The City Inside Me: A Journey Through the Inner Urban Landscape

Every city has a heartbeat. I had always believed it was somewhere out there, pulsating beneath the asphalt and ambition, resonating from cranes and skylines. But one day I felt it within myself. For years, I worked with various stakeholders in the urban environment, guiding their growth, providing technological solutions, and discussing emerging trends to shape organisational strategy. I was an innovation and strategy consultant, a connector, a facilitator, and a speaker. I moved through central stations, conference rooms, and construction sites, where the lifeblood of progress flowed. I believed in “better cities.” I still do. But I hadn’t realised there was a city inside me.

The call came slowly, accompanied by a feeling I couldn’t name. A sense that our public spaces, like our hearts, were beautiful but also weighed down. Despite green plans and smart solutions, something vital was missing. So, I stepped outside. I sold my house, closed my business, and distanced myself from the daily routine. I left the familiar city square of status and security and crossed unfamiliar streets in Portuguese villages, Japanese temple towns, and Spanish alleys full of crafts. It wasn’t an escape; it was an evolution.

Descent into the Inner Districts

Wandering through the alleys of Lisbon, Valencia, Lagos and Helsinki, visiting the parks in Nara, Kyoto and Tokyo and enjoying the positive atmosphere in LEGOland Nagoya, doing sports on the Valencian beach and dining in Al-Diriyah (Riyadh). I began to sense a different kind of architecture that revealed itself not outside, but within. My heart was in the city centre, beating with longing. My mind, once a skyscraper of ideas, softened into a library, yearning for silence and deeper understanding. My lungs became city parks, where breath and peace returned. My nervous system resembled the intricate railway lines of the Tokyo subway map, connecting past, present, and potential. And the roads, those endless highways of action, ambition, acceleration, and connection, suddenly felt like blood vessels, carrying not only people but also a higher purpose. I realised: without rhythm, the roads become clogged. Without coherence, the heart tenses. Without meaning, the station becomes a shell. It reminded me of my presentation "Smart City Development: Holistic Is Realistic!" that I gave at the IT Innovation Day in Amersfoort in 2016. I shared a personal story (about my father’s brain haemorrhages and heart rhythm disorders – thankfully, he is still alive and doing well under the circumstances) that bridged healthcare and urban development, highlighting how compartmentalisation hinders vitality. I emphasised that cities are living systems, not machines, and advocated for holistic, value-driven design focused on well-being and life energy.

Meeting Inner Allies

In this liminal zone, I met new companions, not mentors in suits, but symbols and questions. A cracked sign in Kyoto whispered, “Even broken plates can carry beauty” (kintsugi). A closed bookstore in Kobe reminded me, “Wisdom waits in silence.” An empty train station in Oji (near Kyoto) asked, “Are you arriving or departing?” These were not metaphors. They were mirrors. They revealed that I had been living in a fragmented city. Streets disconnected. Parks neglected. Signals vanished. I had focused on performance, transactions, measurement, and solving past problems, rather than on actual presence. I had optimised the parts but forgotten the whole. It dawned on me why I had written a blog post called “10 Reasons Why Urban Stakeholders Should Cultivate Regeneration,” because without the integration of heart, place, and purpose, our cities and our souls will break.

There was sadness, a realisation that many of our urban dreams are built on fragile foundations, that sustainability often alleviates (fragmented) symptoms rather than revitalising systems, and that we are treading on sacred ground. Yet, in this lament, a more precise understanding emerged: cities, like bodies, cannot thrive when their systems compete against one another. They can only heal when each part serves the whole. The hospital, the school, the square, the market, each a vital organ, each dependent on the heartbeat of others, and each alive only in connection.

Becoming a Living City

I have not returned. I have evolved towards a deeper sense of responsibility and commitment. One that resonates with the heartbeat of regeneration. Now, I do not build for cities or shape urban environments; I listen to them. I walk with leaders, visionaries, and rebels who hear their inner towns crying out for cohesion. Together, we do not fix what is broken. We remember what is alive. We ask ourselves: What if every urban environment were a living organism? What if roads moved at the pace of breathing? What if the city centre were the human heart? Because in truth, this is not a comeback. It is becoming.

Today, I live differently. I don’t work with detailed plans, but with patterns. Not with data sheets, but from presence. My days are shaped by rhythm, not by haste. Because I now know that the city in me is not separate from the cities we have built. When I cherish my coherence, I regenerate the field around me. And maybe you feel it too, an old town stirring beneath your ribs, asking to be reimagined. It doesn’t have to be efficient. It must be alive, breathe well-being and have life energy. Let’s walk the streets together.

Author

Menno Lammers

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