There’s a strange, messy joy in returning to the streets where you first learned how it felt to kiss someone so hard your braces locked together. Okay, maybe just me? But if you’ve ever gone back to your childhood stomping grounds, you’ll know the tidal wave of love, nostalgia, and awkward cringe that follows. Growing up in Toronto’s Riverdale neighborhood, I thought I’d seen it all: the eclectic clash of corner stores, bistros, and the occasional yoga studio that promised inner peace for about $22 a class. But no amount of overpriced chai lattes could prepare me for my current relationship with this place—a complicated tango of adoration and occasional side-eye.

So, whether you left your hometown and cropped it out of your dating profile bio (“just a small-town gal with big-city dreams”) or still live two blocks from your high school crush’s mom’s house, here’s one truth: Home will always hold a piece of your heart, even if it hogs the remote and leaves a mess in the kitchen. Let’s talk about why that’s both infuriating and kind of beautiful.

Nostalgia Always Packs Rose-Tinted Luggage

There’s something seductive about those familiar streets. It’s like your hometown is an ex who sends “Hey, just thinking about you” texts at 2 a.m., and boy, do they know your weak spots. As I drive through Riverdale now, I can’t help but smile when I see the basketball courts where my friends and I spent summer evenings chasing impossible three-pointers and fleeting teenage crushes. Never mind that I was objectively terrible at basketball; that patch of asphalt holds more of my awkward adolescence than my old notebooks ever could.

But nostalgia is the ultimate revisionist historian. What my rose-tinted glasses filter out is how much I hated Riverdale winters—they were wet, slushy minefields that mocked my Converse All-Stars. I also conveniently forgot the years when this quirky neighborhood made me feel small, like there wasn’t enough room for who I wanted to become. Nostalgia is great at softening edges, but honesty keeps it real.

The Push-and-Pull of Staying or Going

My relationship with Riverdale can best be described as the recurring “Will they, won’t they?” plotline from a sitcom. Every time I swore I was done with the congestion and expensive parking meters, it would surprise me, whether with a new café offering five-dollar espresso shots or a pop-up shop selling artisanal scarves that very much fit my aesthetic.

Leaving your hometown usually feels like jumping into a pool of icy water: shocking at first, but eventually exhilarating. I left Riverdale for Vancouver a few years ago, trading in my neighborhood’s brick houses and leafy streets for mountains and drizzle. It felt liberating to step away from the familiar and explore something new. But like a stubborn love song stuck in my head, Riverdale kept calling me back. And eventually, I answered.

If you’re grappling with whether to stick to home roots or venture outward, here’s what I’ve learned:

  • Go where you can grow. New places bring new lessons, and if you feel creatively, emotionally, or professionally stifled at home, it might be time to branch out—even just temporarily.
  • But don’t burn bridges with your past. Growth doesn’t mean forgetting; it means appreciating the milestones and bringing them along, even if they’re embarrassing ones involving braces and overly optimistic crushes.

Home Changes—and So Will You

Returning to Riverdale has been like hanging out with an old friend who’s had a dramatic glow-up. The cupcake shop I visited as a kid is now a chic cocktail bar. The once-modest thrift store? A bougie boutique where I can’t afford the clothes. At first, these changes felt like a betrayal. Surely the essence of my childhood shouldn’t be spruced up with reclaimed wood furniture and Edison bulbs?

But cities, like people, evolve—and that’s okay. What I initially saw as unwelcome interruptions in “my” hometown soon felt like opportunities. The Riverdale I once knew stretched itself open to welcome artists, entrepreneurs, and families looking for their “forever neighborhood.” Doesn’t that parallel the dating journey, too? You—ahem, hopefully—don’t date the same way at 30 as you did at 18. Home reflects that same push toward growth, albeit with slightly trendier aesthetics.

How to Make Peace With Your Love/Hate Relationship

The truth is, reconciling where you come from with who you are now isn’t an easy feat. Home is messy—it’s where your most vulnerable moments likely played out alongside your most joyful ones. And just like a relationship, it requires forgiveness and maybe a little humor to smooth the rough edges.

Here’s what works for me:

  1. Own the awkwardness. Your hometown is likely the setting of your Most. Cringeworthy. Moments. Ever. But instead of shoving those memories deep enough to induce emotional claustrophobia, embrace them. They’re how you became you. (And yes, that includes locking braces with Kaitlyn McAllister in Grade 8. A true masterpiece of middle school romance.)

  2. Create some distance. You don’t have to worship or loathe where you’re from; sometimes, a little space gives you the clarity to see the good, the bad, and the hilariously ugly within it.

  3. Carve out your identity outside of home. This might mean living somewhere new for a while or simply pursuing a hobby that has nothing to do with your roots. You’re more than where you grew up; let yourself explore what that “more” looks like.

  4. Come back without expectations. Re-visiting home is like reconnecting with an old flame. If you expect everything to feel exactly as it did when you were together, you’re setting yourself up for disappointment. Instead, notice what’s changed—and what hasn’t—with curiosity instead of judgment.

The Beauty in Staying Complicated

I’ll admit it: my relationship with Riverdale will always be a little messy. Part of me adores its multicultural charm and mom-and-pop shops. Another part of me still shudders at the Taco Tuesday I had during a snowstorm when none of the buses were running. But that’s just it—the love and the hate co-exist, creating an imperfect but unshakeable bond.

Maybe that’s the beauty of home. It doesn’t have to be perfect to matter deeply. Like any important relationship, it’s a mix of frustrations, affection, and gratitude that keeps it alive. And if I’ve learned anything, it’s this: Whether it’s a place or a person, the things that shape us will always have a hand in holding us. You just have to decide how tightly you want to hold back.