I grew up in Toronto. During my younger years I drove a taxi for extra money part-time on weekend nights. I know every alley way, every corner and every curb side in town. I raised my oldest son here. For all the heartache I have had in this city, I have to say that in my day it was a fabulous place to live.

I left Toronto for a time and lived in the marvellous City of Stratford for 12 years when I had young children again and my oldest son went out to B.C. for a teaching career in North Vancouver. I visit my grandchildren there now on an annual journey out west. So today I know my way around Lynn Valley and the Sea Bus station as well as the Festival Theatre and the Old Grove in addition to the streets of Toronto.

We moved back to Toronto a few years ago. As I had made a bad career choice to become a newspaper publisher instead of a Realtor, I cannot afford to buy a house here. But we are happy in the heart of downtown Toronto. We found a co-op housing organization and are pleased to live in this community. It is an oasis. The lake is just across the street and we are lucky to see it every day between the behemoths of buildings that surround us.

It is a real challenge to live downtown in Canada’s biggest city. It isn’t just big, it is massive. We are cheek-to- jowl down here, shoulder to shoulder with the hoi polloi. I can tell you first-hand, unless you live here, you don’t know the meaning of the word crowded. The staggering number of condominium towers and the thousands upon thousands of apartments is boggling. It can seem an endless stream of building after building, filled with so many units, so many small little living spaces that it is almost mindless because of its vast conformity. In past years, if you had challenged me to describe its never ending sameness in a couple of words, I would say; extreme uniformity. In one word; monotonous.

Now that I am an old guy and I have the maladies that befall old men, I have been urged by the medical people I deal with to walk whenever I can. I have been trying to do that. I found the heat of day, especially the heat of the past summer days, to be so unbearable that I have taken to walking at night. I confess that my nightly walks have changed my outlook and in some small ways have even inspired me. Me, of all people, inspired by conformity.

I walk along the waterfront to the pier at the foot of Spadina Avenue, which is one of Toronto’s major streets. Spadina has a long history itself but these days it is a sea of condo buildings. At night almost every unit in these buildings is lit up. The lights from thousands of windows stretching around the curves and corners of architecture that I previously only generously called functional all becomes brilliant. I have to admit, it is magnificent. Behind each structure is the presence of Toronto’s most iconic structures, such as the CN Tower, the skydome and the Metropolitan Toronto Convention Centre. It is all so vibrant because it is all right there and immediate. With all the activity going on it is shocking to realize that standing on the pier, it is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. At 10 o’clock the Island Airport shuts down and most watercraft are tied up for the night. It is like holding a remote at the very edge of the city and hitting the mute button. The scene is nothing short of extraordinary and surreal.

When I look up at all this I am in awe. Not just of what the city has become but what potential it still has. To think that all the madness and chaos could present itself so peacefully is incredible to me.

For the past few nights, one small unit, amongst the thousands and thousands that I see, stands out. It is in the middle of one of the tallest buildings. It has what appears to be a string of white lights along its tiny balcony with each corner flashing. It is unobtrusive. Probably no one notices, certainly no one in that building or the building complex around it. But I see it.

It tells me that this unit is different and that everyone does not have to conform. I take a quiet comfort in that. It keeps me going.

Heino Molls is publisher of REM. Email [email protected].