There’s Sand in My Shoes

It was the first time I saw your skyline not as ambition, but as a burden. (Illustration By: Hannah Arabella Gabling // The Underground)

July 6th, 2025

Ward’s Island, 9:05 a.m.

Sun hiding in haze, soft gray

Dear Toronto,

You’re a lot. I forget that sometimes until I leave you. 

I arrived this morning at Centre Island as both the sky and I were still rubbing the sleep from our eyes. The ferry ride was brief but colder than it had any right to be. It felt like October decided to make a guest appearance in July. I didn’t bring a jacket – obviously, what was I expecting? Sunshine and a light breeze? Weirdly though, I didn’t hate it. It woke me up in a way that my coffee couldn’t. 

I watched as you grew smaller behind me. Not distant, just quieter. It was the first time I saw your skyline not as ambition, but as a burden. The wind was sharp and bracing, I sat shivering like it was part of the plan. 

But I didn’t have a plan. I never do. 

So I wandered, and found a bench near the edge of Ward’s Island facing the water. Not the city, not the crowds, just the open lake. I sat there for a while. I didn’t check my phone once. People drifted in and out of my frame of vision. They felt like background characters of a movie I didn’t realize I was starring in. 

A little boy stumbled past me dragging a red plastic shovel. His shoes were on the wrong feet and he had zero concern about it. His mom was a few steps behind, juggling a stroller, a half eaten sandwich, and probably the last shred of her patience. Off to the side, under a very crooked tree, a group of aunties had claimed a circle of folding chairs and were pulling containers of food out of recycled grocery bags like a magic trick. I looked behind as a couple strolled past, arms linked, laughing about something I couldn’t hear. The kind of laughter that comes from the creation of a core memory. 

I saw nothing special, but it was perfect.

Being here made me realize how much I had been running on autopilot. Wake up, noise, deadlines, notifications, noise again. But the Island doesn’t demand anything from me. It reminded me that peace isn’t a deep, dramatic thing. It’s just having enough space to hear your own thoughts without ten other things competing for your attention.

I know when I get back to you, the noise will still be there. The streetcars, the blinking lights, the construction, the people shouting on the corner for no reason. But just so you know, I won’t be listening right away; I’ve got sand in my shoes and for once, I’m in no rush to shake it out. 

See you soon.