It's Not Nostalgia, Exactly

I have spent most of my life in Montreal but there was a decent sized chunk in the middle, spanning high school and university, when I lived in Toronto.

I still visit Toronto not infrequently. I have a soft spot for it; at the very least, I don't harbour quite the same level visceral hatred a lot of people seem to lob at the city.

But I haven't lived there for over 20 years. Obviously, a lot has changed in that time. I'm not sure I could live there now. I mean, I guess I could but my life would look very different. The place is so huge, and the housing so expensive, that I'm not sure it would be a good trade.

Going back, even just to visit, feels strange. I don't think it's nostalgia, exactly. My old haunts, such as they were, are long gone, so it never feels like I'm going home. I liked my time there well enough, and I have a tendency to jump to its defence when people start getting snarky about it, but I'm not like Woody Allen in Manhattan, "romanticizing it all out of proportion."

Actually, I think I know what it is. It's not nostalgia, a longing for a past that may or may not have existed. It's more like irrational indignation that the city had the audacity to move on without me.

I mean, how narcissistic can you get, right? To believe, in your heart of hearts, that a city should stop moving when you're not there? I never realized I had such a big ego.

Maybe the right thing to do is just acknowledge that the Toronto where I spent a good portion of my formative years just doesn't exist anymore. You can never go home again, as they say. Maybe I should just lean into the tourist thing when I visit. There is, after all, a lot to see and do.

And maybe it would help to finally internalize the notion, so abstractly obvious but still sometimes a tough pill to swallow, that the city in which you once lived doesn't know you exist. It's a freeing idea, all things considered.