When I’d finally gotten the opportunity to do the same, those little things in life did feel glamorous to me because nothing about this life of mine would ever feel normal.
No matter how many lines I crossed off that Someday List, I would never feel like everyone else.
And I no longer wanted to.
Life was extraordinary, and there was nothing normal about that.
Eighteen Years Later . . .
“MEARA! GRANDPA IS here with his truck ready to load up!” Mom hollered from downstairs.
“Okay. Just give me a minute, and I’ll be right down!”
Rising from my bed, I took a look around, realizing how empty everything appeared. It was the little things really—the missing slippers at the end of the bed, the random collection of makeup that used to reside on my dresser, and the ever present laundry basket of clothes I never managed to put away.
All of it was gone, reminding me of one very obvious fact.
I was going away to college today.
Granted, UCLA was barely considered going away, but a dorm room wasn’t down the hall from my parents, and I’d be sharing a bathroom with an entire floor—including boys.
I tried not to think about that vital piece of information more than I had to.
I could have gone nearly anywhere. With stellar grades and amazing SAT scores, I had my pick of some of the top schools—Stanford, NYU, even Chicago—but when it had all come down to that final decision, I’d known I couldn’t tread too far away from home.
I was, and forever would be, a homebody.
When raised on the beautiful coast of California, who could really blame me?
And with parents like mine, it wasn’t hard to want to stay as close to home as possible. Some of my friends had helicopters for parents—who hovered and overreacted over everything. Others wondered if their mom and dad even knew they existed. Mine—well, they were a perfect blend of awesome—always there when I needed them, but yet always aware of when I needed space to grow and develop on my own.
Shifting around the room, I looked at the various pictures on the walls. From my first birthday to my graduation, this room held so many memories. There was a framed picture on my dresser from the day we met my adopted brother Ian. I’d been so excited to finally have a baby brother. I’d skipped down the halls, singing and clapping my hands—I was two, but when I got there I realized he wasn’t as little as I expected. I guess my toddler mind expected a cabbage patch doll I could play dress up with—not a six month old baby who cried and pooped. I was not impressed. I got used to him though, and eventually I grew to like him. Okay, I loved him. He was a great brother and really completed our family. Who knew the little poop factory could be such a blessing.
As my eyes roamed further down the line of photos, I glimpsed a picture of Ian and me, wrapped around our Uncle Roman and his wife—taken several years ago during one of our yearly trips back east. We were on a boat after spending the day out in the sun and we all looked happy and carefree.
I had so many treasured memories.
“Are you hiding in here?” Dad asked, peeking his head into my room.
“No, just saying good-bye,” I said sadly.
“Not good-bye. Just—”
I smiled, shaking my head. “See you later?”
“I’ve said that one before?”
“A few times, Dad.”
“I need better lines.” He laughed. He came up to me, his arm wrapping around my shoulder. “We’re only a short drive away. Besides, you’ll need someplace to do your laundry, I’m sure.”
“I’ll come home for more than just laundry,” I assured him.
“My charming wit?” he guessed.
“Definitely.”
“I knew it. Now, come on. Save the waterworks for later. We’ve got a truck to load, and if we don’t hurry, Grandpa’s going to throw his back out from trying to do it all himself. Ian and I keep trying to help, but you know your Grandpa . . .”
“Okay. One more minute?” I asked.
He nodded, placing a soft kiss on my forehead. “Okay.”
I heard his footfalls trail down the hallway as I took one last look around the room. My eyes settled on a tattered old journal of my mom’s. It was something I’d found the other day while going through her nightstand in search of a bottle of lotion.
She’d told me stories of her Someday List over the years, and she’d even shown it to me when I was younger. It had been years since I last saw it, and when I’d found it again, I’d secretly taken it from its spot and brought it back to my room to look at it.