A colored wooden block - an indication of our social openness
Back in primary school, when I was age ten, we used to have this very simple tool at our desks. Every pupil had a wooden cube with sides of five centimeters across, and every surface had a different color. Black, red, orange, yellow, green, and white. When we received this cube from our teacher, she explained to us how every color had its own meaning. Black meant you wanted to work in silence and not be spoken to. Red meant you wanted to work silently but were open to questions about the work. Orange meant you wanted to work, and some natural conversation could occur. Yellow meant you were open to working together. Green meant you were open to simply chatting. And white meant you had a question. This wooden cube was a subtle feature that indicated our wants and intentions. In my experience, it successfully smoothened the interactions in the classroom.
Wouldn’t you say we miss the equivalent of a wooden cube in our day-to-day lives?
On my way to the grocery store or during evening walks, I often pass by a neighborhood communal space. It hosts various activities—birthday parties, dance classes, presentations, and movie screenings. More often than not, it’s a lively, happy place. More often than not, it looks lively. A happy place. A part of me would love to enter through the door and participate. I may not have signed up for a dance class, but I would love to join. Or at least watch and enjoy the atmosphere. I may not know the person celebrating his or her birthday, but I would enjoy congratulating them and having a fun chat while we listen to music. And I’m under the impression that, in many cases, the people in this communal space wouldn’t mind welcoming me to their event. Although, possibly, I’m overly optimistic here. Yet, even if there were a few occasions where both I wanted to join, and they were open to me joining, these are few occasions lost where something beautiful could have taken place. The reason why we don’t do this is fairly straightforward. We don’t know whether people are welcoming to our presence and participation. So we don’t risk it. Joining a party where people are up for the idea of you joining can be a lot of fun. But randomly barging in while they have no idea who you are or why you’re entering their space can be outright uncomfortable. The situation is a trade-off that makes us lean toward inaction.
Imagine the difference if a place like this had a wooden cube of sorts. A little nudge saying, ‘Hey, come on in. Join us!’ or ‘Please let us be’. This would incorporate a small structural element that could bring about so many spontaneous interactions.
Taking on this view, it becomes apparent how an indication of one’s openness to welcome people in doesn’t have to be limited to a communal space like the one just described. Consider your own daily life for a moment. You may sit with friends at a cafe or pub, a restaurant or terrace. Places supposedly here to contribute to social interaction in a city landscape. Yet, how often does a conversation happen with fellow people in these places? How often do groups of friends blend together, joining their tables to one another? How often do we sit in our own bubbles and be completely disconnected from the others in this shared space? As with many of the situations conveyed in this book - being social in this way is not for everyone. Being in a close company in these spaces can be a great good. However, I bet plenty of people would enjoy or be open to the idea of someone joining the conversation and having something new or fresh to add. But because we don’t know if this behavior is welcomed, we don’t do it.
What could this equivalent of a wooden cube look like in society? A short brainstorming session can bring up all kinds of ideas. It could be a wooden cube, for one. You carry this along and place it at whatever table you're sitting at. Although it’s obvious what the limitations are of this approach. It’s something to carry with you. It is far from properly visible on many occasions. And while it could theoretically work for individual situations, it’s harder to apply a wooden cube to an overall space. (Maybe a holder at the front door?). Lastly, the cultural interpretation is nonexistent and, therefore, hard to introduce. You may place a colored wooden cube on your table at the cafe, but hardly any person would think something of it. More futuristic approaches could be in color-shifting clothing - a technology perhaps not too distant anymore. Our clothes become like the skin of an octopus or chameleon - communicating with fellow humans. Another valid case could be made for a future application of augmented reality. Although the virtual reality and augmented reality markets haven’t yet, arguably, succeeded in taking on a prominent role in society, for as long as these technologies keep developing to the point where the devices become ubiquitous - where one can use augmented reality in the form of glasses or lenses - it brings about whole new opportunities to what can be made possible in our daily lives and our urban landscape. A virtual wooden block for one. Imagine walking by and seeing a small visual cue of what your relation can be to whatever is happening.
A simple wooden cube once guided my interactions in school. But in the complexity of adult life, we have no such tool to navigate the social nuances of shared spaces. Whether through small design interventions or future technologies, we could reimagine ways to invite spontaneity into our cities—one that nudges us toward richer, more connected urban lives.
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