I’m 32 years old, work at my dream job and have an amazing circle of family and friends who love me. Life is pretty great.
There’s just one thing — and I can’t believe I’m about to admit this to you, but here goes.
Right now, I live nowhere in particular.
I’m a couch surfer.
For the record, I did have a nice place. But then my rent went up nearly $1,000 per month.
Let’s backtrack for a moment.
I arrived in Toronto in 2011 from the prairies; bright eyed, ambitious and totally naive. Chasing a childhood dream to live, work, and build a life in what I believe is the best city in the world. Almost everyone back home peppered me with questions: isn’t Toronto too big, too loud, and most of all, too expensive?
“I’ll make it work,” I said, having no idea what that actually meant.
I managed to, for the first few years. Living with my then-boyfriend, we split the rent and bills.
When we broke up, I was suddenly alone in the big city.
No problem, I told myself.
‘I’ll make it work’