Finding a Home on the Danforth
by Corrie Maurik
I stepped off the plane at the end of August, overflowing with anxiety from head to toe. As a Northern Ontarian who’d rarely strayed far from my hometown and who had only been to Toronto twice in my childhood, I’d somehow developed the inspiration to apply to Centennial College and move to the Greater Toronto Area—and this was a terrifying decision. Full of a swirling turmoil of homesickness and anticipation, I went from a born-and-raised resident of Thunder Bay to a student trying to find their place on the Danforth.
Bearings
When I first got here, I desperately needed a lesson in finding my bearings, something I had never had to do before in such a large place. My home city—which only takes forty minutes to drive through in good traffic—did not compare to the grandiose pressure of the GTA. The stress of arriving in Toronto was akin to being dumped in the wilderness without a compass or a map; a concrete jungle with buildings taller than I’d ever seen, a public transit system with a myriad of options for getting around the city, and so many people everywhere, all the time. To be honest? I didn’t leave my new place for three days. It was just that intimidating for a natural homebody like me.
Why did I decide to do this? I asked myself, uncertain. But the only way out was, well, out.
Journeying outside and exploring the Danforth area, where I now lived, was to be my mission going forward. First, I started with necessities: I found the grocery stores nearby, shocked and awed that, in this tidy, green neighbourhood, the closest one was a five-minute walk away from my new dwelling. Where I lived before, grocery stores were a “get in the car and drive” sort of deal. Here, every time I went out, I would see people walking—or biking if the weather was nice—to get their groceries. Sure, a longer grocery list might mean taking the car, but venturing around the Danforth on foot is just as viable an option.
And it wasn’t just groceries. A fifteen-minute trek from my front door takes me right to the Danforth, a whole 9 kilometres filled with specialty stores and cafes and restaurants. I could pick a new thing to do every single day and never run out! An avid reader, I visited every bookstore in the area, captivated by the shelves upon shelves of new and used titles. I stopped by a store that sold fun, patterned socks and thought about my brother back home who would only wear whimsical socks like these. I tried new restaurants with interesting menu combinations, and cozy cafes where I could sit for a while and enjoy a warm coffee.
If I didn’t want to spend my day shopping, there were other options for exploration, too. I found my nearest branch of the Toronto Public Library and started the process of signing up for a library card, intending to reap the benefits. Guided by these bookworm tendencies, I decided to take advantage of the nice weather to search for the Little Free Libraries in my area. Back home, there were maybe one or two of these wooden boxes in my neighbourhood. Here on the Danforth? There are four Little Free Libraries within a five-minute walk of my residence, and even more if I walk just a little further. With parks and green spaces giving the area a natural, picturesque touch that was perfect for families, pet owners, and outdoorsy types, the Danforth was shaping up to be a beautiful choice for my new home.
My feelings of intimidation began to vanish into the ether, and disappeared more and more as I integrated the Danforth into my everyday life. But what truly tempered my thoughts of anxiety was a core value that I’ve come to ascribe to the Danforth neighbourhood: community.
Direction
When I think about the Danforth community, I’m reminded of my first solo subway trip departing from Pape Station, one of the many stops that run along Danforth Avenue. In Thunder Bay, we don’t have a subway system, so I was extremely nervous about figuring out how I was meant to use such a thing. “Tap and go” was easy, sure, but I’d never read a subway map in my life. On my first go, I had a destination in mind, including the name of my stop. That should have made it easier, right?
When I went through the gate and down the first set of stairs, I paused in front of a map on the wall, maybe a second too long. I must have looked like a hopelessly lost tourist, trying to remember the too-fast TTC tutorial given to me weeks earlier by some of my Torontonian relatives.
Suddenly, a person paused on their brisk trek to their platform and asked, “Where are you going?”
I told them, “Uh, westbound.”
They then pointed me in the correct direction.
It was a small gesture: instructions on how to do a very easy task that most Toronto-born citizens may not have thought twice about. But to me, it meant the world. I’m not sure if this person considers that five-second conversation memorable, but I will always cherish their kindness. From that point on, riding the TTC felt easy. An everyday task instead of something foreign and Herculean to a sheltered northerner.
Transformation
Starting school at Centennial College’s Story Arts Centre—an adorable little campus right in the heart of the Danforth area—was no big deal compared to my other early struggles. I had been a good student right from kindergarten. Since my program is a postgraduate course, I’d been through the whole “starting college” song and dance before. Finding my way was easy since I’d moved in just around the corner.
What I didn’t expect to be so easy was making friends. So many of my classmates were Toronto-born and knew their ways around the city. They’d already found their places in the city and learned how they fit into the Danforth area; whether they lived close by or were just daily visitors, they didn’t have the same struggles of acclimation like I did.
But that was what made my new cohort some of the best guides when it came to finding my own place in this neighbourhood. I’ve mentioned partaking in the cultures of restaurants and cafes, visiting stores, and just exploring all along Danforth Avenue. The truth of the matter is that I did most of this with friends, my own little micro-community that had been born in our classroom of like-minded people.
There are weekends when I will wake up to a text message asking if I want to go to a cool event happening in the area, or plans made in class to visit one of the delicious bakeries that line the Danforth for a sugary treat when our lectures are over. We have all come to cherish our time here on the Danforth, getting to know what makes this place so special throughout our numerous adventures.
We all have our own reasons for thinking of the Danforth as a wonderful place. Coming from a smaller city, I like the walkability and vibrancy of the neighbourhood best, but others will give answers that resonate with them. Ask my landlord, for instance, and suddenly the art, music, and culture are what make the Danforth great. Ask a foodie and they’ll say the restaurants, bakeries, and cafes are what make this place one of Toronto’s gems.
The fact is, finding your place on the Danforth is a varied collage of different experiences from different backgrounds. What is shared between all of us who sit somewhere along this unique, 9-kilometre stretch is a sense of community. We find our places in small communities that make up bigger communities. We find our places by exploring, helping, and befriending others.
Perhaps these are realizations we can make regardless of where we go, but the value of these experiences will always shine bright. If we wish to find our place—whether that is on the Danforth or elsewhere—we look toward our neighbourhood and we look toward our neighbours.
