Walking Through the Storm: A Day in the Life of the Unseen

The weather is unforgiving today—cold, slushy, and hovering just below freezing. The remnants of winter cling stubbornly to the ground, even as the season tries to shift. My winter coat is already tucked away, but maybe I was too optimistic in packing it up.

I walk a lot. More than most. My phone tells me I average 21,607 steps a day—while the typical person walks just under 5,000. Walking gives me something to do. It keeps my body moving, my mind occupied. But today, the weather makes it harder.

On days like this, I take my walking indoors. The CF Rideau Centre is a familiar refuge—a place where I can stretch my legs without freezing. I methodically weave through every floor, every open space, careful not to overstep into areas that aren't meant for me. I don’t enter stores unless I intend to buy something. I blend in. I exist without making waves.

During my walk today, I noticed a fire had broken out at Shroomy’s, one of the city's many "magic mushroom" dispensaries. A quick Google search reminds me that psilocybin isn’t legal in Canada—at least not yet. It feels reminiscent of the early marijuana dispensaries before legalization, quietly tolerated, operating in a gray area. I have mixed feelings about it. I understand the need for escape, but I also wonder about the cost. Then again, who am I to judge what someone else needs to get through the day?

Bad weather reminds me—more sharply than usual—of the challenges I face being homeless. The security at Rideau Centre never gives me trouble, though I’m sure they know. The librarians at the public library know, too. But like anyone else, I just need a place to be. A place with warmth, a bathroom, an outlet to charge my phone. A place where I am not a problem to be solved, but simply a person trying to live.

People are often surprised when they learn I’m homeless. They have an idea of what homelessness looks like, and I don’t fit their mental picture. But homelessness isn’t just what you see on the streets. It’s the person quietly reading in the library, the one methodically walking the mall to stay warm, the one who looks just like anyone else.

So, the next time you pass by someone experiencing homelessness, I ask you to pause—just for a moment. To consider that their story may not be what you assume. To remember that, like you, they are simply trying to make it through the day.