In my late-20s, during the summer following my college graduation (I’m a late bloomer, what can I say), I accepted a job offer in Toronto — which meant finding a place to live in the city in short order (I lived two hours away at the time). I did the thing where you say yes first then figure out how you’re going to make it happen.
Lady Luck was on my side, and I landed a newly renovated, furnished basement apartment within walking distance (less than ten minutes on foot) of the studio where I would be working. The landlords were a very sweet couple who lived on the upper floors of the house and made themselves available to help out when needed. My rent was all-inclusive and — get this — less than $900 per month (by far the most shocking part of this tale for anyone who is familiar with Toronto rental prices). This was 2011-2012. I worked at the studio for a year before moving to a different city to attend university.
Those days seem like several lifetimes ago now, but when I recall that time it still conjures up the brew of nerves and excitement I experienced when I simply said “yes” and had to figure it out. No regrets.
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