I hate being asked where I’m from because I’m not entirely sure myself.

“California,” I say, and then off a questioning look, “well, and then Boston for school — and London for study abroad — and now I’m here — but I spent summers here as a kid—”

In the end, most people give up.

This is what being a boomerang is. (Do you remember those? The oddly curved things that come back to you when you throw them?) It’s the kids who, when they finish college, return home. Yeah, I’m one of them. I finished college last May, and three months later, with zero job prospects in sight, returned home.

Except not really home.

When I started college, my mom moved back to Minnesota - 30 years after she left. She bolted as soon as she could, driving to California without looking back. But my grandma had Alzheimer’s disease, so she came back to her home state as a caregiver and decided that it wasn’t as bad as it had seemed at eighteen. She put down roots: bought a house, got a puppy, made friends.

So when I moved back, it was to Minnesota. I wasn’t really moving back, I was moving to a whole new place - but back in with my mom.

It’s an unusual phenomenon, but not unheard of. Most of these boomerangs move back into their childhood homes, chafing under parental rules after four years of freedom while enjoying rent-free living. But there are those of us who move in for the rent-free living and find ourselves in a totally new environment.

It’s okay, at first. There are coffee shops to try, local spots to explore, and a library system to enjoy. (OK, that last one might just be me.)

But then the loneliness sets in. There’s family around; that’s the whole reason this boomerang concept exists. But there aren’t any friends or even people who understand what you mean when you talk about .GIFs. There’s not even a built-in network of high school frenemies.

So what do you learn from all this?

Well, mostly that home is what you make it. It is the physical place; not all homes are the same. But more than that, it’s the people. I’m still not sure what my home is, but my people - my friends - are scattered all over the country, from San Diego to Chicago to New Hampshire. I have a home wherever I end up.

This doesn’t mean it’s easy to be a boomerang, or going back to your parents in a different place than before. It’s hard. I’m still lonely, some days. But it teaches lessons in how to survive and thrive, and that home is not a place but a sense of belonging – a lesson many adults may never figure out.