50 Days of (Toronto) Summer

If you know, you know. And if you don’t—well, this post is named after one of my favorite movies, 500 Days of Summer. It’s about Tom, a hopeless romantic and greeting card writer played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt, who gets absolutely blindsided when his girlfriend, Summer, ends things out of nowhere. He spends the next 500 days obsessing over every moment they shared, trying to pinpoint the exact second their love started unraveling. In the process, though, he stumbles upon something unexpected—himself. He rediscovers who he is outside of the heartbreak.

And, in taking on Tom’s theme—and the very quick redirection my life is taking—I, too, have been doing some reflecting.

These last couple of years have been… heavy. The kind of heavy that weighs on you, even when you try to shake it off. A pandemic, a world locked down, wars, food shortages. The rise of racism, mental health struggles, gun violence, prejudice—it’s all at an all-time high. I know, I know. What a way to start a post. But if we’re being honest, hasn’t it forced us all to take a long, hard look at our lives? At what we want? At who we are when the world feels like it’s constantly on fire?

I think so many of us are craving something different now. Something better. A shift, a reset, a breath of fresh air. And because of that, I cannot believe I’m about to say this—but I’m leaving Toronto.

50 days left of summer in this city. And counting.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. My parents sat me down, told me they were thinking of moving back to Quebec, and I thought: No way. They love this city more than I do. But they were serious. And when I really, really thought about it—when I let myself sit in the discomfort of the decision—I realized something. Maybe I’m ready, too. Maybe all the things that used to feel exciting now just feel… stagnant. Maybe the version of me that thrived in this city has been slowly fading, replaced by someone who wants something different.

I grew up in Gatineau. A small city in Quebec, where my mother’s side of the family still lives. Technically, I was born in Toronto, but we moved to Gatineau when I was two. My dad and his family came from Portugal to Toronto, my mom’s side from Portugal to Quebec. If I had it my way, they would’ve picked California, or New York, or somewhere in Europe. But hindsight is 20/20.

Even though I spent most of my life in Toronto, Gatineau has always felt like home. Like a little piece of me stayed behind, waiting for me to come back someday. I don’t know if I ever truly planned to, but here we are. Life has a way of making decisions for you sometimes.

And here’s the thing: I love Toronto. I love the history I’ve made here. The friendships. The chaos. The city that raised me in ways no other place ever could.

But Toronto isn’t the same city it was when I moved here at 15. And maybe that’s nostalgia talking. Or maybe that’s the truth. The Toronto I fell in love with was electric. The nightclubs were legendary—actual works of art. People were social. Strangers became friends in the middle of the street. There was a lightness to it all. Now? Now, it’s different. The weight of the world feels heavier here. The grind never stops, and somehow, it feels harder to breathe.

I never thought I’d say this. Like, never. But I think I’m ready for something else. Something that doesn’t make me want to scream in traffic every other day.

I want to actually be able to afford a home—because, let’s be real, trying to buy in Toronto is like trying to win the lottery. Meanwhile, my cousins in Gatineau are on their third homes while most people here haven’t even been able to buy their first.

There’s a trade-off, of course. A city of over 6.3 million to one of only 1.4 million. But maybe I need the trade-off. Maybe I need to get to know this new, grown-up version of myself in a place that isn’t constantly buzzing with distractions, at least for the time being.

Still, leaving Toronto? It’s like leaving a piece of myself behind.

I’ll miss Queen Street. The trendy restaurants, the nightlife, the boutiques. The art galleries, the antique shops, the bookstores. Kensington Market in the summer. Trinity Bellwoods, where I spent so many afternoons just being. The CN Tower glowing in the background, like a quiet reminder that no matter where you were in the city, you were still home. The nightclubs we lived for in our twenties—Money, Tonic, Plastique, Lot 332, My Apartment (seriously, Gen Z, you missed out). Casa Loma, The Beaches, St. Lawrence Market. The Distillery District. That one rock on Lakeshore I used to sit on, staring out at the water, lost in my thoughts. Salon Solis, my second home for the last 15 years.

And more than anything—my people. My friends.

I met my best friends when I moved here in high school. Grade 10. A dorky, skater girl from a small town, stepping into a Toronto high school where everyone seemed impossibly put-together. Girls in heels, full makeup, knowing exactly who they were. Meanwhile, I was over here in my oversized pants, probably looking like I’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. But my girls? They accepted me. Loved me. And for 23 years, they’ve been my family. My constant.

The thought of being further away from them physically hurts. But we’ve been through too much—are too much—to let a little extra distance change anything. I know that. And if I ever really need them, they are always a car ride away. And maybe one day a plane ride away from New York. Or Europe.

Because that’s the thing about life. It moves. It shifts. And sometimes, it brings you back to where it all started.

So here I am. 50 days left of summer in Toronto. And counting.

It’s not a goodbye. It’s just a see you later.

Peace, love, and embracing the journey. xoxo.