Being A Tourist In My Own City

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I think I’m trying to get better at treating my own city like somewhere worth going.

That sounds dramatic for a Sunday outing, I know, but hear me out. It’s weird how easy it is to stop seeing the place you live. You get used to it. You go to work, you come home, you run the same errands, you drive past the same buildings, and eventually the whole city just becomes the backdrop to whatever you’re trying to get done.

But this weekend, Sierra and I went to check out a cute little spring craft market on Broadway and 11th, and for awhile it actually felt like we were out on the town.

Not just “leaving the house because we need groceries” out.

Actual out.

Dressed up. Walking around. Looking at things. Taking pictures. Being perceived by the public against my usual better judgement.

Sierra wore this adorable dress, and I need everyone to understand that she looked so fucking cute. Like soft, pretty, spring market girlfriend energy. The kind of dress that makes the whole day feel warmer because she’s clearly feeling herself in it, and I love that. I love watching her wear something that makes her stand a little differently, like she knows she looks good but is still pretending to be casual about it.

Naturally, I dressed like your typical neighbourhood lesbian.

Photos for proof, because I am nothing if not committed to documenting the evidence. Sierra was giving cute spring dress. I was giving “I know where the good coffee is and I can probably help you move a couch.”

Balance.

The market itself was sweet. Just one of those little local things that makes you remember people are out here actually making stuff, selling stuff, growing things, creating things, and generally being more productive with their hands than I have ever been when left unsupervised. We wandered around, looked at booths, took in the spring vibes, and did the kind of casual strolling that feels weirdly romantic when you’re doing it with the right person.

We literally stopped to smell the flowers.

Like actually.

I know. Who are we?

There we were, having this cute little spring moment, appreciating flowers like gentle cottage lesbians, when Saskatoon decided to remind us where we live.

Road construction.

Specifically, a giant hole in the ground.

And I don’t know why, but I was fascinated. There is something deeply unsettling about seeing a road opened up like that. Like you know roads are built on layers of things. Obviously. We are adults. We understand infrastructure in a vague, “someone handles that” kind of way.

But actually seeing what’s under there? Horrifying. Educational. Mildly cursed.

I looked at this massive hole and immediately thought, “Is that what’s under our roads??”

Because apparently I can be taken out of a romantic spring outing by basic municipal anatomy.

Honestly, it felt very Saskatoon. Flowers, local market, cute outfits, and then a construction pit reminding you that spring here also means the roads are being surgically opened for the season.

After the market, we had to go back home because I had to piss like a racehorse.

There’s really no prettier way to say that. Sometimes the body joins the itinerary whether you invited it or not. We were having a nice little day, and then my bladder decided this outing had a mandatory intermission.

So we went home, handled that situation, had a little 420 top-up to keep the day moving, and then headed back out because apparently we are adults who can leave the house twice in one day now.

Growth.

This time we went downtown to check out some thrift shops, and honestly, I need to give downtown Saskatoon more credit. I think I get so used to downtown being the place I go for specific reasons that I forget it can also just be a place to wander around. A place to poke through old buildings, find cute stores, and remember that there are still corners of this city I haven’t paid enough attention to.

We checked out Thick n’ Thrift, and I have to say, they had some really good stuff. Especially for the plus-size girlies, which should not feel revolutionary in the year of our lord 2026, but here we are.

(Shoutout to them for curating pieces that actually felt cute instead of giving “forgotten office rack from 2009.”)

Thrifting when you’re not built like a haunted Victorian nightgown can be rough. A lot of the time, plus-size sections are either nonexistent, depressing, or full of clothes that look like someone’s aunt wore them to a mandatory office potluck in 2009. So seeing actual cute, wearable options felt like a win.

And then I realized the Y2K thrift store is also in the same location, because apparently I have been walking around this city with my eyes half closed.

The Drinkle Mall itself has such cool old-building energy. There were old photos on the walls and little pieces of history tucked around the place, and I wish I’d taken a few shots of them. A picture of a picture might be stupid, but pictureception is exactly the kind of detail I would’ve loved later.

That’s the thing I keep thinking about from the day. Not that we did anything huge. We didn’t leave the city. We didn’t have some wild adventure. We went to a spring market, smelled flowers, stared into a construction hole, went home so I could pee, got a little high, and wandered around some thrift shops downtown.

And it was still a good day.

Maybe that sounds obvious, but I think I needed the reminder.

I’m so used to writing think pieces that sometimes I forget my actual life can be the post too. Not every blog has to be me emotionally excavating myself with a tiny literary shovel. Sometimes it can just be this. A day. A place. A few pictures. A girlfriend in a cute dress. Me dressed like I’m about to ask if you listen to boygenius. A thrift store. A construction hole. A little proof that I went outside and participated in the world.

I think I want to do more of that.

Not because I’m suddenly trying to become a travel blogger for Saskatoon or anything. I don’t think the tourism board is banging down my door for “local lesbian gets distracted by roadwork” content. But there is something nice about letting your own city surprise you a little.

There is something nice about being curious where you already are.

And maybe that’s the bigger thing I’m trying to learn right now. How to stop waiting for life to feel big before I document it. How to stop acting like the only posts worth writing are the ones that come from some emotional spiral at midnight.

Because my life is happening in the small stuff too.

It’s happening in the spring market. In the thrift stores. In the rental yard. In the raspberry bushes that are blooming even though I had nothing to do with planting them. In the tiny sunflower seed that is actually sprouting, which I am trying very hard to be normal about.

I have a sunflower sprout.

My first real plant, honestly.

And I know that probably sounds tiny, but it doesn’t feel tiny to me. I’ve never really been in a place where gardening felt like something I could fully try. Part of that was not having the space. Part of it was ADHD making consistency feel like a competitive sport I did not train for. Part of it was just not feeling like I had the support or environment to let myself care about something that needed patience.

But now I’m in a house. There’s a yard. There are raspberry bushes in bloom. Sierra has a green thumb, and being around someone who also gets excited about growing things has made it feel possible in a way it didn’t before.

Like maybe I can try this.

Maybe I can be bad at it and learn anyway.

Maybe I can plant something and not immediately assume I’m going to forget it into a tiny botanical tragedy.

There’s something weirdly hopeful about that. A little sprout coming up out of the dirt like, “Okay, we’re doing this.” It feels connected to the rest of the weekend somehow, even though one thing was a market and the other is me staring at dirt like it’s about to reveal state secrets.

Maybe it’s all part of the same thing.

Trying to be more present in the life I actually have.

Going outside. Looking around. Taking pictures. Growing something. Writing about days that don’t need to be dramatic to matter.

I don’t know if this is the start of me writing more life posts, but I think I want it to be. I like the idea of letting my blog hold more than just the heavy stuff. I love a good emotional gut-punch post, obviously, because apparently that is part of my wiring, but I don’t want this space to only be where I go when I’m unpacking something painful.

I want it to hold the good days too.

The cute days.

The “we went downtown and I forgot to take enough pictures” days.

The “Sierra looked adorable and I looked like a lesbian side quest NPC” days.

The “holy shit, is that what’s under our roads?” days.

Because those are part of my life too.

And maybe being a tourist in your own city is really just remembering that your life is still happening, even when you’re not somewhere new.

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Sometimes the adventure is just deciding the familiar is worth paying attention to.

And honestly?

I think I needed that.

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Sometimes your life doesn’t need to get bigger to feel new. Sometimes you just have to look at it like it’s worth noticing.

Talk soon, Kass ☕🌿