This weekend I went on a long bike ride across the city with my friend Ev (who, by the way, just recently got married. Congratulations again to you both!). This was not a ride to pump my feeble Strava stats, but a ride to see and explore our wonderful city. And once again I was reminded that one of the easiest ways to fall in love with Toronto is to get on a bike and ride across it. Biking offers the best of both worlds: it's both fast and efficient, and it's granular. You can easily slow-ride through smaller spaces or quickly get off and walk them.

If I'm ever in the mood to elicit a shitstorm of negative reactions, all I have to do is go on Twitter and tweet something pithy about how much I love Toronto. I don't know why so many people seem to react like this, but I genuinely feel this way about our city. City-building is a slow process, but a spring ride after a cold winter will reveal to you all of the projects we've been working on quietly in the background: new streets, new mid-block connections, new public spaces, new businesses, and beautiful architecture.

Of course, not all of it is exceptional. At one point, Ev and I came across two newly constructed courtyards in the middle of large developments that will remain unnamed. One was beautiful and held the promise of businesses and F&B lining its edges, while the other was empty and grim looking. We then turned to each other and said: "Isn't it amazing how different these not-so-different courtyards are?"

But objectively, there's so much that we are getting right. New streets are now subdividing formerly large, unwalkable blocks. Existing neighbourhoods are growing, adding sustained urban vibrancy. New megaparks, like Biidaasige Park in the Port Lands, have already become fantastic, well-used spaces, setting the stage for new urban neighbourhoods to crop up all along their edges. And many of our new buildings are, quite frankly, gorgeous.

Most importantly, though, people are using these spaces — a lot. They're filling sidewalks, hanging out on patios, and cycling on new bike lanes. It's easy to focus on the things that Toronto isn't or doesn't have, just like it's personally easy to focus on what you may not be or have. Bringing positivity doesn't mean ignoring the challenges that our city is facing, but being grateful for everything we are achieving is a great way to reframe our perspectives toward an abundance mindset.

If you're looking for an easy way to do that, try getting on a bike on a beautiful sunny day.

Occasionally, writing a daily blog has its perks.

Last month I wrote a post called "The radical transformation of Greater Paris" and, in it, I mentioned that Apur (a French non-profit focused on urbanism that I follow) had just published a new book called Atlas de la Métropole du Grand Paris.

I also mentioned that I hadn't been able to find a shop that would ship to Toronto, but that if anyone happens to be in Paris, it's available in bookstores over there. Volume is apparently a great store for people who like the kind of things we talk about on this blog.

Following the post, I got an email from Ryan Taylor at Parcel Economics who more or less said, "Hey, I'm leaving for Paris soon. Want me to grab you a copy of the book? I've learned a lot from your blog over the years and thought I would offer."

Now I have the book:

Ryan, thanks for transporting what is a fairly substantial book across the Atlantic. If any of you are in need of a land economist, reach out to Ryan and the folks at Parcel Economics. He's both a nice and smart guy.

Enjoy the long weekend, everyone.

This post is ultimately going to be about architecture, but bear with me while I get there. The international standard for paper sizes has three series: A, B, and C. From this standard comes A4 paper, which many of you might recognize as the most common paper size in the world, serving as the standard for most business documents. However, not all countries use this sizing. Canada and the US, for instance, use Letter-sized paper instead of A4, which is simply a result of a historical norm. Canada tried to switch to the international standard (ISO 216) when we started adopting the metric system in the 1970s, but our deep economic integration with the US made it simply too cumbersome to juggle different sizes of paper.

The beauty of A4 paper is that it follows something known as the Silver Ratio (which equals 1 : √2 or 1 : 1.414). Its exact dimensions are 210 x 297 mm. What's important about this ratio is that it allows for a perfectly recursive system. It works like this: A0 paper is 841 x 1189 mm (the same Silver Ratio) or exactly one square metre. If you fold this paper in half along its long side, you get two pieces of A1 paper with the exact same ratio. If you repeat the same fold, you will then get A2 paper, and so on, all the way down to A10 paper. The Silver Ratio is the only rectangle where, when you fold or cut it in half, the proportions stay exactly the same. This is a neat feature because it means there's no waste when manufacturing different paper sizes.

So, what does this have to do with architecture?

Well, the Silver Ratio is heavily embedded in Japanese architecture and heritage. In fact, it's also known as the "Japanese proportion." It has long been appreciated for the scale it creates — it's more square and humble, as opposed to rectangular and grand — and for the modularity that it affords. Indeed, the recursive nature of the ratio makes it practical for construction and perfectly suited to the Japanese concept of mottainai, which is a term that describes a deep sense of regret when things are wasted. A good example of this concept in practice is the recently completed Circularity Cabin by architect Takaaki Fuji. A simple family home made from standard store-bought timber, the 60 m2 structure follows a strict modular system to minimize waste and improve efficiency.

Mottainai might be my new favourite Japanese concept.

Cover photo by Takuya Seki via Never Too Small