A love letter to Vancouver as I prepare to leave it

A lack of late-night burritos is a small price to pay for unwavering self-reliance.

In 2020, I moved to Vancouver accidentally. When I booked my flight, I planned on being here for three weeks and packed my suitcase accordingly. Two years and an entire wardrobe later, I am now packing that same suitcase as I prepare to leave it.

Vancouver has been as challenging for me as it has been transformative. I went into it somewhat expecting this. Well, the challenging part anyway. When I broke the news of the move to friends on the east coast, they were happy for me but also didn’t hold back on sharing what they had heard about The Couve. It was the classic stuff: it rains a lot, it’s hard to make friends, the city shuts down early so no late-night burritos.

I had been to Vancouver a few times over the years so I took what my friends said with a grain of salt. I mean, the rain and the burrito thing I could live with but making friends? I was sure I’d be the exception, not the rule.

Coming from Toronto, a city built around meeting new people, it was hard for me to wrap my head around how that could even happen, especially in a place with over half a million people.

For the first few months, I didn’t really notice it. I was in the post-move honeymoon phase, too busy staring at the mountains and dipping my feet in the ocean to give a shit about making new friends.

But like anything and everything, the novelty of this new place started to wear off and the isolation started to creep in. And let’s be honest, the pandemic didn’t do me any favours.

So, for the first time in my life, I googled how to make friends. I downloaded Bumble BFF and even reached out to people I thought seemed cool on TikTok. It wasn’t immediate but eventually, I started making genuine connections and gained something even more rewarding in the process.

“When you learn how to be alone you’ll discover the difference between alone and lonely.” - L.J. Vanier

During the months where I was actively trying to make friends, I realized I still had to find ways to spend my days off. The list of people I could meet for lunch had dwindled significantly since the move and I knew if I waited for one of them to have the same afternoon off as me, I’d never visit half of the restaurants I wanted to.

So, I went alone.

The first time I ever took myself out, I was incredibly insecure. I had this idea in my head that everyone around me would be so astounded by the patheticness of my solo lunch date that it would quite literally disrupt the restaurant.

This resulted in me eating at lightning speed while I scrolled through my phone and asked for the cheque. That was in the spring.

By the time summer came around, I had mastered the art of dining alone. As it turns out, when you focus on your own thoughts rather than those of the strangers around you, eating alone can be cathartic.

Instead of aimlessly scrolling, I started indulging in a little bit of people watching. I also kept my head up long enough to enjoy conversation with the waitstaff and bartenders.

In a setting that typically requires you to be mindful of your company, only needing to cater to my own needs was blissful and exploratory. I took my time with the menu, studying it until I was ready to order dishes I had never tried before in whatever order suited me best. Bliss.

In July, the heatwaves started to hit so I knew my next obstacle was the beach.

Prior to living on the west coast, every experience I’ve ever had with the beach was in a group setting. If I had to guess, this is likely due to the fact that where I’m from, the beach is considered a day trip that requires a certain level of travel and planning. So, it only seems right to include others.

Vancouver, on the other hand, has incredible beaches in the heart of the city. One minute you’re walking down a busy street and the next you’re standing in front of the Pacific ocean. It’s not a destination that you plan for, you’re already there if you want to be.

Now, dining alone was one thing, I could somewhat handle the thought of people judging me over chicken cacciatore. But the beach brought with it a whole new level of panic.

If you’ve read my introduction to this substack, you can probably guess that stripping down on a crowded beach alone is my own personal hell. I didn’t want to do it. Like, I really really didn’t want to do it. But there it was, that same thought that had clung to me since I had settled into Vancouver.

If I wait for someone to go with, I will never go.

With these particular things and by particular things, I mean the stuff that makes you so nervous you feel sick, I like to think it’s best to go in with a strategy. I started by avoiding prime times, tourist traps, and beaches I knew would be busy. I’d wake up early, pack a bathing suit, and just go.

By the end of the summer, I had spent hours exploring and enjoying the many beaches around the city. I read books, listened to podcasts, picked up fresh fruit and enjoyed it in the sun.

I stopped pouring energy into what others may or may not be thinking of me. I no longer hesitated to get up and go for a swim, I just went.

In February, to my own surprise, I took it one step further by polar dipping in the Pacific ocean alone while strangers in winter coats spectated from the shore. Bliss.

"Solitude is independence." — Herman Hesse

Whether it’s out of fear or circumstance, most of us don’t set aside enough time to do things alone. I know I certainly didn’t until Vancouver forced me to. In a way, this city encouraged me to find myself in the same way that Toronto encouraged me to find others. It pushed me out of a comfort zone I didn’t even know I had.

So, as I pack up this chapter of my life, I can’t help but think about what I owe Vancouver - a city that is too often judged for cultivating loneliness instead of being appreciated for its ability to foster self-reliance.

I am leaving this place better than when I found it: comfortable, at ease, and fiercely independent. And for that, I am grateful.

Until next time Vancouver,

Taylor x