A few years ago, in the messy folds of my leather-lined journal, I made a list—one of those corny bucket lists everyone quietly writes when they’re not fully satisfied with where they are in life. It was a flare of youthful ambition, and yet it felt sacred. I littered the page with whimsical doodles, each symbolizing a milestone or a dream I hoped to fulfill before my own expiration date.
It’s a common enough anxiety, but it felt urgent in the moment. I’m stuck with that ridiculous, often gendered pressure that treats your twenties like the only part of the movie worth watching. So I try to cram all the most interesting scenes into the first act just in case the credits start rolling prematurely.
Number 6 on that list was simple: go on a mother-daughter trip. The unspoken rule was that it had to be somewhere neither of us had been, yet both of us had always dreamed of. Just us. No distractions. No background noise of our typical day-to-day. Today, I finally got to draw a tiny, satisfying checkmark next to those words.
My mom and I went to Yosemite National Park.
A Car Ride of Catching Up
As I drove to the airport, I couldn’t wait to wrap my arms around my mom, but first I had to circle San Francisco International Airport five times and briefly consider illegal parking just to find her. When I finally spotted her, dressed in a Midwest spring uniform of sweatpants and a cozy crewneck, we gave each other a long, hard hug.
We took off quickly, stopping at a gas station for the essentials: Poppi, pretzels, and protein bars. When I got out to pump, she stood there handing me her credit card and pulling me in for an even longer hug. That second one hit differently, making my insides smile. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed her until she was right there in the California heat.
We hit the road with Oakhurst glowing on the GPS, making a pit stop for Mexican food along the way. Five hours of catching up later, we waltzed through the only open store in Oakhurst during a town-wide power outage. Slap-happy and giggly, we juggled heaps of snacks and breakfast supplies in our arms because there wasn’t a cart in sight. Eventually, we made it to our little blue cabin in the dark, unpacking to the white noise of a cult docuseries and the start of many long, winding conversations.
The Grand Reveal
The next morning, we traded the cabin for the granite cliffs of Yosemite. I took the wheel, navigating sharp turns while my mom white-knuckled the passenger handle. She tried to be discreet, but I noticed. I twitched in irritation. I’ve spent a lifetime riding with her, as she whips around like a drunk with confidence.
All tension left the car when we hit the tunnel.
Emerging from the darkness, the light suddenly broke over the Sierra Nevada. At Tunnel View (I’m just now realizing why the spot got its name), the landscape felt impossible—towering peaks and at least three waterfalls spilling over cliffs like silver thread.
After snapping photos, we headed to Curry Village, a charming area with a million tent cabins and some small cafés. We walked to the Happy Isles Nature and Art Center, a place so peaceful it made me ache for a future version of myself—one who retires to the shores of the Great Lakes and spends her days painting horizons and teaching kids about the natural world. It’s a dream my mom and I often share.
We continued on to Vernal Fall. AllTrails called it a “moderate” hike, but the trail was a relentless incline. As someone who sticks to a regimented workout split, has had the luxury of long walks outside over the past few months, and doesn’t have terrible asthma, I found it manageable. I could not say the same about my mom. While stopping to wait I had to exercise the small bone of patience that resides in the depths of my body.
At one point, she told me to go on without her. I ran the last five minutes to the footbridge, then waited, texting encouragement. When she rounded the corner, we stood together over the rushing river. The boulders were the size of small houses, and the falls in the distance looked almost too perfect to be real. The view was beautiful, but what made it matter was that she was there with me to see it.
The descent was easier, plus lunch was waiting. Or so I thought. I ate what we packed, but my mom had her heart set on pizza. We waited an hour for it. That small bone of patience I mentioned earlier had fully snapped.
We then had a mission: visitor center, Ansel Adams Gallery, park museum, and exploration center before closing. It was raining now, which made everything feel slightly cinematic. Unfortunately, the South Entrance loop is mostly a one-way, with minimal signage and even fewer parking spots. I passed the lot, sent us around the loop again, nearly twice, eventually driving on NPS staff roads before finally making it.
After a slow wander through exhibits, we made our way to Lower Yosemite Fall trail. Already soaked, we were met with the mist of a double waterfall, taller than anything I had ever seen.
Meat & Mimosas
We made it back to the Airbnb after dark, navigating windy roads slick with hail and freezing rain. I pretended it was nothing, though I could tell my mom was silently re-evaluating every life decision in the passenger seat.
Dinner was California BBQ at a nearby smokehouse: ribs, butter-soaked rolls, and cheesy potato salad. I abandoned my normal routine of greek yogurt, protein shakes, and cottage cheese bowls, allowing myself to chow down on whatever my heart desired. There was a strange kid-like freedom in it, especially being with my mom.
The highlight of the night was the hot tub. With mimosas in hand (our mother-daughter staple at any hour), we sat in the steaming water and traded stories. I told her teenage secrets I’d never said out loud. She told me bits about her childhood I’d never fully heard. We laughed until we pruned. My wine glass was empty, but my cup felt so full.
Proud Tree Huggers
The next morning, the sun finally showed up for my mom’s first California experience. After realizing we were a week early for shuttle service and close parking, we hiked a few miles to Mariposa Grove and the Big Trees Loop.
What made the trek worth it wasn’t just the massive redwoods, it was the excitement written all over my mom. We hopped a fence so she could hug one of the giants. Later, I overheard her telling my dad that her life was complete because she had met a redwood. I almost cried. It’s easy to forget our parents are seeing the world for the first time too.
We then explored Yosemite’s History Center, sunbathing on a picnic table before wandering through 19th-century cabins and a covered bridge. Feeling accomplished, we set our sights on Santa Cruz. We stopped at an old general store and, of course, found the only lake nearby to explore.
After a quick tour of my California casa, we went to dinner at a small Italian restaurant, then ended the night at a wine club down the road. We sipped sparkling wine while she whooped me in rummy, the only card game we really know how to play. At some point, we agreed we should probably learn euchre, considering we’re from the Midwest.
Laughing at a reality TV recap podcast, we drove through endless farmland as a storm rolled over the Santa Cruz Mountains. I was excited to arrive, not just because I was tired of driving, but because I finally got to show her the life I’ve been living for the past half year. She’d seen most of it on FaceTime, but it felt different to reveal the details in person.
Cruising the Coast
I made a quick breakfast the next morning before we headed to my gym for yoga and a walk to Natural Bridges State Beach. After poking sea urchins and anemones in the science center’s touch tanks, we wandered coastal trails and ate clam chowder on the Santa Cruz Wharf.
Although I could have happily rotted in bed watching sailing couple videos on YouTube, I did homework while my mom napped. She could tell I needed stillness—one of those perks of being with your mom: she can predict your emotional weather before it changes.
We left before dinner to drive the coast up to San Francisco, where I’d drop her at her hotel. Our first stop was Pigeon Point Lighthouse. It was wildly windy but beautiful. Then we made it to Gray Whale Cove State Beach just in time for sunset, streaks of light breaking through the fat clouds to cast a golden glow on the bluffs. It felt like a quieter version of Big Sur.
By then we were hungry and slightly unhinged, parked at the coolest Taco Bell I’ve ever seen (right on the ocean!) and somehow spent far too long deciding where to eat. Everything sounded equally good and equally boring. My mom picked a place called Must Be Dumpling, then immediately decided she didn’t want dumplings after getting seated.
We ended up at a brewery where the food and service were terrible, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I was trying to stretch our last conversation in person. I asked her what she’d do differently if she could do it all over again. It was a heavy question, but it stayed with me afterward—making me evaluate the unchecked items on my life bucket list and think of ways to share the experiences with her.
At the hotel, we gave each other about five long hugs and three “I love yous” before I got back in my car and returned to life as usual.
Train the Brain
Honestly, It didn’t hit me until a few days later. The trip I had looked forward to for months was over. I have a crippling problem with nostalgia. The second something ends, I begin to ache for the before, for the excitement of the anticipation. It’s a dampening feeling, a longing to go back to the start of the loop.
But as I reflect, I make an effort to replace these thoughts with gratitude. I’m attempting to gradually train my brain to be glad moments existed in the first place, rather than sad that they’re over. What stands out most about the trip isn’t the ending but my mom. She’s the part of me that’s light and spontaneous. I can be too bold, too brash, too regimented, but being with her—someone who loves simplicity—softens all of that. And for that, and a million other reasons, I’m so lucky to be her daughter. Happy Mother’s Day to the woman who finally met a redwood and makes my life complete!