11:20PM, Wednesday, January 20th, 2016 | Toronto, Canada

While I’ve never actually stepped into a fast-moving river, it’s the best metaphor I can come up with to describe what every homecoming I’ve ever had to Toronto feels like.

No matter where I’d been, what I’d been doing, or how long I’d been gone. No matter what the experience of time was in that other place, as soon as my feet hit those track-ridden streets, the rush of the city was there and ready to sweep me away.

I’d just come back from six weeks in Costa Rica. Six weeks. Longer than Christ spent in the desert. It didn’t matter that Costa Rica was a whole other universe. Within hours of touching down, I was already out, dancing and drinking with May and Ryan in some pop-up gallery on Dundas, trying to balance an overflowing gin & tonic with my right hand, as my down-filled parka lay heavy and draped over my left.

I was sweating through too many layers, having forgotten winter and then overestimating how to dress appropriately. Ryan, mock-dancing with his eyes closed and arms in the air, swayed under the glow of pink lights. He didn’t even bother taking his coat off.