It’s Okay to Live with Your Parents

How living with my folks changed my entire post-grad experience

It’s the Ides of September 2019 and my entire life has completely changed.

In a 96 hour period I lost my girlfriend, my company, and my job. I was living in a basement in Washington, D.C. My landlady, a depressed old woman who never had anything positive to say, didn’t necessarily help with my situation.

Even before this all happened, I was starting to get sick of life in the nation’s capital. If you’re not in politics, government, or consulting, it can be a bit difficult to blend in. To this day I have friends in D.C.’s emerging tech community, but entrepreneurship is still a lonely field to be in. It’s hard to be understood, especially by people who aren’t in it.

I additionally despised the fact that you live to work in a city like Washington. Before I worked full time on our startup, I applied to hundreds of jobs in the area and only got one. I wasn’t a bad student: I graduated with a degree in International Relations from a top ten school of that field. I was involved in a variety of extracurriculars and spoke French. But, alas, entry level jobs these days require 3+ years of experience.

In Washington, I personally knew people who work at prestigious institutions such as Capitol Hill and nonprofits and simultaneously wait tables.

This isn’t surprising, though.

12 months prior to my sous-sol final I lived in another basement on the same block. Although it was smaller, I paid almost $1,000 a month for it. My ‘kitchen’ was a makeshift sink, a toaster oven, and a hotplate — all in the same room.

To put this in perspective, my friends who went to universities in Florida (where I’m from) lived like kings compared to us. One of my closest friends, who went to Florida State University, lived in an apartment at least twice the size of my basement, had his own room, a furnished kitchen and living room, for close to $700 a month.

For $700 a month, you can share a room in an apartment close to our university in D.C.

Isn’t it a bit odd that the people who live in the nation’s capital — some of whom run our country — cannot afford to live there without waiting tables?

But I digress.

Without hesitation or time to think, I brashly made the decision to move to Nashville. I called up my relatives, briefed them on the situation, and they gladly welcomed me with open arms.

After a couple of months of figuring shit out, I now reside between Florida and Spain. I live with my parents.

A 22 year old living with mom and dad — tragic, isn’t it?

Think again.

Not having to pay for rent has significantly changed my life. I work less hours and am more productive in my job. I also get to pursue passion projects such as writing daily on Medium.

Random leisurely endeavors also bear little consequence.

I don’t feel bad going out to eat or drinking coffee from a local cafe. When I spent almost a grand a month on my tiny basement in D.C., however, going to Peet’s Coffee was a rare treat for me. Oh, how my $6 latte made me so content!

It’s not only the economics that make sense: my social life all of a sudden drastically improved.

It’s normal around the world, except for the U.S. of course, to live with mom and dad.

I am proud to say that my mom is my best friend. Why shouldn’t I be? Even President Obama’s biggest regret was not spending enough time with his mom.

“There was a stretch of time from when I was, let’s say, 20 until I was 30 where I was so busy with my own life that I didn’t always reach out and communicate with her and ask her how she was doing and tell her about things.” — President Obama, 2014

You might call me a ‘mama’s boy.’ So what? I don’t have to live in a tiny shithole for a thousand bucks and I get to live with my best friend.

You might call me a failure. This also doesn’t make sense either.

Is Michael B. Jordan, star of the 2018 hit Black Panther, a failure because he lived with his parents past his thirtieth birthday? I beg to differ. While some live alone in a basement, he’s worth $8 million.

In the grand scheme of things, I am an extremely lucky person. I am the child of people who willingly let me live in our home for free. Not everyone is in the same position as I am.

But it’s time to stop shaming ourselves for living with our parents.

We shouldn’t feel guilty for living with our folks. We end up feeling guilty for not accompanying them.

If my parents get to live until they’re old, I know for a fact that I won’t regret not spending enough time with them. Because I did, and I am right now.