When you live in Toronto in your twenties, whether you’re in school or just finished your undergrad, the world feels like a grand, exciting place. You’re no longer confined to the suburban world where you once went to high school. But you also don’t yet have the disposable income to travel the world more broadly.
Toronto in the early 2010s felt alive and breathing. Living in the city in my twenties felt like I was part of something bigger than myself. There was live music to see, delicious food to eat, specialty coffee was on the rise. The possibilities were endless and multiple futures lay before us. Later I realized that might not have been completely true. But at that age, it felt like anything was possible and that all the doors were open — you just had to pick one.
The Bloor-Danforth Viaduct (formally known as the Prince Edward Viaduct) always felt like a connector of worlds — a bridge that connected the east end with the downtown core and onto the west. Bounded by Castle Frank Station to the west and Broadview Station to the east, the TTC passed under the bridge — a rare moment when the subway was not under meters of concrete, you had a brief window of cell service, and you can actually see out the window onto the Don Valley.
I must’ve crossed the Viaduct thousands of times. The east end always felt like an underrated secret. While it felt like all the “fun stuff” was happening on Ossington or Dundas West in Kensington, the east end was relaxed and had a slower pace. One of my favourite things about the city was taking the streetcar down Broadview, grabbing a coffee from Rooster, and enjoying the sunset view on the slopes of Riverside Park. Just south on Queen was Opera House (where I once lost my car keys in the mosh pit at a Los Campesinos! show) and Boxcar Social Riverside. Further east, you had even more great coffee shops and bars in Leslieville and great Greek food and Tibetan momos along the Danforth.
I would always take the TTC to Broadview to see shows at the Danforth Music Hall. Over the years, I must’ve seen hundreds of shows at the Danforth — from Run the Jewels to Passion Pit to Lucy Dacus to Francis and the Lights and so much more. My pre-show ritual was going to Ali Baba’s to get a falafel wrap while I waited for doors to open.
I must’ve seen Stars and Broken Social Scene at the Danforth dozens of times throughout my twenties. Almost every year, Stars did their annual Christmas show at the Danforth, always ending with “Fairytale of New York.” I remember being at the “Set Yourself on Fire” tenth anniversary show all those years ago (I was at the twentieth anniversary shows in Montreal and Ottawa!). Over the years, I’ve had the honour to hear Amy Millan doing what she does best — a masterful storyteller, a wonderful voice, and a world-class musician.
On her latest solo album, Amy’s song “The Overpass” perfectly captured what it’s like to be a twenty-something living in Toronto. Three selves all at the same time: Who I am, who I had been, who would I be. The Bloor-Danforth Viaduct was the perfect overpass — a liminal space torn between the nostalgic past, the fleeting present, and the infinite future. For a few seconds, you can stare out the window of the subway car and see what lies beyond, before the train re-enters the tunnel and reaches its next stop.
But as much as the Bloor-Danforth viaduct felt like the connection of lives, it’s not lost on me that over the years, many have chosen this bridge as their exit from this life. How cruel it is that a bridge can build connections but also has the destructive power to end lives.
I’m no longer in my twenties. Like Amy, I barely made it out. Ageing is not guaranteed. Wisdom is hard earned. I may be in my thirties and you could say that I’ve achieved some modicum of success in my life and career. I live a lovely life with my soon-to-be wife and my two kitties. But I don’t have all the answers. It still feels like I’m waiting for the world to pull over and breathe. But Amy reminds us that while “time will hold its promise,” beauty is ageless.
I don’t live in Toronto anymore. But I will always cherish “the good old days” — that moment in time when the city felt so alive. “Magnet friendships” and betting on being young forever.
Oceans won’t freeze
So loosen your heart
Underestimated
Undefeated in this love
