Vancouver to Toronto
plus the important things and decisions I didn't take yet
Hi again, I hope this email finds you well. Myself, well, I’m disappointed to find myself writing this at 4AM on a Monday before work, and wonder why in spite of 26 years of practice I struggle to Be Normal.
How was your week? Feels like I wrote to you just yesterday. In the meantime I’ve had a fever dream where I’m watching Fox News proclaim Donald Trump the next American president in a penthouse apartment surrounded by a bunch of conservative strangers who are entertained by my recital of progressive talking points like I’m a SeaWorld dolphin performing a synchronized backflip. Life has felt eventful recently and this past week was no exception; I returned back to Toronto last Friday after spending two weeks in Europe and was eager to reimmerse myself in the details of my friends’ lives. I’ve always found it more comfortable to engage in the discussion topics my friends find pressing such as navigating their heartbreaks, furnishing their homes, and starting their new jobs than it is to face my own thoughts.
When I’m forced to think about my own problems I realize I’m still occupied by my move from Vancouver to Toronto. It should be old news by now, but I’m tortured by the task of comparing my experience in both cities because I still haven’t internalized where I’m going to be in a year. Previously I felt I could visualize my life trajectory and that gave me a lot of comfort. Now I live my life a week at a time because at some point, I will need to make a real final decision on if I’m going to move back to Vancouver or if I’m going to ask my partner to move here with me, and I can’t envision what that future looks like right now. Many interim final decisions have been made, but my heart’s not in it. For the time being I avoid finalizing this decision by using the excuse that I need more time, more information, but I’m pretty sure no new information is going to help.
My friends in Vancouver feel that I’ve pulled a 180 on them. Even I’m surprised by the way I changed my mind on Toronto. I used to vow that I hated it and say it would be the last place I’d ever move because it’s the same city as Vancouver but with more drinking and social pressure. When I made one of my routine visits to Toronto for a company offsite earlier this year, I was expecting to return home relieved like I usually do. On that trip I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary: I ate lunch with my colleagues, attended parties where I ran into friends I hadn’t kept in touch with since university, got coffee with my best friends on a whim. Yet when I returned home this time, I found myself resenting my daily life for lacking those experiences. While I maintained that I was happy to be back, I found myself browsing rentals in secret and then clearing my browser history. It’s not that I thought anyone would care if I looked at rentals in Toronto—I must have believed using incognito mode would hide the truth from myself.
I refused to admit that I wanted to move because I didn’t want to face the consequences of straining relationships with my friends, family, and significant other. As a result, the way I eventually communicated the move was messy and borderline cruel. I started cryptically saying I wanted to “spend more time” in Toronto. One day, my boyfriend confronted me after a call with a coworker from whom I was getting a list of cross country movers. He asked me why he was finding out about my move to Toronto indirectly by eavesdropping on my call with a colleague. I responded saying I had repeatedly mentioned I would be spending more time there. I explained that might mean living there for a few months at a time.
“That’s the first time you’ve said that to me directly,” he said. That happened a mere four weeks out from my flight to Toronto.
When I arrived I was greeted by an overwhelming crowd who came out of the woodwork and basked me in warm welcome. Every day was packed and distracting for at least the first three weeks. It was exhilarating but my honeymoon phase with Toronto wouldn’t last forever. I felt that it was best to let the frenzy die down before I decided how long I would stay. Slowly, I started to develop routines in place of catchup dinners. Sunday morning plans started as a one-off weekend trip to Montreal then morphed into a morning bike ride before assuming its current form of lying in bed, journaling, and tidying.
I’m still waiting for life in Toronto to feel mundane so I can accurately compare it to living in Vancouver, but where I feel any sense of newness of wearing off, appreciation for Toronto’s idiosyncrasies is starting to replace it. I used to never understand why people in Toronto lined up for things, but now I know the pizzeria with a minimum 30 minute line at all times has rejected many offers to franchise so they don’t risk worsening quality in order to scale. I can forgive lack of original thought in anyone who wants to support the local pizza guy who won’t sell out. I always thought the buildings on Dundas West were dilapidated and unsightly, but now I walk down the street and see only the most amazing Japanese fried toast I ate, the clothing boutique run by a young married couple who served me a whole bottle of wine an hour past store closing, and the farm to table food and wine bar pouring anything on the wine list by the glass. I love asking people about their neighbourhoods because it is usually a cornerstone of your identity here and the topic lights people up with a fierce passion.
I’ve believed for very long that moving only because you need a change means you’re likely avoiding an underlying problem. Now I’m ready to argue that it’s the best possible reason to take the leap. All the negative uncertainty I feel about the decision to eventually stay or go back is overshadowed by the inspiration and self growth I’ve experienced in the last two months.
Who knows? Maybe it will all just work itself out.