How Are You Today?

It was just after midnight in a bar called Woody’s right in the heart of Toronto’s gay village. The bar is famed for being featured in the U.S. version of Queer As Folk and is exactly how you’d imagine such a gay bar to be – lots of colourful flashing lights, classic pop songs with an electro beat and many wandering eyes.

I’m sat with an almost full drink as the barman walks over. I think he can see I’m in need of some conversation and a drink having just witnessed forty minutes of an Adele drag tribute act. I say tribute, Jackie Stallone would have done a better job. “Hey I’m Josh, how’s it going?” he says in the cutest Canadian accent I’ve heard since being here. He’s in his mid twenties, shaven head, beard, beaming smile. “I’m good”. Just a two word response?! I’m quite the conversation maker it would seem.

We make small talk about the fame of the bar and how back home, Canal Street in Manchester has a similar status. In between serving his regulars, he asks questions, each time with a renewed sense of enthusiasm. “So what is it you do, Adam?” It’s the first time I have been asked this question since being away from the U.K. I pause momentarily. What do I do these days? “I’m a trainee psychotherapist, I’m studying at the moment.” I sound credible, it pacifies him. Not that I think he’s genuinely interested, perhaps the credibility of the answer is more something I’m interested in having. “That’s so cool, you’re doing that in the U.K., right?” Err, yer, where else? I think to myself, forgetting for a moment that I’m in an international city and it would be entirely feasible that I could be a student abroad. “That’s right yeah, I can’t wait!” I say (over) enthusiastically. Judging by his reaction I sense my unspoken words may have been laced within my tone. “So whereabouts in the UK do you live?” another killer question. To anyone else, this would be a lighthearted conversation, but I’ll admit I was struggling. “I’m kind of between homes at the moment.” What!? What kind of answer is that? Josh looks confused, so I articulate as best I can (not easy after 5 beers it would seem) how I’m not homeless, although technically I am because I gave up my apartment to travel, and how it all came to this. If ever there were a case of oversharing, this is it. His eyes widened. It was clear he wanted an excuse to move the conversation along, so I help him out. “Wow Josh, I didn’t realise how late it was, I have a flight to catch in the morning.” (I don’t, I have to get the train, in two days time). We shake hands politely and I make my exit.

My emotional state on the thirty minute walk back to the hotel could best be described as a woman in stilettos navigating her way down a cobbled street. With my chest puffed up, at times I thought “I’ve got this, it’s rough terrain, but I’ve got it.” The next minute I’m on the floor, covered in bumps and scrapes and then, oh shit… I’ve snapped a heel! “It’s no surprise you’re up and down” I say aloud in an attempt to show self-compassion. I’ve had a tough twelve months and whilst I’ve had the unwavering support of my friends and family, I’m not the best at asking for help. To a large extent my journey of healing has been one I’ve done alone. I start to question everything, again. This is familiar territory – analysis and I have become best friends. Whatever I do, he’s right there by my side with a clipboard taking notes and asking questions.

I pass a homeless guy in the street on my way back. He’s got a sign saying “Broke and ugly, any help appreciated.” Pangs of guilt soar through me with some force as I get a sobering sense of my privilege. I’m travelling for four months, with cash in the bank. I have shelter every night, I have many people who would offer me a bed if ever it came to that and yet here I am, wallowing. I tell him he’s not ugly. I tell him he’s enough, just because he is. I walk away feeling as if I should offer him my bed for the evening and take his place on the street. But even in my drunken emotional state I realise that won’t help anyone, not least him. I get back to the hotel and practice gratitude for what I do have, and realise that gratitude does to an extent, soften my guilt. My eyes close and my good friend analysis disappears whilst I sleep.

Those two questions though – What do you do? Where do you live? Such simple questions that I ask people all the time when I’m making small talk. They’re the questions you ask without really listening to the answer, ‘filler’ questions. Josh was doing the same, making small talk with a guy at his bar. Little did he know that he was asking someone who was right in the thick of figuring out the answers. In fact, little do any of us know of the truth behind the questions we ask each other. How are you today?

Cover photo: Toronto Skyline as seen from Toronto Island, with a plane coming in to land at the island airport.