For most of my life, I lived in Toronto, but I spent years assuming that one day I would escape it. Not necessarily forever. But I certainly had a very romantic idea of what life somewhere smaller might be like. I’d have more space, more nature. I’d know my neighbours. Maybe I’d start gardening, become a regular at a Luke’s Diner-type of place. I’d spend less money and more time outside, and generally become a more chill, more wholesome version of myself.
Eventually, I actually did it! I packed up my Toronto life and moved to Gananoque, a small Ontario town of around 5,500 people in the Thousand Islands. And to be fair to my fantasy, Gananoque really is dreamy. It’s surrounded by some of the prettiest scenery in Ontario. There are old homes and historic buildings, a waterfront, little shops, boats everywhere in the summer, and the kind of cute little downtown with ma and pop shops that you can walk across in no more than 10 minutes.
After Toronto, where simply getting across the city could feel like a quest and a half, the contrast was enormous. I had more space. Nature was everywhere. Housing was cheaper. There was absolutely no traffic. I could bike along the Thousand Islands Parkway whenever I wanted, go hiking after work, and take a dip in the St. Lawrence River.
In so many ways, I got exactly what I’d wanted – which is why it surprised me so much when I realized, in reality, I didn’t actually want it.
I loved the quiet, until I didn’t
Enjoying The Quiet.
Brittany Barber | Narcity
At first, the silence felt incredible. I didn’t realize how much the background noise of big city living was stressing me out. But then, slowly, I started to miss it. Not the literal noise, necessarily. I don’t think I’ve ever longed for the sound of the Gardiner Expressway. But I missed the hum of other people’s lives.
I’m naturally a night owl; I love live music; I love a late-night wine bar and conversations that stretch into the early morning. I like walking around and seeing people I don’t know doing things I know nothing about. I realized I don’t actually need to participate in everything happening around me, but I certainly like knowing it’s there. And that became crystal clear when I moved away. Like, there’s a difference between spending Friday night at home because I want to, and spending Friday night at home because everyone around me has closed their doors and gone to sleep.
Sometimes the thing you’re escaping isn’t actually the thing you think it is
I think this is probably the biggest lesson I took from moving to a small Ontario town. At the time, I thought I was tired of city life, but looking back, I’m not sure that was entirely true. I was tired of a particular version of city life. I was tired of traffic and ridiculous rent. I was tired of concrete, commuting, and feeling like I had to plan an entire day around getting from one end of the city to the other. I really did want more nature, more freedom, more room to breathe.
So in my mind, the answer became obvious: if the city was making me unhappy, I should move somewhere completely different. But I’ve learned since that I’m pretty good at doing this with my life. When something isn’t working, I love to imagine its opposite must contain the answer.
You know how it goes. When you’re overwhelmed, you dream about having nothing to do. When you’re lonely, you want to go out, meet new people, talk for hours with friends. And when life feels like total chaos — I, for one — imagine that total stability will finally make me satisfied. And maybe sometimes it does, but lately I’ve started to think that sometimes you get to the other side of it all and realize what I actually wanted was somewhere in the middle.
I wanted a tight-knit community, but hadn’t fully considered what it would come with
One of the things I had romanticized most about small-town living was the community. And I still think there’s something really lovely about it. In Toronto, anonymity is basically a lifestyle. You can live in a building with hundreds of people and maybe (maybe) know two or three of them. In a small town, you start recognizing people almost immediately, and you become familiar. But familiarity has another side, a side where you’re a heck of a lot more visible than ever before. People know who you’re dating, who that person dated before you. You’ll run into the same people at the grocery store, the pub, on walks and at events. Social circles overlap in ways they simply don’t in a city. I started to realize that anonymity had given me a kind of freedom I’d never fully appreciated.
In a city, you can disappear a little, move through different groups. You can have an embarrassing night and reasonably assume you’ll never see 97% of the witnesses again (although Toronto can be oddly small at times, too, especially when it comes to these kinds of late-night escapades — but I digress).
In a small town, experiences seem to have a longer shelf life. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing — like, it really is such a beautiful thing to feel known by your community. But I learned that being known and having privacy are two things I want in almost equal measure.
I didn’t realize how much I would miss Toronto’s diversity
Diverse Cuisine in Toronto
Brittany Barber | Narcity
Growing up in Toronto meant barely thinking about how cool and privileged it was to grow up around so many cultures. Because hearing multiple languages in a day was normal, and having friends from all over the globe was the average experience. And the food. It really wasn’t until I’d left that I understood how much that kind of environment had shaped me.
To me, the diversity I experienced growing up changed what feels normal to me now as an adult. It exposed me to different ideas about family, work, relationships, religion, food, success, everything. So when I moved somewhere more culturally homogenous… I became a bit more conscious of who and what wasn’t there, and it made me realize that one of the things I value most about a place is difference. I don’t particularly want everyone around me to live the same way I do. What’s the fun in that?
I also learned that I was embarrassingly bad at some very basic things
There were some less philosophical lessons, too. For example, I discovered I apparently had no idea how garbage systems work anywhere that isn’t Toronto. Growing up in Toronto had prepared me for a very specific version of Torontonian adulthood. I could navigate the TTC without thinking; I knew how to exist in a teeny-tiny space and carry 50 pounds worth of grocery bags home at once because I didn’t have a car.
Then I moved to a small town, which was basically a crash course in garbage tags, septic systems, lawn maintenance, and sketchy tree branches. It was hilariously humbling, and a part of me definitely loved learning those things. But it all made it abundantly clear that what I consider common sense is not always what someone else considers common sense, even if we’re both from the same 3-hour radius on a map.
Eventually leaving didn’t mean moving there was a mistake
Gananoque River.
Brittany Barber | Narcity
After about a year, I left Gananoque. Eventually, I left Canada too, and somewhat hilariously, after my great escape from city life, I ended up living in Marseille — which is a loud, chaotic, multicultural Mediterranean city.
Apparently my destiny was not, in fact, to quietly tend tomatoes in rural Ontario. That being said, I don’t think moving to Gananoque was a mistake. I’m happy to have had the opportunity to try it out and decide it wasn’t for me. At least, not yet. Gananoque gave me the space and nature I had been craving, taught me a ton of practical things, and showed me what a real, tight-knit community can feel like.
It slowed my life down enough for me to notice which parts of my old life I genuinely didn’t miss, and, maybe more importantly, which ones I did.
The opinions expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the views of Narcity Media.
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