Moon River

They say cities are designed for movement, for connection, for life. But as I walked through the streets of Stockholm, tracing the lines of old and new, I couldn’t help but wonder, when it comes to urban design, are we just planning spaces, or are we planning relationships?

Every city tells a love story. Some, like Paris, are hopeless romantics, with winding alleys perfect for stolen kisses and balconies made for dramatic goodbyes. Others, like New York, are bold and unapologetic, demanding you keep up or get out of the way. And then there are cities like Stockholm, structured, balanced, a little reserved, but beautiful once you get to know them.

As an urban designer, I’ve spent years studying how spaces shape us, how the width of a sidewalk can determine whether two strangers meet, whether a plaza invites conversation or loneliness, whether a street becomes a stage for life or just a passage to somewhere else. And isn’t that just like relationships? Some people are main streets, direct, accessible, always in the flow. Others are cul-de-sacs, comforting, familiar, but maybe a little too closed off.

We design cities to be walkable, but what about relationships? We talk about connectivity in urban planning, but what about emotional connectivity? Are we designing our lives for spontaneous encounters, for the kind of moments that change everything? Or are we creating barriers, zoning ourselves into predictability, limiting movement, leaving no room for the unexpected?

That’s the thing about cities, and about love. The best ones don’t just function, they make you feel. And maybe the secret to good urban design isn’t just about streets and buildings, it’s about leaving space for possibility.

Because in the end, whether it’s a city or a person, the best places aren’t the ones that are perfectly planned. They’re the ones that surprise you.