional $186 000 in costs per unit (which, for a large development, can add up to tens of millions of dollars) may now become more viable. And over time as a result, more housing gets built.

This also applies to affordable housing requirements. To be clear, there is nothing wrong them in moderation. They can be a powerful tool in the fight against displacement of local residents during redevelopments. But politicians, eager to look like they are standing up for the ‘little guy,’ go way overboard with them. If you force developers to sell too many units below market price, then at some point the project just does not make financial sense anymore.

Having only 10% affordable housing within a project may not be as good as having 20%. But it sure is a heck of a lot better than no new housing at all.

Second, change the zoning laws. Seriously. We should be able to build dense housing almost everywhere (I will save my little density rant for another time). People’s right to afford a home trumps your desire for a quiet leafy suburban street. If you really value your peace, move to Owen Sound or something.

And please, none of that “missing middle” (midrise buildings, usually 4-5 floors in height) nonsense. We can talk about having more “gentle density” later on when we are not in the middle of a housing crisis. Right now, we should just be building as tall as we can go. A 20 story building will contain way more homes than a five story one.

(There is an interesting tangent here on process oriented vs outcome oriented city planning, but that is a rant for another time.)

Maybe it is true that within cities, we are never going to get the political will to make these changes. Local governments are far too close to the ground to ever get over the cries of NIMBYs. Thankfully, we do not need to work with them. In Ontario (and in a lot of other places too), local governments exist merely as extensions of provincial ones. As in, Doug Ford could, under our current legal framework, literally abolish the City of Toronto tomorrow and have the province run all city government functions. That is how, for instance, in 2018, he was able to unilaterally cut the size of our city council from 47 councilors to 25.

It would be kind of cool if they used that power to compel cities to cut development charges and change zoning laws. You know. The important stuff.

Third, moving beyond a regulatory level, we need to make it cheaper to build homes. There are two main ways we should go about this:

• To alleviate the shortage of workers in the skilled trades, more young people need to be encouraged to go into those fields by cutting apprenticeship fees and introducing mandatory relevant courses in high schools

• To allow both for-profit and non-profit developers to build more, lower cost financing for the construction of new units should be provided

Fourth, on demand side solutions. Thus far, I have mostly focused on how we can tackle housing supply issues. After all, high housing prices in Canada are inherently a supply side issue. But in the short run, I think there is some benefit to demand side remedies as well. Most notably, restrictions on foreign nationals buying homes, and on how many homes people can actually own. In the long run, however, if housing prices stabilize, then there will not be much of a need for such measures - if prices no longer keep going up, then speculators will turn to other investment options and the problem will go away.

Next then, I want to talk about this from an equity lens. Advocates, understandably, have raised concerns about how housing development could exasperate social issues and challenges that we face. I disagree.

The most commonly heard complaint is on gentrification, which is when a previously poorer area gets redeveloped, so housing costs go up which forces the original residents out.

A couple issues with this claim. First, the alternative is to leave these people in these decrepit neighborhoods, living in old and poorly maintained buildings. It is unclear how that is any better. Second, the only reason that gentrification even exists is because housing is so expensive everywhere else. The notion that, if you are priced out of a community, it means you become unable to find anywhere new to live, this is a direct result of a lack of supply that drives prices up. In the short run, governments should probably step in with things like rent supports or subsidies so that local residents will be able to live in the same communities post-development with pre-development rents. In the long run, building more housing brings prices down everywhere, and the problem fixes itself.

Yes, this is even true with luxury housing. Let me explain.

When you build more expensive homes, the prices of that ‘class’ of homes goes down. So people who previously bought middle market properties can now afford luxury ones. When the demand for middle market homes falls, their prices also decrease. And this keeps cascading, as everyone moves up a bracket in the type of home that they can afford.

The end result, then, is even the lowest end housing becomes more affordable.

Housing discourse in this country often gets framed as a bunch of old, angry, fist shaking homeowners hellbent on destroying the dreams of young people. And while that is part of it, the real picture is so much more complicated.

Thankfully, there is reason to be hopeful. The political tides are changing, and perhaps, our leaders are finally recognizing that things cannot go on like this much longer.

Meet Sean Fraser. Canada’s new housing minister.

In several months, he has done more on lowering housing prices then every other politician over the last few years combined.

Most notably, he launched the housing accelerator fund, which basically gave local governments a ton of money on the condition that they loosen zoning laws and cut development fees. So far, cities, desperate for cash to plug their post-COVID budget holes, are buying in. Under this plan, he has signed agreements with several municipalities across Canada, with many more along the way. This initiative is still in its early stages, but the signals are promising.

Better yet, he is not the only one. Half the Twitter (you will never hear me call that site by its new name) videos Conservative leader Poilievre puts out these days are about changing zoning laws so we can build more homes. In Ontario, both the opposition New Democrats and basically non-existent Liberals have been calling on premier Doug Ford to do the same.

The fact that building housing in this country has become something all political parties agree on and something they are actively pushing each other to do more of, is incredible.

My brother Alex, he is a few years younger than me. I am sure that when he heads off to university, my dad will have the same financial planning conversation with him that he had with me.

And my hope is that their conversation will go differently. For one, he wants to go into STEM (read: he will probably have a higher salary during his internship then I will after working 20 years). But also, when they get to talking about housing, maybe he will not feel the same sense of hopelessness and despair I felt.

Maybe he will not have to deal with the prospect of living on a vacant lot in Clarington.

Maybe, by that point, we would have finally introduced some smart and sensible housing policy that has made housing more affordable for everyone.

Maybe by then, as a country, we will have realized.

We need to build more homes.

Image Sources (in order)

housesigma.com

https://www.movesmartly.com/articles/canadas-population-is-booming-while-housing-starts-tumble

https://twitter.com/yimbyaction/status/1553130764186910722/photo/1

When the Toronto School Board (TDSB) first announced that admissions to specialized programs would be done through a new lottery system (as opposed to the old, application/marks/essay based framework), my first reaction was one of disgust.

And I think a lot of people would agree with 2022 me. I mean, just look at this photo from the Toronto Star of my brother protesting the changes. LOL

“This is a war on success,” I remember texting a fellow IB student when I saw news of the changes. “They’re going to bring down the prestige of these programs so much.”

But maybe, I’ve since realized, that’s not a bad thing.

Historically, the implicit goal of academically inclined specialized programs (the only ones I am familiar with) has been to get students into top universities. The Ivy Leagues are the golden snitch. Top tier Canadian schools must rest as the consolation prize. Anything else, not worth your time.

I think a conversation I had with a friend in one of these programs a few days ago nicely sums this situation up. “We used to send so many people to Harvard every year. With these changes? Not anymore.”

Here’s thing thing. The purpose of public education should not be to send people to Harvard.

Historically, admissions to these programs has been highly competitive. Many extracurricular schools offer dedicated classes to help students increase their chances of getting in. Tutoring, counseling, essay editing, you name it. For 13 year olds.

It’s no surprise then, that most students in these programs have been enrolled in these classes from an early age.

And good for them. Honestly. They’re learning new things.

But does that make them more worthy of admission into these specialized programs? What about all the other students who didn’t get in because they didn’t take grade ten math while they were still in grade eight, but, had they been given access to better resources, could do just as well? Those who genuinely want to learn, to excel, but just haven’t had the opportunity to do so?

Under the old model, it was an uphill battle for these students to get admitted. Their essays probably weren’t as polished as those who had a consultant look it over. Their entry exam marks probably weren’t as high as those who enrolled in four exam prep classes. Their interview answers probably weren’t as polished as those who spent hours rehearsing with a public speaking coach.

Where did they fit into the specialized programs? For the most part, they didn’t.

Maybe then, it’s alright if these programs are no longer as prestigious. Maybe we don’t need to be covering second year university level linear algebra in grade 11. But if we can expand access to these opportunities to beyond those who have been enrolled in extra classes since the dawn of time, then that is a worthy trade off.

The purpose of public education should be to help those who will benefit the most from said assistance, not to push those who are already at the top even higher.

I don’t think this is about a “war on success.” If anything, it’s about promoting it. I envision a world in which these programs, even if they’re no longer comparable to the top private schools, are still more rigorous, more challenging, and more thought provoking than the main academic stream. Only instead of defining success as “how good can we make these students,” it becomes “how much better can we make these students.”

Oh, and like 95% of my IB graduating class was Asian. That’s a problem.

I can already see you rolling your eyes - “but the students won’t be able to keep up!” “what about those who actually deserve it?” and on and on. Don’t worry. I have a couple words for the TDSB as well.

Three, to be exact.

“What the fuck?”

While your end goal is admirable, your implementation, let’s be real, is a disaster.

Currently, the specialized program system is designed around students who already excel going in. If you want to change the focus on realizing untapped potential, you have to invest in it. You need extra staff. More supports. Higher budgets. Teaching grade 12 math to grade 10s who have already learnt grade 12 math at some outside place can be done in a class size of 30. But to a group of grade 10s who’ve never had that opportunity? Well, it doesn’t work. Realizing potential takes resources.

A failure to invest in these programs (as is what the board is doing now) is quite literally killing them. You need to provide students in the program the resources they need to succeed. If you don’t, then either most people will drop out, or the quality of the program will fall so low that there isn’t a point in running it anymore.

Maybe that’s what they want. I’ve heard the theory that these changes are just a guise for the TDSB to ruin these programs, so they can justify cutting them later on. I guess if you view their motives this way, then their actions actually make a lot of sense.

Likewise, I’m not sure why a pure lottery was chosen above all other systems of admission. If you agree that the purpose of specialized programs is to develop potential/interest, well, you actually need to admit people with potential/interest. Having a zero barrier system means that you end up with a bunch of people in the program who don’t want to learn and inevitably don’t end up staying.

I remember watching the trustee meeting where this policy change was being debated. Trustees, and the three members of the public who were watching, were sold on a version of the plan that still had a baseline students had to meet in order to have their name entered into the lottery. Maybe a written statement about why they want to go to this program, or something along those lines.

But surprise, when it actually came time to be implemented, none of that. Just a random draw. Typical TDSB.

What is the optimal process then? To be honest, I’m not sure. Maybe a more holistic evaluation, that looks beyond grades or awards. That considers life experiences, motivations, and passions. Why do you want to be in this program? What do you think you’ll get out of it? In less wishy washy terms, an interview that prioritizes authenticity and student voice, as opposed to perfection or achievement. And yeah, setting this up requires resources. Shocker.

At the end of the day, what the TDSB is trying to do with these programs is respectable. Their approach though, leaves a lot to be desired.

One thing I will give them props for, is recognizing the need to expand the program offering pool. Over the next few years, they’re bringing in like 15 something new ones. That’s really important, and will mean that more students can access their benefits. Likewise, preserving a certain percentage of admissions spots for local students also helps to improve accessibility to these programs. So good job on that, I guess.

Look. I don’t want these programs to die. I think most people (save for some bureaucrats at the school board) would agree. What the TDSB has in terms of the scope and depth of specialized programs, is virtually unmatched in Canada. In short - they’re awesome.

I graduated from a TDSB specialized program mere months ago. It changed my life, and I loved every part of it. Teachers, friends, course content… it was all incredible.

I just wish more students could have the same experience.

Yeah. Me too.

That’s called bus bunching. There’s this cool simulation online that shows how it works - https://setosa.io/bus/.

Basically, buses can be delayed by a minute or two for a whole host of reasons. More red lights then expected. Jaywalkers. Car crashes. Passengers who don’t have their presto card ready as they board, then proceed to ask if the bus is “going to Wilson station” when IT LITERALLY SAYS “TO WILSON.”

When they end up late one minute, it means there are now more people waiting at the next stop. So they take longer to board and exit. Which makes the bus even more late. So then even more people are waiting at future stops. And the cycle continues.

Until we end up with something like this. This big blob of buses. That’s called bunching.

The solution to the problem is actually not that deep. In an ideal world, we’d have bus lanes and traffic signal priority (that’s where green lights are extended and red lights shortened so buses can move through faster). But that takes political will. And we ain’t got that.

Here’s the kicker. We don’t need that. Often times, it’s as simple as making a proactive effort to keep buses on time from an admin perspective.

The TTC used to do this thing called short turns. If there were like a pack of four buses traveling in one direction and a massive gap in the other, they’d kick everyone off one of the buses in the pack, turn the bus around, and run it in the opposite direction to fill the gap.

This was super unpopular with the minority of riders who got kicked off. But they could usually get on another bus in the pack, a mere 1-2 minutes behind. For the people going in the other direction, though, it could cut their wait time by 20+ minutes.

For whatever reason, the TTC made it their life’s mission to get rid of short turns. Now, they rarely happen.

Route management is another thing. Supervisors (like air traffic control, but for buses) are supposed to direct drivers to drive faster or slower, to wait a bit, to leave earlier or later than scheduled, in order to stay on time and avoid bunching. If there were four buses in a row, good route management would turn one of them around, tell one to wait for 3 minutes, and tell one to skip a few stops to get ahead of the pack. That just doesn’t happen either anymore.

Why? I ain’t got a clue. These measures are not expensive. They’re not technologically advanced either.

Most people don’t realize how good the TTC service would be if everything ran on schedule. There would be no overcrowding. Frequencies would be world class.

It’s just no one gives a fuck.

I have a whole bunch of other complaints about the TTC. I’m too lazy to make them flow properly like an essay, so instead, you get a list. Of course, there are REAL issues like fare integration, regional connections, whatever. I’ll get to those in future pieces. For now, these are my small things.

1. The bus announces the route when the doors open. There are three displays that show it. Please consult those BEFORE asking the driver “iS tHiS rOuTe 38?”

2. MOVE. BACK. LIKE UP THAT LITTLE STEP. The number of times I’ve been left behind by the bus because it’s “full,” even though the upper part is totally empty.

3. Have your presto card ready BEFORE you board. Likewise, get to the door BEFORE the bus arrives at the stop. Everyone else on that bus has places to be. Respect other people’s time.

4. The SIGNS???? The TTC has so many different generations of signs all mixed together. Often in the same station. And with Line 5 opening, it’s changing yet again. I pity any tourist trying to use this transit system.

5. Pay. Like if you can’t afford it, that’s understandable, but if you’re wearing a private school uniform and have all brand name clothing, and you still fare evade, that just makes you an asshole.

6. Why can I not change my presto card to student at a subway station service counter? Why do I have to go to a Shoppers? WHY.

7. The website is useless. Like utterly. Useless. Even after the redesign.

Moving on.

You might have noticed, the subtitle is “but it’s not too bad.”

Let’s talk about that now.

Hot take. The TTC actually is the best transit system in North America.

In 2017, they won that award from the American Public Transit Association.

Their ten minute network (where buses/trains on most main routes are SUPPOSED to come every 10 minutes or more) is unrivaled. There are like 50 something routes in it. For perspective, Montreal’s 12 minute network has 9 routes. In the US, it’s considered good if a bus comes every hour. We have singular bus routes that carry more people than entire subway systems in other cities.

Most impressively, this is true even in the suburbs. Pretty much anywhere else, suburbs like where I live basically don’t get transit at all. In Toronto, a bus pulls up every five minutes.

The route coverage is super high.

The subway actually works fairly well. And it runs every 2-3 minutes (for comparison, the LA Metro runs every 16 minutes). Sure, maybe we don’t have as many lines. But our bus network more than makes up for it. A bus that comes every 3 minutes is better than a train that comes every 30 (that is not hyperbole, many urban rail systems really run that often).

The system is comparatively clean and safe.

And all this, it shows. Toronto has one of the highest transit mode shares in North America - 25% of people here use it as their main mode of transportation. That’s more than anywhere on the continent except New York. Heck, it’s even higher than most European cities like Amsterdam.

Here’s another tidbit. Did you know that Bloor Yonge, with its two lines, sees more riders every day than Times Square-42nd St station in New York, which has 9 lines and is New York’s busiest station?

Anyways.

There’s a lot more to say about transit in this city. And I guess I’ll rant more about the important stuff later. For now, let’s just say, we have so much good stuff going on. Let’s make it better.

I’m actually insecure as fuck.

You probably didn’t know that about me. I think I do a fairly good job of hiding it.

I guess the best way to put it is, I never feel like I deserve whatever I have. That it is by luck, by my good fortune, or by the misfortune of others.

Surely you know what I mean.

I think that my insecurity manifests mostly in the context of debate. The brainrot is real.

Technically speaking, I started debate in grade seven. I went to this summer camp for a week. It was cool. I had fun. I did not learn much.

In the following school year, at middle school, I started a debate club. Why? I ain’t got a clue. Regardless, it did not last long. At this point, I barely knew what British Parliamentary format was, and I think the first week we debated something like, “Is Donald Trump a good president.” I should’ve known the club was doomed to fail.

A short while later, someone drew a dick on the board during the meeting. No one noticed it. Except the teacher, when they came in after the meeting had ended. That was the end of that club. Didn’t think about debate again. So when people ask me when I started debating, I never say “grade 7.” Because I did like six rounds in total that year.

Now, Grade 11. A friend asked me, casually, to join as an exec for a new debate club that they were starting. Okay, cool. That was fun. Except I still literally did not know how to debate.

I managed to BS my way through the first few months, and eventually become club president. Not because I could do debate. Moreso because I could do logistics. I love logistics.

Oh, and one more piece of context. I never really took debate classes. Like it was less than a semester in total. I don’t think it was too helpful.

Okay. Now here’s where I wallow in a pit of self misery.

Why the fuck do I never feel like I’m good enough?

Maybe it’s because I started debate really late (I did my first tournament in March 2022). So the people my age, they were all miles ahead of me. And most probably still are. As a result, up until a few months ago, I basically only partnered with younger debaters. I mean, they’re cool. Scratch that, they’re awesome. I learned so much from all of them, and I’m still friends with most. Don’t get me wrong.

I got asked, so many times, “why are you getting carried by a grade 10?” and I would respond, “because they’re a good debater.” Because that is the bigger person thing to do. But yeah. It doesn’t feel great.

Maybe it’s because I don’t have very good style, nor very good technique. Because I learnt mostly through imitating others and pestering pro debaters who were kind enough to put up with all my questions, I don’t have the polished speaking of many institutional speakers who grinded four classes a week. In fact, I still can not give a proper thematic whip speech. Skill issue, I guess.

Maybe it’s because I’m just generally socially awkward. People are scary.

Maybe, it’s because this hierarchy I had in my head from two years ago, with me, a brand new debater, at the very bottom, still influences every decision I make. When I win a round against someone who I had mentally put above me on the hierarchy (basically everyone), it feels weird. And not in a good way.

Or maybe, it’s because after winning rounds, I’ve overheard at least five separate times where another team went “how the fuck did we lose to that guy?” or some variation of that. And I’ve only done like 3 or so in person tournaments, and like 6 more online ones. So yeah, that happens a lot.

Idk.

What does all this mean then?

It means when I do well in tournaments, I feel like I don’t deserve it. In my mind, it’s always a one off, a lucky thing. I shy away from compliments, because even though they make me feel wonderful, I feel embarrassed at getting one as a result of what I think I cannot take credit for.

It means when I teach my classes, even though I know (or at least I hope?) I’m good at my job, there is some part of me that feels I have to work extra hard to gain my students’ respect (being only like 2 years older than some of them doesn’t help either).

It means at tournaments, I’m scared to talk to people who I put above me on the hierarchy (again, that’s basically everyone).

It means when I’m judging, I never feel confident in my calls. Not because I think they’re bad calls, but because I’m not trusting in myself.

The validation I get from other people – those who support me, partner with me, congratulate me, constructively critique me, talk to me – it means so much. In fact, when someone who’s higher than me on my mental hierarchy interacts with me in any way (even just saying hi), it genuinely makes me so happy. Like, “woah, they think I’m worth talking to.”

I know, that’s kinda sad.

It’s tough.

I don’t blame “toxic culture” or whatever. Maybe they are contributing factors. But I haven’t been in debate long enough to be consumed by it. I don’t really blame others either. I mean, they’re simply existing. Most people are super nice, and they try to bridge that divide. I’m the one who refuses to cross, out of fear. At the end of the day, I think this is just a me problem.

And I don’t know what to do about it. Maybe this will fade over time. Hopefully.

—Cover image by Caitlin, from the Hart House Discord server

May 7th, 2023.

The night before my math paper one exam. I remember lying in bed, late at night, scrolling through TikTok. I did that a lot – it had become like a habit, albeit a fairly mindless one. As usual, everything went in one eye, and out the other. Does that even make sense? I don’t know. Whatever.

Soon, a video I came across caught my attention. A group of friends, huddled together, began walking away from each other. “See you tomorrow,” flashed in bright, white text across the screen. Then, the friends came together once more, as, replacing the hopeful message, was the ominous text, “Oh wait. There is no tomorrow.”

There is no tomorrow. This is the end.

I graduated IB in May 2023, from an inner-city public school in Toronto, Canada. I am not a writer. Nor am I a philosopher. If you put a gun to my head and asked me to talk about the IB learner’s profile, I would probably start crying. I do not have any vivid build up stories, nor any emotional human-interest fairytales. This is not a memoir, and I am not going to rant about the impact of COVID, or about how the IB made me feel. Nor is this an assessment of the IB itself, or a review of the way the program was taught to me. I am not a professional educator. I do not speak for everyone, or really, for anyone, except myself. 

With that in mind, all I have are some thoughts that I am sharing, some things that I have learned, in the hopes that someone else may find them useful. My two cents, if you will (and I guess my friends’ two cents as well. Does that make it six cents?) You have probably heard most of these things before. I know I certainly did. But I ignored most of them. Typical teenager behaviour. 

I should caution you – as you read on, you will notice, I am fairly positive about the program. I recognize, however, that I am in the minority here. Ask most of my friends, and they will tell you that choosing IB was a mistake. On that note, let’s begin.

The Start

First day of high school - September 3^rd, 2019. I knew exactly one person there, who had gone to my middle school. 8:30 am. I sat outside the classroom. There was one other guy. And it was not the one I knew.

Pause. Some context first. I am socially awkward. Especially amongst people I do not know. Very. Very. Awkward. Ok, continue.

It took me a while to work up the courage to approach them. I repeated to myself, in my head, what I was going to say. “Hi. What school are you from?” After a while, I finally walked up to him. All throughout our short conversation, my heart was thudding out of my chest. I was sweating profusely. Talking to people is scary.

But by the end of that conversation, I now knew two people. Progress! And I did not realise it at the time, but that person I talked to, he would become my closest friend during all four years of high school.

So, I guess, this leads me to the first important thing I learned. Having a strong support network makes life so much easier, and this manifests itself in a lot of different ways. There are friends that you go out and have fun with. Friends you ask homework questions to. And of course, friends who you may not talk to that often, but whom you know, when push comes to shove, you can really rely on. All these groups are critical in their own ways. You need them to bring you happiness, or at least to keep you mentally sane. To help you stay academically above water. And to be there for you, during those critical junctures and low points. There can, and for me, there was, significant overlap amongst these friend circles. But in one way or another, having them all allowed me to survive these past four years. 

Beyond that, having that network helped to unlock a lot of opportunities. There is no point in sugarcoating it - positions in clubs and extracurriculars, most are nepotism. Knowing the right people goes a long way. As for volunteering, research, and personal development opportunities, more often than not, I found out about them from my friends. I was not very good at discovering things on my own.

Along the same lines, do not be afraid to talk to those in the upper years! They can help you with homework, give advice on course selection, tell you how to do well in different teachers' classes, etc. Plus, as an added bonus, if you get to know them better, they are more likely to think of you when it comes time to choose club execs. My grade, on the whole, we were very intimidated by those older than us, and as a result, we barely had any interaction with the classes of 2020, 2021, or 2022 (maybe part of this was due to COVID). But this year, especially the grade nines, they had no qualms about approaching us for help, guidance, and advice. The fact that, for the most part, we welcomed them, it showed me that the fears we had were unfounded. Most of the older students would love to talk with you and help you out - personally, it made me happy whenever I could share something I had learned with those younger than me. Take advantage of that!

At the same time, do not take what they say as gospel. Recognize that different people experience things differently. Seek multiple opinions, and combine them with your own judgement. Do not let their views cloud your judgement before you have had the chance to form your own opinions.

Clubs

As Grade 9 flew by, I buried myself in schoolwork, not really paying attention to much else. I would go home, do my work, eat dinner, do more work, then go to sleep. Looking back, I do not know what I did with my time. Did I use homework as an excuse to escape, to not do anything else? Probably. Faced with the fear of the unknown, I sought refuge in what was most familiar to me. 

I remember sitting in ICS (computer studies), listening to those around me talking about how they were preparing for DECA exams. “What’s DECA?” I asked. “Oh, it’s a business competition.” “Cool.” And that was the end of it. I barely paid any attention to these activities, never even considering why those around me were participating in them, let alone if I should be as well. In Grade 9, I did nothing. In grade 10, one club. I was fortunate enough to be able to catch up in my Grade 11 and 12 years, but banking on that happening, that “comeback” – is not a smart choice. I would say that what happened to me was the exception. In IB, at least at my school, the culture in the upper years was very much “grind academics, forget everything else.” As a result, by the time graduation rolled around, most of my friends had quit virtually all of the few extracurricular activities they were involved in to begin with.

That brings me to lesson two. Join clubs and groups, inside or out of school, that you are passionate about. Get involved. As a Grade 12 club leader, nothing drove me more nuts than all the Grade 9s who joined clubs to “try them out,” then dropped like 90% of them after a few weeks. But that is absolutely what you should do. Try new things. Find out what you are interested in, what you are passionate about. Develop your soft skills - communication, teamwork, time management, etc. And then (this is the important part) - commit to it. Give it your all. It is better to fall in love with one club than moderately enjoy a whole host of them. Why? Well, it gives you the drive to work towards a position where you can make a real difference and have a strong sense of purpose. And it makes it far easier to get those leadership positions later on, when they matter most.

This brings me to the second part. Lesson 2B, if you will. It can be tempting, in Grades 11 and 12, when the panic of “real” IB, IAs, EE, and exams, hits, to give up. Most people do. You should not. I promise you, looking back, you will not regret it. It is not just about making your university applications look good – I mean, of course, that is part of it. But it is also about having something concrete that gives you a sense of motivation, a feeling of “this is why I get out of bed.” Personally, my biggest passion project was building up my school’s debate club, called VP Debate. I poured more than 12 hours of my time every week in Grades 11 and 12, a commitment which, in my view, paid off. Within that same timespan, I also ran an orientation trip, volunteered at vaccine clinics, started a business-finance club, and served as student council president. It was a lot. Most crucially, however, this happened because I prioritised these commitments over my schoolwork. That was probably the best choice I made in my high school years – not only did these activities give me a productive relief from the stress of academics, but they also provided a tangible goal for me to work towards.

I will add a quote from a friend here, who, in this case, concurs:

“I remember a grade 12 telling me (in grade 8 or 9) to farm your extracurriculars in grade 9 and 10 because you will have more time then. I didn't really listen (partly due to covid lol). I think at that point we didn't know how little time there was. When the student council president said that it felt like yesterday that he was in Grade 9 I thought that was bullshit. In the end he was right; time flew by quickly. I think people grinded academics in Grade 9 because it was what they did before (or at least the people who had this problem). They probably went to tutor after school or some other thing like piano in my case (the commute doesn't help either) and just defaulted to grinding.”

In Grades 9 and 10, I noticed that I was struggling with math. Especially the IB style thinking questions (these tended to require extra steps and unique approaches to solve). So, my parents enrolled me in a contest math class at Olympiads, an extracurricular academics program in Toronto. Unsurprisingly, I bombed it. And by bombed it, I mean I did not even make it to the end of the course. I did so badly on the assessments, and I thought I was a mathematical failure.

Classes

Over the next few years, however, I got better. My teachers and friends helped me to build a toolkit of strategies and ways to approach IB math questions. We practised hundreds of them across the five math courses in grades 10 – 12, and I began to get the hang of it. By graduation, I had ended up with a 100 average across my 4U maths. And more importantly, that journey of improvement had instilled in me a sense of confidence that I could, in fact, do math.

That leads me to the third thing - learning the content at school, in class, is very important. At times, I struggled a lot. Aside from those few weeks of contest math, I did not take any substantial outside “learn ahead” classes in my high school years, and while it meant that there was a shock factor when I was first introduced to new material, that feeling quickly went away. If, by the end of the lesson I was still confused, I annoyed the hell out of my teachers and friends, bombarding them with questions. In chemistry, out of every two questions the class asked, one of them would be from me. Consistently, I found that almost everyone was willing to take the time to answer, to help. Especially being in a public-school environment, the number of formal supports available was limited. We had no private tutors, no shiny new textbooks. That only made the things we did do – sitting in the halls, notebooks open, discussing homework questions from the night before, or lining up at the teacher’s desk after class asking for clarifications, all the more important. 

As an aside, one of my friends had a differing experience with this, which I thought I would include as well.

“I had no clue what was going on during the lesson as it was being explained. Never. Some people are good at multitasking in the sense that they both absorb the information and can write it down quickly at the same time - for me it was either-or. But I found that as soon as I took some time out of my day to concentrate on my notes and then reinforced my understanding through practice questions within 24 hours of looking at the notes, the information would solidify in my head.”

And another friend said:

“In my opinion, you need to be a quick learner in the IB program. You could get by if you just grinded and/or learned ahead but is that what you really want to be doing? I don't think the program is worth it if you just go to school and go home to do homework. Is it worth it if every extracurricular is just for resume farming? I think asking for help would definitely help in speeding things up.”

I should add a major caveat to all this, which is that this is highly dependent on your school. I was fortunate enough to have excellent teachers throughout all my years who taught well, knew the IB like the back of their hand, and were patient and caring. You could tell that they were genuinely invested in the success of their students, and they all went the extra mile in their teaching. This was instrumental in helping me to succeed within IB. Unfortunately, not everyone will have the same experience. So, keep that in mind.

Academics

Some more notes about academics, and there are quite a few things I want to say here.

First off, to be totally transparent. In many cases, you are in direct competition with your classmates. For some classes, teachers will give you a rank in the class, then assign your predicted grade based on that. IB calls it the quota system. There is no point in dancing around it. Yet if you act like your peers, your friends, are your competition, then you are not going to make it through the program alive. It is next to impossible to have a healthy relationship with your classmates if you view them as obstacles to your own success. As cutthroat as the program may get, you always have to remember, you and your friends are here for each other. That comes first, or as some people would say, a priori, to any sort of academic pursuits. 

Along the same lines, the thought of being behind others and unworthy of the program was probably something that prevented many of the people who were seriously considering it at some point from dropping out. It can get toxic, especially the competitive environment. There were cases where people broke down into tears in the middle of class. It is not for those who are faint of heart when it comes to fast-paced, gruelling work that everyone else somehow seems to be managing just fine. Always remember that all your classmates are also struggling - it is just that different people struggle in different ways, and some are better at hiding it than others. Do not be afraid to reach out for help.

Second. Your grade nine and ten marks literally do not matter. You should not care about them. And neither should your parents. They do not make a difference. The only exception is if you are applying to US universities, in which case, I wish you the best of luck. US schools calculate GPA across all four years of high school, and with your sure-to-be deflated pre-IB marks (where you are doing IB style content but without the grade adjustments), it will be an uphill battle. For everyone else though, focus on understanding the concepts, not on getting that little number on your report card to be as big as possible. You will have plenty of time for that in Grades 11 and 12. 

Third. I think that the structure of the program often gets overlooked as a key selling point. The fact that all teachers (at least in theory) have an additional level of certification and undergo regular training from the IB Organization, is instrumental. The curriculums are fantastic, both in terms of the content, but also the ways in which they get taught. The subject guides are well developed and easy to follow, even as a student. The standardised assessment format means that you know exactly what is expected and what you need to work towards, and the moderation done by the IB ensures grades are (relatively speaking) fairer, and less subject to variation across teachers, or to favouritism. 

Here, I must also mention the exam structure. IB assessments are less so about “regurgitate this rule,” but moreso “apply this rule in a new context, in combination with this other rule.” Not only is memorization discouraged, but it is also unnecessary, given that on most exams, you are provided with a data booklet which contains key formulas and figures. As a result, you are forced to engage with the content on a deeper, more conceptual level. Along the same lines, this is another reason why it is so critical to ask questions. If your teacher is doing something in a lesson or taking up a question, you have to understand why they are doing it. If not, ask!

Fourth. Let’s talk a bit about additional resources. Simply put, there are a lot of them out there. Some are good, but most, in my experience, were quite shoddy. Remember, anyone and everyone can upload something onto the internet. Most people who make IB YouTube videos have no idea what they are talking about. Consulting with teachers and peers, for me, was the most reliable and convenient option. If that did not work, what I did was I would download a few free pirated IB-specific textbooks (that my school could not afford to provide us with) off of sites like zlib or libgen. I would then use these textbooks on an as needed basis, to fill in gaps in my understanding. 

As for practice, I found that doing teacher provided worksheets was always the best option. My teachers knew what they were doing, and I trusted that they would provide us with ample resources. The actual exams I wrote confirmed that this trust was well placed. Where I wanted more, however, doing past IB exam papers was the safest bet. Not only did it help reinforce concepts, but also provided exposure to the IB style of assessment and questioning. You can access questionbanks on sites like Revision Village or Exam Mate and can find full past papers on the IB Documents Tor Repository. Point is, there is a lot out there. 

Another quote from my friend here, with an opposing view:

“OK maybe we differ on this, but in my experience the global IB community was just amazing. The amount of resource-sharing that happens on Reddit and on other forums was close to unlimited. The reason that [subject name] was not a disaster for us despite the fact that we weren't properly taught (no shade to the teachers) is because the resources were practically being asked to be seen. So someone who relies exclusively on class notes and teacher support may do well, but someone who is able to dig for resources efficiently may find out other additional useful info (e.g. new techniques/ways of looking at things).”

Fifth. When you get a worksheet or a problem set, especially if it is IB style questions, it is totally normal to not know how to do most of the questions - that was my experience in pretty much every class. IB questions are designed to be challenging. Do what you can, try them, think about it, and give it your best shot. The ones you do not know how to do, ask your teacher or friends about them. And then before the test/quiz, go back and try those questions again on your own. There may be a strong temptation to give up before you have even started - do not. The learning comes from the struggling. What you choose to do about something matters a lot more than if you are capable of doing it at the given moment.

Sixth. “Does IB boost my grades?” Well, I wish there was an easy answer. But there is not. The best I can say is, it depends. Speaking from personal experience, I believe that my grades were higher than they would be if I was in the academic (regular) stream. Part of it is because of the mark conversions. But the other part is simply that the program pushes you to work harder, to give it your all. When that is what your classmates are doing, that is what your teachers are expecting, you become more inclined to do it as well. And as a natural consequence, your marks increase.

To an extent, our class medians support this conclusion – by Grade 12, most of them were in the mid to high 90s. Perhaps though, this is selection bias. Those for whom the program did not help their marks, most of them had dropped out by this point. The best I can say is, IB has a very unique way of assessing you. It relies heavily on critical thinking and problem solving, but also on having experience with a specific type of assessment methodology, and on a teacher that knows what they are doing. Being able to adapt to this is arguably the greatest indicator of how your marks will be in the program. 

As an addendum here, I want to briefly talk about mark conversions. You might have heard the trope that a “60% curves into a 90%” in IB. And while this may be true in some cases, it leaves out important context. That 60% raw mark is not the same as a 60% in the academic program. That 60% is obtained learning harder content, at a faster pace, and on IB style (translation: much more difficult) assessments. The adjustment to 90% is not a “free” extra 30%. It is (in theory) supposed to compensate for the difficulty of the program. If you are in IB with the hopes of getting free 90s, you will be sorely disappointed.

Adding a quote from a friend about their experience with the curve:

“In one class, it was pretty obvious that, for each assessment, the teacher had a grade in mind and then chose the corresponding uncurved grade that would be curved to that mark. So if they thought you deserved a flat 90, they would hand you a 65 knowing that it would be converted. Assuming 50 is the bare minimum needed to pass, the 65s they handed out to like every other person were completely unjustified on their own. Just my two cents for why relying on the curve should be avoided.”

And another friend suggested the following. While I would be weary of extrapolating this analysis too much to other schools, I know that in my experience, it definitely held true.

“I think there is a sorta curve with your average on the x axis and how worth IB is on the Y axis. You could probably coast on a lowish ninety if you're a certain type of person. If you learn quickly, but aren't very dedicated I think it's quite easy to coast to a low ninety average since you can make a lot more mistakes and allow for the curve to carry you. For a mid ninety average, I'm not sure you want to go to the IB program. A mid ninety is a 6 in everything which is not a trivial task. If you have one course dragging you down, it gets even more difficult: now you need a seven somewhere else to make up for it, which is a lot harder. If the course that is dragging you down is a prerequisite for your university program, you're in even bigger trouble. I think it would take much less effort to get a mid ninety average in the regular stream. But for a high ninety average, you need the IB program or some other enriched curriculum.  With grade inflation, anything 97 and above doesn't mean anything. Doing the IB program gives your grades some more credibility.”

As a second addendum, I thought I would share some tidbits about the courses I took. Please keep in mind that different people will perceive courses very differently, and this should not be taken as objective truth.

English A – Literature – Higher Level

I found English to be fairly simple, but a lot of my friends struggled with it. The workload was not very much, but doing good on assessments was a challenge. Globally, only 2.5% of students achieve a 7 here – one of the lowest rates for any IB course. I would say that more than anything, it was a test of not only language ability, but also of pattern recognition. Learning to find relationships in imagery, symbolism, literary features, and text, and extrapolating meaning out of them as it related to the work, went a long way.

French B – Standard Level

I struggled with French in the earlier years, but got the hang of it by the time exams rolled around. While grammar was important, IB put a greater emphasis on being able to communicate more generally. Forming coherent sentences fluently, for instance, took precedence over knowing six different variations of the past tense. There was also a large focus on social and cultural themes within Francophone communities. Practising speaking, writing, and listening in French was enormously helpful for me.

Economics – Higher Level

Content wise, Econ was probably the easiest course that I took in IB. The difficulty lay not so much in grasping the fundamental concepts, but more so in applying them. Along the same lines, it was as much about being able to write essays and analyse issues from a variety of perspectives, as it was about memorising economic theories. There were a lot of diagrams used, and having a solid understanding of every one of them was essential.

Chemistry – Standard Level

Strictly speaking, this course was supposed to be easy. Yet for me, it was the hardest of the six. Every rule in Chem seemed to have an encyclopaedia of exceptions, and even the exceptions had their own exceptions. In some cases, this principle would apply, whereas in another case, another one would take precedence. Being able to understand content in the later parts of the syllabus rested on having a strong understanding of atomic theory – bonding, forces, and interactions. I struggled with this a lot, and would say that taking the time to understand the logic underlying the various rules and exceptions is really important.

Physics – Standard Level

Physics overall was not too difficult. I felt that most of the concepts made sense, were well explained, and fairly intuitive. Maybe this was because our teacher was really good - globally, students do tend to struggle a lot with physics. A good portion of the course was about combining, separating, and manipulating the formulas in the data booklet, which relied on having good algebraic intuition. The one thing that totally broke my brain was topic five, circuits. No matter how much time I spent on it, it just did not make any sense to me. 

Mathematics AA – Higher Level

This course has a reputation for being one of the hardest IB courses out there, but even as someone who, going into the program, was not very mathematically inclined, I think that it was manageable. Yes, it did take up as much time as all my other courses combined, but eventually, I got the hang of it. The big focus here was on not only knowing individual concepts in isolation, but being able to combine them, along with many problem-solving strategies, to answer more complex “IB style” questions. Unless you are a math whizz, this will take an experienced teacher, a lot of time, and a lot of patience. 

Extended Essay (EE)

The EE is where I really had fun. I went against the advice of just about everyone and wrote it on a subject I was not studying in school, but was very passionate about – geography. I conducted an exploration of public transit in Toronto and how it related to household income, spending upwards of 100 hours on it, meticulously tracing bus routes, analysing data, and creating maps. It was tedious, but I loved every single second of it. Without a doubt, this was the one work I did throughout my years in the program that I was most proud of, and the only one that I felt personally attached to. The EE was an opportunity to do something I was truly passionate about, and I am really glad I took it. 

You

Moving to Grades 11 and 12 was when, as they say, shit really hit the fan. It got real. It was like a never-ending bombardment, a torrent. This was when most people who dropped, dropped. And for good reason. Every day felt like a new challenge – the content quickly got difficult, and the assignments and tests, they just kept coming. Stress became something that I seemed to never be able to get away from. Right as the burden of a big batch of assessments was lifted, another stack plopped in my lap. To make matters worse, I was also dealing with various mental health issues that predated my IB experience. There was no respite.

But over time, I began to learn how to live with the stress. It was always there, but at the same time, it soon became white noise. I learned to be happy, to enjoy things, even with the threat of the next test looming over me. Stress and I, we became frenemies. It was a weird feeling, and one that is hard to describe.

If this sounds like word salad to you, to an extent, it probably is. But for me, it represented a sense of acceptance. I would talk through my various assignments and deadlines in my head, as a way of reassuring myself that I would be fine. I completed tasks sooner rather than later, allowing me to put my mind at ease. Procrastination is something that almost every IB student does, yet is also one of the greatest contributors to stress. I tried to make use of every second of class time, so I would have less to do when I got home. And I immersed myself in whatever I was doing in the present moment, so anxious thoughts could not creep in. 

This leads nicely to the next lesson I learned. You are going to be stressed. But you need to put yourself first. Get sleep. My greatest flex is that I survived four years of IB without pulling a single all nighter. Often, that translated to sacrificing study time for tests. And it almost always meant that I would not finish all the homework. It forced me to learn how to prioritise – if I felt like I understood a concept, I would do a few questions, then skip the rest. In hindsight, this was critical. Getting sleep meant that I could be awake, aware, thinking, and alive. Sleep was my best friend, and it should be yours too. 

From my friend, and this is something I totally agree with:

“IB has a reputation for requiring a lot of homework time. While it is probably true, it doesn't have to be that way. I probably grinded more math in Grade 9 than I did in Grade 12. In the first half of Grade 11 I did math a lot. In the end I didn't really get the mark I wanted. But in the second half of Grade 11, and all of Grade 12, I did way less work and basically got the same grade. Maybe I learned how to study better, but the point is that IB doesn't have to be the 5 hours of homework grind everyday.”

Along the same lines, find something that brings you joy. Maybe that is a club. Or a sport. Or a person. For me, it was taking buses and trains, aimlessly. Every once in a while, I would board a GO Bus, or a streetcar, and just ride to wherever it was headed to. Then, I would turn around, and ride it back. When I tell people this, their first reaction is usually, “are you insane?” But who cares! Find that thing that makes you happy. And allocate time for it. Because it will become your mental lifesaver. Along the same line, carve out time for your friends. Hang out with them, call them, text them, and be there for them. Put them above your schoolwork. The relationships you form, the happiness you derive out of it, are worth it. Earlier on, I talked about friends as being an academic crutch. But even more than that, they are your social support. After all, we are all social animals. Human interaction is good for your spirit.

As an IB student, the threat of burnout will always be looming over you. It is like a monster, one step from grasping you into its dark arms.  Do not give it that opportunity – you need to play the long game. No test, no essay, no project, is worth your mental health. Because without your mental health, you have nothing.

“But, but, what will the unis think?”

University

I always had this picture, since I was in grade two or three, that I would be the person who schedules the buses, plans the subway service, and designs streetcar routes. Until I realised, no such job exists. That it was in fact a combination of engineering, architecture, GIS, statistics, geography, and graphic design. And also, that, for the most part, it did not make a lot of money. As Jackson West from my favourite TV show, The Rookie, put it, “A lifetime of dreams crashed headlong into reality.” To this day, I still do not know what else I want to do. Although I am going into the Management and International Business program at the University of Toronto Scarborough, to me, these are just words. What this entails, and where I go next, still remains a mystery. Perhaps it is because I did not start thinking about my future until May of Grade 12. Yikes.

There will be people who plan their high school lives around getting into a good university. And they may have their reasons. But it is important to remember, undergrad is four years. As is high school. There is no general cause to weigh those four years above the four you have right now. At the end of the day, the school you go to really only matters for your first job. Plus, if you bothered to read this, you are probably smart enough to get into a decent school regardless. And that is lesson six. Do not sacrifice your high school life for post-secondary admissions. 

That means, do not join clubs or take on extracurriculars “because it looks good for university applications.” Becoming an exec in a random club where you do not do anything does not impress the admissions officer. Starting a “non-profit” that is really just an Instagram page does not impress the admissions officer. These people, their job is to look at these things all day long. They can recognize when something is genuine, vs. when something is done for the sake of an application. Instead, do an activity that you genuinely enjoy. Not because it looks good, but because you love it. That is what the universities want to see. And be honest with yourself - it is virtually impossible to fake passion without making your life miserable.

Along the same lines, do not fixate on a single program at a single school. It will be the death of you. Recognize that the differences between the #1 ranked program, the #2 ranked program, and the #50 ranked programs are not as big as you think they are. Learn to see the bigger picture – you will thank yourself later.

I think that with this, my friend put it better than I did:

“I'm not sure if it applies to our school but some of the people on r/applyingtocollege (reddit) seem to make their whole identity on what school they get into. Of course, there is some bias because the people in that subreddit are super tryhard, but I think that people don't actually know what they want. This is conjecture, but I think a lot of children try to grind to get into top schools because of their parents. In the end, the institution you end up in after high school probably doesn't matter that much, or the choices are much more complicated than one might initially think with cost and distance factored in.

Plus, a lot of people pick medecine, engineering, computer science, or law to study in post secondary not because they want to do those, but because that is all they know. It's unlikely you actually can figure out what you want to do for the rest of your life in high school. People change programs in post secondary. Maybe you should explore what you like in high school, though that might take until post secondary or even later (especially since your teenage self will be different from your adult self). This is more or less another point in the "your university admissions probably don't matter that much" bucket.”

At the same time, do not do what I did and leave everything to the last minute. Start thinking about where you want to go, by the latest, in the summer after Grade 11. Explore beyond the trifold brochures of the programs – examine course calendars, take campus tours, and speak to current students. You have to look past the four years of undergrad – where do you want to go after, where do you want to end up in ten years? Twenty? I made the mistake of not doing this, and I am not sure how it is going to turn out for me. As an IB student, in Grade 12, you will be very busy. Try to get this done before then. 

These two things – do not plan your life around university, but also think about university early, probably seem paradoxical. I guess the best way I can harmonise them is to say, what I mean is to look into the schools and programs you want, and gain knowledge of them, but do not make getting into them the centrepiece of your life. 

Another thing to add: I did not apply to any American schools. But one of my friends did, and here is what they had to say:

“If you want to go to an American university, you have to know by grade 9 or 10. Just doing IB probably won't cut it [me: on net, IB is valued more by European universities than American ones]. You need some AP courses too probably and certainly do the SAT or ACT (subject to change in the future). Your time in grade 9 and 10 becomes even more valuable as you MUST have some extracurriculars, given that in grade 11 and 12, you will be busy taking standardised tests, or doing school exams, or writing so many university applications.”

Applications.

Just like how I am not an essayist, I am also not a university admissions consultant. But I have a few thoughts, from what I have learned through my experience with the application process. If you want to know more about the schools I applied and got into, my bio is linked at the end. For now though, lesson seven.

First. Forget the fluff. Seriously. Do not try to butter up your application with a word salad of rhetoric. Be blunt and be practical. Your word count is limited, and the admissions officers are trained to see through the bullshit. Write about exactly what you accomplished. Always quantify the results and the outcomes. If you can give numbers (“I increased member retention by 20%”), then that is even better. You have probably heard about the STAR method (if not, go search it up), and although it may be overused, there is a reason for that. It is because it works. 

Second, personalise things. Write about what you learned. What challenges you faced, and how you overcame obstacles. No one wants to read a play by play of what your club or team did – they want to know what you did. Be authentic here. Take some time, search your memory bank, and try to find accurate representations of your thoughts and feelings. Be reflective and show evidence of personal growth. Tell the university about how something impacted not only others, but also impacted yourself. Remember - you can exaggerate, but you cannot lie. 

Third, be you, but be the version of you that the university wants to see. Confused yet? So was I. I guess the best way to explain this is that each school has a list of traits they want. These are often stated explicitly – Western Ivey, for instance, says they are looking for evidence of “leadership, teamwork, initiative, achievement, and commitment.” Other times, they are implicit. Considering the program’s mission statement, the types of essay prompts you are given, and what the promotional materials focus on, are not bad places to start. Once you have figured that out, you need to frame your true authentic self within the confines of these traits. Schools always tell you that they want to see who you really are, and while that may be partially true, no one gets admitted just for being quirky. 

Perhaps an example will make this less confusing. In applying to Queen's Commerce, I noticed that they seemed to have a big focus on equity. So, for one of my essays, I wrote about my experiences leading an overnight orientation trip for 150 students. This was an activity that meant a lot to me and is something I really loved. But to satisfy what I thought Queens wanted, I approached my writing from the angle of inclusivity. I talked about how I recruited a diverse team of counsellors to ensure that campers had someone they could better relate to, and how the spirit of team building I developed helped knock down barriers between students and create a sense of belonging. In this way, I was able to represent my true experiences and feelings, within a lens that the university was looking for. 

Fourth, give yourself time. Cramming supplementary essays a few hours before they are due is a terrible idea. Start brainstorming in the summer before Grade 12 (if you can), using prompts from the previous year. After all, they do tend to repeat themselves. Leave yourself weeks to edit, revise, and edit some more. It is worth spending those extra few days to create a much more polished piece of writing.

Exams.

Jumping forward again. April 2023. I had been dreading this for months. The start of IB exams.

Throughout my time in the program, I would have periodic freakouts – “how on earth am I supposed to remember ALL the course content, when I can’t even remember the stuff on one unit test?” To make matters worse, I had heard stories of people starting to study way in advance. I recall watching TikTok, over the winter break of my Grade 12 year. In it, someone was asking, “M23s. Have you started revising for exams yet?” And you can imagine the horror I felt when I opened the comment section, and it was filled with yeses.

I did not end up studying until late March. 

Yet somehow, I survived. Here’s what I learned. Lesson eight, if you will.

First, keep everything you are given throughout your years in the program. Handouts, worksheets, notes, past tests, etc. There may be a strong temptation to throw them away, perhaps in rage, but come exam time, you will regret that. These materials are designed to help you study. Throughout the school year, regularly arranging papers by topic and neatly labelling them will never be a bad idea.

Second, do not feel that you need to begin studying so early. Starting in late March for me was more than enough time. Begin reviewing too soon, and you run the risk of forgetting the stuff you first revised. I took two to three weeks to review content, using past worksheets, notes, and tests. Then, for the last few weeks, I grinded past papers that I had downloaded off the internet. One after another. I would highlight the questions I did not know how to do, and the day before the subject exam, revisit those questions and try them again.

This leads me nicely to the third thing – develop a study strategy. I think that my strategy made sense. The first part was to refamiliarize me with the concepts, then the second part to get practice with them all jumbled together under exam time pressure in an IB format. The sooner you can figure out what works for you, the better.

Fourth, stay organised. Normally, I am pretty all over the place. Many of my friends used fancy Notion pages, Google calendars, and notes. Not me. I just kept things in my head. And that worked well through most of the program. But come exam period, I realised that time was even more limited, so I had to plan out each day. I printed a calendar for the months of April and May and wrote on it when I would revise what. This helped me keep organised, and also gave me a way to reassure myself whenever I was feeling stressed that I was on track and everything would be alright.

And fifth. Take a deep breath. It will all be okay. I know that feeling of impending doom. But realise that everyone, all around the world, is in the same boat as you. There is time between each exam – although it may only seem like a few days, it makes a massive difference. I would say, that for any given course, 40% of my studying happened in the four days before the exam. This was not always by choice – in many cases, we were still learning new material right until the start of the exam period. I did not even begin revising for economics, in fact, until three days before. And you know what? It all turned out fine. The content will come back to you quicker than you think. 

Is IB right for me?

Okay, I will be honest. This section is my not so clever way of fitting in stuff I could not find anywhere else to put. But let’s ignore that and carry on. *Nods*

Ahh, the perennial question. Should I continue in IB? A couple things to consider.

1. You might have seen your grade nine and ten marks, and went, “oh shit. That’s low.” Do not worry. They will get higher. Most schools only start conversions in Grade 11. As long as you are scoring in the low 80s or higher in most classes by Grade 10, then soon, those 80s will turn into 90s. Our graduating math class average was 97% (99% post IB exams). At the same time, you need to be honest with yourself. In my view, in pre-IB, if you think you understand what is going on but are struggling to apply the concepts, that is not something to worry about. IB has a very unique way of assessing you, and that takes time to get used to. But if you are struggling to understand the concepts at a fundamental level, then that poses a bigger problem. TLDR: focus on understanding, not assessment. And if you are unsure about anything, ask the students in the older grades! Ask them about mark conversions, class averages, etc. After all, they have first hand experience!

2. Are you able to effectively manage your time? Some people will say that it is a tradeoff between having an extracurricular/social life and being an IB student. I disagree. There should be no trade off – if you feel like you are being forced to choose between the two, then you need to drop IB. Rather, the question should be if you feel confident that you can avoid being in a situation where you have to make that tradeoff all together.

3. Does your school seem to know what they are doing. Having experience and expertise in teaching IB is important, and it can make or break your experience in the program. Same goes for dedication and passion on the part of your teachers. IB is not an easy program to teach, and the quality of teachers you get will be a key determinant of your IB experience.

I really want to emphasise this next part: if there is one thing you take away from this blob of words, it is that your social life, your mental health, and your extracurriculars, need to come before your academic pursuits. You only experience high school once. But learning and studying, you have a lifetime for that. Plus, these out-of-school things are a prerequisite to doing well academically in the long run anyways. If you do not have them, you will burn out quickly.

Dropping IB is completely normal and is nothing to be ashamed of. It is important to recognize that this program was designed for wealthy private schools with in-house tutors, tiny class sizes, and well-funded classrooms. Especially in a public school environment, despite you and your teachers’ best efforts, it is very difficult to succeed. My class started with 120ish students in grade nine, and just 50ish graduated with an IB diploma. 

Results Day

After exams ended, my life felt like a blur. For the first time in forever, I did not know what to do with my time. So, I went on TikTok. Watched TV. Went out. A lot.

As results day – July 6th, for May exams, drew nearer, the anticipation began to build. I knew that rationally, my exam score did not matter too much. After all, I had already gotten into the universities I wanted, my scholarships were secured, and my program offer conditions were very easy to meet. Emotionally, though, I really wanted to do well. The night before, I could not sleep. I spent it catastrophizing and playing out the worst possible outcomes.

I opened the tab. 44 points. I do not think I had felt this gleeful in so long.

Yet there was some part of me that had a pang of regret. “Maybe, if I had studied a tad harder, I could have got that last point, and a 45.” Just maybe.

Success is a double-edged sword.

At The End

June 22^nd, 2023. 

At the University of Toronto Scarborough orientation event. I am standing there, awkwardly. I hear the group beside me talking about their IB courses. “How was the HL Econ exam?” “It was alright.” Perhaps rather rudely, I interrupt, “Oh, you guys did IB?” And a small conversation arose. If you ask the IB Organization, they will probably tell you that this is evidence of the strong community the IB program creates. Ask a student, and they will follow up by pointing out that this community is built off of shared trauma. But regardless, I think that my little interaction here illustrates the impact that IB has had on every student who has graduated from it – whether it be good or bad.  

Looking back, do I think I made the right choice with IB? Yes. I do. I loved the structured nature of the program, and the consistency that the international format with standardised assessments provided. All the people I met within IB - both my teachers, and my classmates, were amazing. The small cohort meant that it was much easier to make, and to stay, friends. I probably would not have achieved the marks I did if I was not in IB, but more importantly, I would not have learnt half of the things I learned. Furthermore, the heavy content and workload forced me to develop time management and prioritisation skills and taught me how to deal with stress. 

Thinking back to the TikTok I saw, perhaps then, after all, there is a tomorrow. Even though I am moving on, I will carry the invaluable lessons being in IB has taught me, onto post-secondary and beyond. In fact, come September, I am headed to a program called Management and International Business. Its short name? MIB. Not joking. I guess I can never really escape the IB, huh. But seriously, I have taken so much away from this program, and would not trade it for anything. Being an IB student has changed my life, and maybe, it will change yours too.

If you made it this far, thank you for reading. I hope this was helpful.

Final Notes

Thank you so much to everyone who has made it so I could be where I am today. My parents and brother, for being so supportive, loving, and giving me everything I needed to succeed. My teachers, for your patience, care, passion, and dedication. And my friends, who have laughed with me, cried with me, and been there for me through it all. You guys are incredible. 

Thank you also to Zuhair Q. and another friend, who helped me put this together and contributed a lot of valuable insight. The direct quotes you see in here are from them as well. You can reach Zuhair on discord @_lemonn_ and the other friend at @solle.

The end :D 

Hi!

Welcome to my substack. If you’re reading this, you probably know me already. So there is not much point in introducing myself.

I have a lot of thoughts. Mostly about my own life. I am going to share them here.

Thoughts about what? About school. About debate. About public transit. About planes. About life in general.

Most of the stuff I publish is going to be low quality writing. Mostly rants. Half of them probably typed out on my phone.

I basically view this as a personal vent room.

If something I spewed was relatable, disgusting, life changing, repulsive, or anything in between, I’d love to hear about it.

Also like if it asks you for money or to “pledge support” or whatever just ignore it. I don’t want your money. I just haven’t figured out how to turn the prompts off yet.

Thanks for reading :D

Andre