Several years back, a friend of mine was taking his now-wife to meet his parents for the first time.
The journey to his parents’ house was not normally a lengthy one. But on this day, a bridge along the route was closed for repairs. So, my friend had to take an extended detour. This only added to the suspense.
I’ve heard this story quite a few times over the years. But each time, I keep focusing on a singular detail — the closed bridge.
You see, I’ve gone to my friend’s parents’ house on several occasions. Just about every time, I’ve driven across that bridge to get there.
It’s not a majestic causeway over a lake or a grand suspension bridge over a wide river. It’s a simple concrete slab — buffeted by short walls — that traverses a tiny creek.
On most days, this bridge is easy to miss. But on that day when it was out of commission, it was impossible to ignore.
This story shines a light on something that’s generally left in the shadows.
Infrastructure.
Our default condition is not to think about the infrastructure around us. After all, the structures that shelter us, the roads that carry us, the bridges that support us — all of these are supposed to just work.
Their continued functionality is not meant to be celebrated. It’s not even meant to be noted.
This means that we’re only paying attention when things go wrong. We only notice when a structure buckles, when a road fails, when a bridge is closed.
We grumble about how unreliable everything is at that moment. And we fail to account for the rest of the time, where everything was up to par.
This mindset is problematic. Because infrastructure is not like patio furniture. You can’t just set it out and leave it alone.
Continued investment is needed to keep things from breaking down. But getting the buy-in to maintain something we barely notice is challenging.
And so, we end up with the patchwork system we now have. Ambitious government legislation gets gutted to meet a lower price tag. Construction projects end up delayed. And a range of issues — from trivial inconveniences to outright disasters — ensue.
It’s tempting to point the finger in the wake of these organizational failures. It’s tantalizing to look for a scapegoat in these moments of calamity. But it’s important to turn the microscope on ourselves, as well.
What exactly do we want from the systems we use? And are we willing to commit to?
I love to drive.
To me, nothing compares to getting behind the wheel and watching the landscape fly by. Whether I’m driving a sports car, a sedan, or an SUV, that magical feeling never goes away.
Yet, several years back, I got another sensation when I buckled up and put the key in the ignition.
Dread.
You see, there was plenty of road construction in the Dallas area back then. In fact, all the highways near my home were under construction — at the same time.
Getting anywhere was a nightmare. I never knew when there would be lane closures. Giant construction vehicles continually clogged up the roads. And wayward nails in the roadway threatened my tires time and again.
It would have been one thing if this was all routine maintenance. But many of these projects were adding something new to these highways.
Toll lanes.
No, it wasn’t enough for these construction crews to maintain the existing roadway. They were also tasked to add something that would cost future drivers money. And in the process, that something that was costing all drivers plenty of precious time.
I was irate.
I wanted to scream at anyone who had approved such an agreement for leaving me in endless traffic jams. I wanted to give them the bills for all the tire repairs I endured.
But I soon realized the decision-makers who approved this project did not deserve my wrath.
They were tethered to the whims of the taxpayers. And those taxpayers needed to see something tangible for their money.
That’s what the toll lanes were for. They weren’t just a revenue source. They were a statement to the taxpayers. One that said Here, we built this.
I needed to come to terms with that fact.
In the late 1960s, a mysterious construction project grew from the Florida wilderness.
Thousands of acres near Orlando were transformed into a magical kingdom. A land that would soon bring happiness to millions upon millions.
Walt Disney World might have seemed like it appeared out of nowhere. But its staying power has been even more impressive.
Year after year, the Disney World theme parks are meticulously maintained. Everything looks as fresh today as it did in 1971 when the resort opened.
The secret to all this is not pixie dust. It’s infrastructure.
Disney World spends plenty of money to keep its parks shiny and new. And visitors help subsidize that cost by buying entry tickets, food, and souvenirs.
It’s easy to get this buy-in when there’s the power of Disney magic behind you. But how can we repeat the feat when there’s not?
What can inspire us to support maintenance on a bridge, rather than Cinderella’s castle?
It requires a shift in focus. It demands that we stop equating the visible with the vital and that we start paying attention to the details.
This is not a scintillating proposition. But it is an essential one.
For the alternatives are not feasible.
We cannot wait until our infrastructure fails us and calamity ensues. Such inaction will never be deemed acceptable.
And we should not rely on bells and whistles to get the required fixes underway either. We needn’t require toll lanes in the median just to ensure the highway pavement is replaced.
So, let’s lean in. Let’s take a fresh look at the status quo. And instead of shredding it, let’s think about how we can best maintain it.
A brighter future depends on what we do with our present. Let’s not waste it.