A Love Letter to Planners
From someone who understands

Dear planners,

You are tired.

Not "I stayed up too late" tired. But soul tired. That deep kind of weariness that comes from carrying the weight of a thousand expectations, meeting after meeting, plan after plan. You show up to public hearings knowing half the room already dislikes the project—and the other half dislikes the process. You sit through criticism from people who think you wield all the power, when really, you’re often the only one in the room with no vote.

And still...you try.

You try because you remember what planning is supposed to be. You remember the neighborhoods you wanted to protect. The streets you wanted to heal. The parks you imagined for kids who deserve a childhood worth remembering.

But lately, even that memory feels like a flicker.

But here's the thing...you are seen.

According to data from the American Planning Association, over 60% of planners report feeling overworked, and 1 in 3 has seriously considered leaving the profession in the past year. Not because they don’t care. But because they care too much.

And that’s the thing about planners. You carry this unspoken burden of making places work. Your passion stirs quietly, in the background. You show up to Zooms where your camera is off, but your heart is still in it. You write the policies, prep the maps, take the heat, adjust the spreadsheets. You translate public anger into actionable next steps. You speak for those who don’t always get invited to the table—even if and when those same people vilify you.

You are not just planning places, you are absorbing pressure from all sides.

From the housing crisis, to climate change, to crumbling infrastructure, to neighborhood distrust, to code interpretations that require more legal nuance than actual law school, your job has quietly expanded into something massive.

And still, you try.

You try because you believe that planning can be more than bureaucracy. That policy can bend toward people. That maybe...just maybe...a city can be designed to make life a little better.

You know that all of this matters.

That sidewalk you insisted on? Someone’s grandmother walks on it every day. That multifamily development you helped approve? It gave a kid their first stable home. That transit connection you mapped? It saved someone hours and opened up new possibilities.

You don’t always get the credit. But your fingerprints are everywhere.

You are not alone.

There is a quiet, brilliant army of you working behind the scenes. The colleagues who send you memes during long meetings. The mentors who stayed late to help you understand the code. The strangers in other cities, fighting the same battles, asking the same questions: "How do I keep going?" "Does this work even matter?"

Yes. It does. And so do you.

Don’t forget: planning is about people, not just place.

And you, dear planner, are one of the people we’re lucky to have.

Rest when you need to.

Please.

Step back when you must. But don’t forget who you are.

You are the keepers of the vision. The sketchers of possibility. The quiet architects of tomorrow.

Thank you for not giving up. Thank you for staying.

Keep going.

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