Welcome to the Boomerang, Kid

I’ve always been a closet dreamer; I appear outwardly to have ideas and goals firmly based in reality, but realistically, I’ve always dreamed of the saving grace of prosperity and glory that has never (and will never) come. They say that’s a symptom of my generation, but how could it not be? My whole life I’ve been told “you can be whatever you want to be if you just try!” So what do I want to be?

I’m 28 years old and I still haven’t quite figured that out. I’ve spent the last ten years of adulthood cycling back and forth between being a free-spirited dreamer, cynical corporate slave,  student, family woman, and total piece of human garbage; and yet, none of these versions of me have “stuck.”

The American Dream I’ve always been told to aspire to involves a white picket fence, a husband, a few kids and a job that appears successful. It’s also always been sold to me as something wholly obtainable with minor effort and a lot of “do, and you shall receive.” Anyone who knows me will tell you this: I do. I do a lot. I do for others; I do for my employer; I do for my friends and for my family; I DO, okay? No, not okay. Doing isn’t enough anymore. Trying isn’t enough. The world I live in is vastly different than the ones my parents and their parents grew up in. Today’s college tuition is exorbitant and out of reach, especially if you’re trying to maintain a single household. My “independence” has always been more important to me than the time and effort school would take anyway, but paycheck to paycheck is an uncomfortable cycle and eventually we all reach a breaking point.

So here I am; no college degree, no career and a horizon that looks the same as it always has: bleak. The definition of crazy is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, so I’m done bashing my head mindlessly against a wall. Which leads me to where I truly am at this very moment – sitting on my parents back porch, overlooking their pool at their lakefront home; well, our lakefront home, because this is where I live now too.


boo·mer·ang kid

plural noun: boomerang kids
  1. a young adult who goes back to live with a parent after a period of independence.
    See also: me

On May 31, 2017, I packed my entire life into a trailer and the back of Dad’s truck and left Dallas for Montgomery, TX. It hurt, believe me, but it’s definitely a good thing. My parents are letting me live here and my grands are funding my college education with two stipulations:

  1. I go to school full-time (and actually finish this go-round); and
  2. I work part-time, as school must be my priority

Okay, cool. I can totally do this. I started my Summer semester on June 5, and I plan to wrap my college career up in 2020, so three years down the road. Given the credits I already have and the fact that school will now be my main focus, this is a totally attainable goal.

It all seems pretty straightforward, but it’s certainly not going to be easy! I’m three weeks into this thing, and I’m already facing the struggles of living with 3 people (including my PRETEEN sister) and seven animals. Yeah. 7. But we’ll get into the characters in my new life story next time!

Stick around with me as I document my boomerang life. I can’t guarantee that it (and I) won’t disappoint, but it’ll definitely be somethin’ else.



2 thoughts on “Welcome to the Boomerang, Kid

  1. Wow girl! This made me tear up and smile for you. All I can say is you are a strong woman and I like that fact you are sharing it with us, something I can’t say. I can’t wait to see where your adventure takes you and I believe you got this! I Love you and miss you .


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s