The triumphant university grad moves back home

In about three weeks when my internship at the National Post is complete, I will move back home to live in my dad’s house.

It feels so weird to say move back home for many reasons: I haven’t lived there in years. I’ve barely visited. I no longer have my own room there. Toronto feels much more like home than Cambridge. My lifestyle has been totally different since moving out.

I moved out in the fall of 2005 when I started university and, although I had to move back home the following summer for a few months due to unforseen circumstances, I’ve lived in Toronto ever since.

I always disliked Cambridge and when I moved to Toronto I definitely felt like I was moving up in the world, so I’m still trying to decide if moving back there is a step up or a step down or neither. Maybe it’s just a step.

The major difference between then and now is that my granny moved into my empty room a year or two ago so I no longer have my own space. It’s a pretty small house and the only space for me is in the unfinished basement which has been my family’s dumping ground for unwanted or underused things.

I have my work cut out for me.

But I am truly looking forward to it. I can become close friends with my little brother again. I can help my dad with all the things he’s too busy to do. I can garden, sit outdoors and still have privacy, sleep in silence and pitch black. I will be losing a lot by moving away from Toronto, but I’ll be gaining some too.

And then there’s that other nagging thought: that moving back home as an adult is somehow a failure on my part.

The truth is I’m swallowing my pride to move back home. I’m doing the smart thing. I have a lot of debt from school and my first post-grad job is awesome, but it’s not going to make me rich.

And in my family, I’m not the sort of child a parent has to survive. I will definitely accept any financial help my dad will offer to help pay down my debt, but I’m willing to do a lot of work in return.

At my dad’s house, I’m the boss – and not in a Pay my bills, Dad or Do my laundry, Dad sort of way. I take charge of the chores and the big projects and, if anything, I’m something of a bossy annoyance because I’m trying to get everyone to do more to make their own lives easier.

The future is still a bit foggy, though. How long will I live there? Will I be happy there? Will I end up dying to get out because I hate the town and I’m used to living on my own?

I honestly have no idea. But it’s an opportunity I’m going to take and hope for the best. Wish me luck.

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