Toronto slows down and beauty emerges
In the first weeks of public shutdowns, Toronto was an eerie, grim place. Strolls through empty streets felt lethal and coming into contact with another human being was a terrifying prospect. Everywhere, COVID-19 was waiting unannounced.
But hiding inside my apartment for weeks on end has had its own misery, especially for my sobriety and sanity. I cling to the stability of my routine to keep myself afloat, be it through sweating in a spin class or writing in a coffee shop.
As venturing outside became palpable again, I began departing on long walks to cope with isolation. Some days, I’ve ventured from Swansea to Leslieville, through the Financial District and past the TD Tower I once worked in. I have never walked so much in my life. Usually, I am on a packed streetcar or subway train trying to pretend I’m not downtown surrounded by people — eyes closed, headphones in and music on full blast — moving as quickly from A to B as possible. Now, I am fully in tune with the cityscape and its people, taking my time and taking in sights and sounds.
With the masses that commute to and from Union Station gone, the skyscrapers that loom above seem taller, more menacing and foreboding. Some days, it’s been easy to feel like the last person on Earth.
But with spring, Toronto is slowly becoming alive again, subtly blooming into its new normal. I’ve scoffed at the common appearance of bylaw officers and police at High Park and Sunnyside Beach, but chuckled at the increased presence of tandem bikes and rollerblades.
On a cold, windy morning, as I sipped a soy latte outside of Jinks Art Factory, an elated man nearly fell off his bike as he excitedly asked me if they were “actually serving coffee.” Sometimes, a hot beverage is the difference between a good and bad day.
In Parkdale, I’ve passed by Holy Family Parish many times, finding those unable to gather for worship in solo prayer on the church steps. While I am an atheist, I find extraordinary solace in witnessing people of faith reassured by and connected with their higher power.
Encouraging, handmade signs reading “We’re all in this together,” “Take care of each other” and “Thank you essential workers” hang from shop windows and apartment balconies. Everywhere, there are messages of hope and expressions of gratitude.
At the northwest corner of Dufferin and Queen streets, people experiencing homelessness have set up camp, their tents huddled together in solidarity and resilience.
I wonder how long it will take for the cops to forcibly remove people from their temporary homes, destroy their refuges and break up a community, fighting for survival, again.
People are more aware and considerate of one another in public space and I have exchanged more smiles, nods and “Hellos!” than ever before. One day, I received 10 free surgical masks from a man who had set up a booth outside an apartment building with a banner reading “Physically distancing and socially connecting.”
On Sunday, the temperature soared in Toronto and the boardwalk erupted in movement. The swarms of midges were gone, at last, and in their place, smiling people walked, jogged and cycled. Many sat in the park in groups, unbothered, albeit far away from the next. I grinned from ear-to-ear as I snacked on a corner store ice cream cone.
A shirtless man sat on a park bench, face tilted toward the sun, mouth open in a happy, exasperated sigh. I felt exactly the same way. We have no idea how long this state of existence will last. It’s both temporary and forever.