Which Planning Acronym Are You?

Urban planners speak in alphabet soup.

Sure, we’re trying to build cities. But we’re also busy assembling uppercase letters and hoping they‘ll behave.

Here’s just a few of our creations.

There’s the smooth operator: TOD.
The defensive neighbour: NIMBY.
And the glamorous overachiever: LEED-ND.

If these acronyms were at a party, here’s how it might go…

TOD arrives by train.

Transit-Oriented Development (aka TOD) doesn’t own a car. 

TOD glides in, latte in hand, having stopped at three destinations along the way — all within a 400-metre radius.

“Have you considered mixed-use vitality?” TOD asks before even saying hello.

TOD is magnetic. Dense but charming. Everyone ends up orbiting around him.

He believes proximity is freedom.

He is not wrong.

NIMBY lives next door to the party hosts, and even while in party mode, they can’t quite escape their usual habits.

Not In My Backyard (aka NIMBY) is peering through the curtains just as TOD walks up to the door.

NIMBY remembers when the street was quieter. When kids played road hockey and nobody talked about “floor area ratio.”

NIMBY is often cast as the villain. But look closer.

They’re watering the boulevard tree. They’re organizing the block party. They’re the first to notice when something feels off.

Their fear of change sometimes calcifies into obstruction. But their love of the place—of their chummy neighbours, of their neighbourhood book exchange, and of the closest corner shop—is entirely real.

Then there’s sexy LEED-ND.

LEED-ND (Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design for Neighborhood Development) doesn’t just arrive. LEED-ND performs an entrance.

Solar panels shimmer. Bioswales gleam. LEED-ND has a checklist. A clipboard. A glow.

“Is this net-zero?” she murmurs, inspecting the hors d’oeuvres.

She is deeply committed. Possibly exhausting. Undeniably impressive.

She works to get chummy with all the neighbourhood’s homeowners and developers at the party.

Here’s the thing.

We are all three.

We crave connection like TOD.
We protect what we love like NIMBY.
We aspire to do better like LEED-ND.

The trouble begins when one acronym colonizes the entire conversation. When connectivity ignores community. When preservation blocks possibility. When sustainability becomes branding instead of an equitable means to bring better quality of life to everyone.

What does TOD feel like to the senior who fears displacement?
What does NIMBY sound like to the renter who needs better housing choices?
What does LEED-ND cost — and who gets to live there?

Back at the party, something interesting happens. I sit back, and watch as things unfold.

TOD is explaining density when NIMBY interrupts — not to object, but to ask about tree canopy. LEED-ND, overhearing, offers to run the numbers on stormwater capture.

Someone pulls out extra folding chairs. Someone else turns down the music so the seniors at the party can hear better. The corner store owner arrives with samosas and tangy tamarind chutney. A renter brings their friends.

The party gets louder. More complicated. Better.

Because when TOD listens, when NIMBY softens, when LEED-ND shares her clipboard and her skills — the city expands.