Opinion “Human-centered” development is now a standard requirement for area development, tender plans, and designs. But how credible is the field if it simultaneously puts itself under constant pressure to perform? Columnist Rinske Brand argues for hitting the pause button. “The biggest blind spot in ‘human-centered’ is ourselves.”
A virtual meeting started at 4:00 PM. My conversation partner asked if we could push it back five minutes to allow time for tea and a quick bite to eat – something they hadn’t managed to do earlier in the day. We discussed healthy interventions for a new residential area, exploring ways to encourage future residents to be more active and connect with each other. Meanwhile, neither of us had moved from our desks or screens all day.
Area development, tender plans, and designs all now require a “human-centered” approach. The conversation centers on healthy cities, vibrant neighborhoods, and spaces where people can move, rest, and find mental wellbeing. Yet, we often organize our own operate in a way that directly contradicts these ideals. Overbooked schedules, tight deadlines, constant availability, and a rapid succession of meetings are the norm.
Area development requires a long-term perspective – it’s a marathon, not a sprint. But why are we constantly operating in sprints? While athletes understand the importance of rest and recovery for building strength, we consistently skip those crucial steps. The pressure is relentless, impacting our creativity, diminishing our focus, and fragmenting our attention. How credible is our advocacy for quality of life when we perpetually put ourselves under pressure? The biggest blind spot in “human-centered” thinking is, ironically, ourselves.
Over a year ago, a back injury forced me to a standstill. My body abruptly demanded choices, requiring me to cancel appointments and put projects on hold. True recovery only came last summer when I took two months completely off work. The latest insights from pain science reveal that the body and brain don’t differentiate between physical and mental stress. Running the Rotterdam marathon is as taxing on your system as an overbooked schedule with demanding deadlines. For my recovery, all stress had to be eliminated. That rest not only brought physical healing but also clarity, creativity, and focus. My period of inactivity ultimately proved to be the best way to perform optimally professionally again.
We often criticize the work ethic of Gen Z. Although, previous generations were raised in a culture of productivity, where pressure was seen as positive and essential. Those who were busy were considered important. Our collective busyness has become a comfortable system. Gen Z is disrupting that, prioritizing their work-life balance. A new term is gaining traction: micro retirement. The principle is simple: why wait until age 67, or perhaps 72, to pursue what truly matters? Why not take breaks, for a few weeks or months, to recharge, starting now?
I’m now planning my own micro retirements. I took one in January, which elicited a range of responses, from “What a great idea, I want to do that too” to “Here’s a real first-world problem.” Others commented that it’s only possible as an entrepreneur, or that their employer or family would never allow it.
Chronic overload, stress, and burnout are increasingly prevalent societal problems in the developed world. Taking time for rest and detachment isn’t simply feel-good advice; it’s a strategic approach to preserving creativity, imagination, and strategic thinking. These are precisely the qualities we require in area development, and the first to disappear under chronic pressure. It also helps maintain long-term health. After all, we’re running a marathon, not a sprint. I grasp many colleagues in municipalities, development companies, and consulting firms who took a period completely out of their work routine, with the support of their management, as they returned noticeably sharper and more energetic. And there are parents who managed to take a few months off, even with the added responsibility of homeschooling.
I wouldn’t wish my back injury on anyone, but I do value the energy and focus it gave me. That period of stillness showed me how little space we allow ourselves. If One can’t organize time to step away from our desks, how credible are we in the ideas we generate, the designs we create, and the developments we plan? Perhaps “human-centered” thinking starts closer to home.
