These days, it seems like being rerouted on the TTC is an everyday part of Toronto life. Recently, I was riding the bus with my 18-year-old son when we were asked by the driver to deboard. “God, this city is killing me,” I muttered.
“I know, mom,” my son replied. “You hate Toronto.”
“I didn’t say I hate it,” I responded.
“You complain about it all the time, though. You complain about the TTC, about how expensive the city is, about how all the best things are being destroyed … Pretty sure you hate it here.”
Yikes. Have I really become that cranky middle-aged Torontonian?
It’s true, I do often wax poetic about Toronto in the ’90s, that golden era of my youth when folks of colour were at the forefront of a cultural boom. I often reminisce about Desh Pardesh, a groundbreaking annual festival focused on queer South Asian art and politics, which shut down in 2001.
Or I share tales from a bygone age of afterhours clubs, those rollicking underground spaces we called “booze cans.” I remember dancing to rockabilly at the famous Matador and eating processed cheese slices between stale white bread to ease the inevitable hangover.
My favourite booze can, home to the best music in the city, was hidden away in a basement in Kensington Market. It didn’t have a name, but the cool kids knew how to find it. By day, that basement transformed into a site for political organizing. I can still picture the Che Guevara and Free East Timor posters on the walls.
But wait a second. Is my nostalgia clouding my judgement? Have I transformed into a narrow-minded gen-Xer, sucking the joy out of today’s Toronto for my kid’s generation?
To be fair, a lot of changes in Toronto have not been for the better. Decades of budget cuts and crushing corporate power have eroded some of what once made the city wonderful. Doug Ford leasing a huge section of Ontario Place to a spa means losing access to green waterfront spaces that have been a refuge for families to enjoy. Meanwhile, plans to expand Billy Bishop Airport would bring even more traffic problems to the downtown core, not to mention the health and environmental issues.
***
The challenges we face today are monumental, but I am stubborn, and determined to experience joy in spite of the joy-stealers.
Following the conversation with my son, I started to ask myself: How might we maximize our pleasure in ways that will sustain us for the long winter to come? After all, we only have a clutch of weeks of summertime.
In May, I decided to conduct an experiment in an attempt to fall in love with Toronto again. The plan? To explore the city doing as many fun things as possible for less than $40 per person.
The first stop: a Women’s National Basketball Association game with my kid. Seeing the Toronto Tempo for the first time was a blast. We had cheap, standing room tickets in the back, but there are no bad sight lines in the arena. We even made it on the dance cam!
Next up: The Listening Room, a genius live music series hosted by Davie Studios at the Longboat Hall on Queen West. Inspired by the Soulquarians — a collective of pioneering Black musicians led by D’Angelo and Questlove formed in the ’90s — the series showcases local jazz musicians covering different beloved artists. My friend and I spent the night singing along to Sade songs. Intimate and immersive, it was one of the most soul-feeding evenings I’ve had in a long time.
In June, I danced my butt off to the DJs and live bands Do West Fest — the first of many free street festivals held in Toronto each summer. The following week, I went to Na-Me-Res’ annual Pow Wow in Dufferin Grove Park, a beautiful pageant of drumming, dancing, food and crafts. I celebrated Pride with friends at a concert featuring the effervescent Inkloosiv Voices, a massive choir that sings disco medleys, infecting audiences with their juicy joy.
I would be remiss to not mention my old dog, Ruby. We walk daily through the colourful alleyways of the west end, admiring the muralists and graffiti artists. At least once a week, we go for a run in High Park on the off-leash trail. From what I can tell, Ruby’s love for Toronto has never wavered, come rain, snow or shine.
***
When I look over my list so far, I am proud that I was able to overcome my Negative Nelly inertia and get off my couch. I was reminded that we have incredible talent and places that we need to support and nurture. And I remembered what I cherish most about Toronto. It’s the people. It’s us.
Rather than staying frozen in the “good old days” of Toronto, I’ve decided to focus on the fact that we are a city that is always transforming; always becoming. Toronto can still be a place that offers a living wage, secure housing, health and safety, and a place that lets us rest and play and gather and figure the shitty parts out.
To cap off this experiment, I am going to take the subway to Riverdale Park. I will pray that the TTC gods grant us an uninterrupted journey to Broadview Station. I will invite my people to sit with me on the big hill overlooking the Don Valley. We will picnic and wait for strangers to join us as the day closes, and the light lingers and finally sinks below the cityscape. Some things haven’t changed, and the city still serves a sublime sunset.
Toronto, I know and you know, we deserve beauty.
This article appeared in the 2026 Summer issue.
