Surviving Toronto means having friends you can count on

Before I moved to Toronto, I grew up in a suburb of Ottawa. It wasn’t all white-picket fences, but it was a community and it made sense. Depending on where you lived, you went to the same grocery store for years, at at the same restaurants, played at the same park, and knew everyone that lived around you.

Surviving Toronto means having friends you can count on

It was a quiet and predictable upbringing and that gave me a sense of security and consistency that I came to rely on in my adult years.

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I don’t give a fuck what you eat

't give a fuck what you eatPeople read calorie counts to me, comment on the number of carbs in the menu item, and rationalize their decision to eat one option over another because “maybe it has more protein.” I use to feed into this mentality – the one so many of us have been conditioned to accept and perpetuate – that tells us it is not only necessary, but entirely healthy, to obsess over what we put into our bodies and share that information, as if saying it out loud and expressing your understanding of a 1,000 calorie meal being “unhealthy,” before anyone else can, makes the act of eating it entirely justified and acceptable (as if the act of eating it needs to be justified for being unacceptable).

Here’s something to consider: I don’t give a fuck what you eat, how much you eat, when you eat, or where you eat.

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