I still remember calling my mom in absolute tears over a C I got on a paper in college. I was an A student, straight As were my thing, so getting a C felt like total devastation. It wasn’t even my final grade, just one assignment, but at the time, it felt like the end of the world. I was dramatic, panicked, and convinced I’d just ruined my GPA and possibly my entire future (classic college meltdown energy).

One summer, my mom and I decided we were going to be those people, you know, the effortlessly minimalist, travel-light kind. We packed for our summer family vacation with the bare minimum: a few mix-and-match pieces, one tunic that could be a dress or a shirt (versatility, right?), and a single pair of pants each. It felt efficient. It felt freeing. It felt like we were winning the packing game. My sister, on the other hand, did not play the game. Unlike us, she packed her entire closet! 

One memory that still haunts me is the feeling of being completely lost and helpless. It’s the kind of thing that sticks with you, even when you try to shake it off. I can still remember the panic, the sense of time running out, and the worry that I might never find my way back. It’s hard to forget that gut-deep fear, even now.

When I was younger, my mom, my sister, my cousin, and I decided to take a weekend trip to Disneyland. We were so excited to get away, just us girls. But, of course, life had other plans. Our hotel stay was less than ideal. Imagine being woken up not once, not twice, but three times by the sound of fire alarms blaring throughout the night. Each time, we’d jump out of bed, throw on some clothes, and stand outside waiting for the all-clear, then go back into our rooms and try to sleep, only to have it happen again. It was exhausting, frustrating, and, honestly, a little ridiculous.

One of my mom’s favorite sayings is, “Be careful what you ask for, because you just might get it.” As a kid, I heard this a lot, especially when my sister and I would beg for something. We were persistent, and the more we begged, the more my mom would remind us of this proverb. The perfect example of this came when we begged for hamsters. We promised we’d take care of them, so eventually, after much convincing, my parents took us to the pet store to pick out our new furry friends.

Growing up, Christmas at the tree lot wasn’t just about picking the perfect tree. It was a full-blown adventure, and my sister and I were always at the center of it. Every year, we’d run through the trees, weaving in and out of the rows like our lives depended on it. My dad would count to ten, giving us a head start, and then we’d take off, dodging low branches and trying to blend in with the camouflage jackets we’d sometimes wear. As we got older, and a little bigger, the game got more difficult, and let’s be honest, less graceful, but that didn’t stop us. It became a tradition, no matter how ridiculous it looked.