Why I live downtown

Recently, someone asked me rhetorically why I lived downtown, if I didn’t eat out, if I didn’t go out, and frankly, if I didn’t work crazy hours into the evening. The original discussion aside, I’ve thought about this for a few days. There are a couple of reasons that immediately come to mind, such as friends and commute, but do those really justify the exorbitant rent, the lack of community, and the shootings that seem to plague every major North American city center?

The most obvious drawback to downtown living for me is the rent: it costs double what it does to live in Toronto compared to even in an affluent suburb, for less space. An extra thousand dollars a month is a lease, insurance, and gas on a very nice car — a Mercedes E-class is just over seven hundred. It is also a weeklong vacation to a banana republic or a weekend trip to continental Europe if I scrimp. It is thirty dollars extra for food a day if I never wanted to cook again. It is also $12,000 of post-tax income, which is a substantial portion of my salary, in savings only! These numbers become even more substantial when applied to more expensive metropolitan areas: hearing how much my friends in New York are paying pains me.

So why do people live downtown? As pathetic as it sounds, the largest reason pre-pandemic was jobs. Higher-paying corporate jobs are located in city centers, and two hours of commuting a day just didn’t make sense for most people. That reason no longer exists for many, or at least not on as many days of week. The density of a city is attractive for many people as well, particularly those who can’t drive. But I can drive. Then there is the idea that downtown is more fun: there are bars, restaurants, and entertainment. For those who enjoy dinner, drinks, and a show, it’s better to live downtown than to constantly have to shuttle back and forth. Though a thousand dollars in rent is twenty Ubers a month, the economy in time is more than worth it for most people. But as I cook, as I maintain my sobriety, and as I start to become more of a homebody, these no longer hold as much appeal for me. I go to restaurants no more than once a week, rarely to shows, and virtually never to bars or clubs. I take an exercise class, go for runs, and go to the gym: those are all easily found everywhere. I go for walks, buy groceries, and window shop: not significantly worse downtown either, though people might say otherwise.

The people themselves are another pull. The downtown core tends to attract like people: ambitious yuppies who work hard and play hard. Though it’s a stretch to say that those who live downtown are more interesting, it is incontestable that they have more overlap in interests and values with each other than those who live elsewhere. But as I grow older, I’ve become both less interested and less capable of making new friends. Although this is arguably a character flaw, the point still stands that the people downtown are no draw for me. Of course, my existing friends downtown previously provided one of the strongest points of attraction for me. But as time progressed, the gradual exodus to San Fransisco then New York City has left Toronto stripped of those I want to spend lazy weekends with. I can count on one hand the number of friends I have in the city I could call at four for dinner at six, and have a meaningful conversation into the evening.

Perhaps I’m getting old: a city is for young people after all. But despite the lack of pull that the traditional traits have on me, I still like living downtown. Though unusual, this is nothing exceptional: it’s easy to imagine a little old lady living in New York City with a few cats, a few friends, and a good relationship with her bagel monger. My age isn’t nearly as advanced as that caricature, but the reasoning essentially remains the same. I like the familiarity of Toronto: I know where to go for a quick bite, a long walk, and a rainy afternoon. I know where to go for a run, a hike, or a date. When friends come to the city, I can give personalized recommendations based on what they like. More than that, I like Toronto itself. I like its particular flavour of multiculturalism, the hustle and the bustle which is shy of New York. I like the personalities of the neighbourhoods, how fast they change as I pass from one street to the next. I like the green space dotting the city, how much everyone appreciates every season, and participates in every festival.

I would also be remiss to forget my experience as a minority in Toronto. It’s like the joke about the old fish telling the young fish what water is: it’s hard to know what you have when you’re swimming in it. Multiculturalism is like that for me: I’ve grown up in it, and only recognize it for what it is when I leave Toronto. I’ve been to places where everyone looks the same, and anyone who doesn’t is clearly an outsider. The options for cultural events and food options are endless in Toronto, as are the opportunities to learn about the culture of others. Most importantly however, I feel at home in my own skin in Toronto, where people see me as a Toronto mans before seeing me as a Chinaman. Steve Yeun mentioned in an NYMag interview the shock he experienced when he first met a big city Korean-American for the first time, and how they seemed unburdened with their race. I want my children to feel that way.

Though the multiculturalism is just as easily found in the suburbs of Toronto where housing is plentiful, it is most pronounced in Toronto, and easily the most diverse there instead of being relegated to a specific enclave or two. To end on that note would be akin to implying that it was the only reason I remain in Toronto, and that’s not true either. Inertia does its job in keeping me in Toronto, with the lifting of my friends’ anchors. I guess that’s why cities are for young people, why people leave to start families. As I grow older, the attraction of space and affordability become harder to resist. I brought up this topic with a friend and he pointed out that I had imposed a false dichotomy on myself: the options weren’t only Toronto and the suburbs, but also Vancouver, Montreal, New York, San Francisco, or any of the other cities the world has to offer. However, my lust for adventure has dulled somewhat since my younger days, satiated by international travel and the weariness of age. No longer do I feel a yearning for living abroad, meeting new people, experiencing different things; perhaps I’ve become more close-minded after all, perhaps I don’t actually love Toronto, it’s just cope.

But regardless of what my unconsciousness is doing, I like Toronto. If this satisfaction is a product of nefarious mental gymnastics to keep myself happy, so be it. It’s nice having lived in a city, to get to know a city, and keep it in your memories to look back on in the future. I am happy. Perhaps that isn’t a satisfactory answer, but that is why I live in Toronto.