Stepping Stones

When I decided to set out and pursue my senior year bucket list, I should’ve realized that it would require two things I don’t quite have: time and money.

Despite my intentions to embrace senioritis and forget about job searching and classes, I can’t bring myself to take time away from those commitments. Instead, I’m continuing to squeeze in my senior year experiences between homework assignments, writing tests for employers and wrapping up my final issue of MQ.

So, rather than attempt to fit a semester’s worth of bucket list items into the next four days, I’m going to tell you about some of my other senior year experiences. The ones I didn’t plan on or prep myself for, but that still gave me hope and wisdom and caution for my future. I’ll be the first to admit that I have a tendency to hyper-focus on what’s coming next, to set up expectations for how the experiences I have planned out will change my perception on being a graduating senior. We’ve all done that at some point or another — concentrated only on what lies ahead. But with a majority of my senior year and college career behind me, it feels right to pause and look back.

I hope you all take a second to reflect too, no matter what stage of your life you’re in. I know looking at the past can be painful, especially given all the crazy events that have happened since March 2020. But all of those moments, the good and the bad, are stepping stones for all of us on our way towards becoming who we are now and who we will be someday.

This is the path that my stepping stones followed.

By the time my senior year started, I was tired of waiting.

I wasn’t even entirely sure what I was waiting for. The right looks? Similar interests? A complete telepathic connection where millions of words could be communicated in a single glance?

I wish. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise, boys in real life were nothing like the boys I read about in books. I knew they only set my expectations

too high and made the realities before me

Leanne and Mateo celebrate Valentine’s Day together, reminding each other on this day and every day how much they care for one another.

seem disappointingly low.

The perfect boyfriend didn’t exist, I told myself. It was beyond time for me to stop waiting for him to drop into my lap (or spill coffee on my shirt. Or knock my textbooks out of my hand. Or hit me in the head with an Ultimate Frisbee).

So, at the start of my senior year, I took a more practical approach. I went on as many Bumble and Hinge dates as I could (while still following COVID precautions). I talked to as many guys at once as I could keep up with. I didn’t specify that I was only looking for a relationship on dating apps. I just put myself out there, in the only way I knew how, and waited to see what happened next.

What happened was one case of COVID, one instance of strep throat, three dates in one weekend and the start of a long-lasting relationship.

I went on a couple of dates with Guy #1 around mid-August, and things were going pretty well. But on the day of our fourth date, when I planned on asking him if he wanted to make things serious, I came down with a super bad case of strep throat (which I was convinced was COVID until I got tested).

Guy #1 kept his distance and wished me a safe and speedy recovery. A week passed, and just as I was feeling better, he shot me a text about having a really bad headache. The next day, he and his roommates tested positive for COVID.

I would’ve hung out with him that night if I hadn’t gotten strep throat. Maybe we would’ve gone on a few more dates that week, kept talking and getting to know each other. But the reality is, we lost our momentum while we were both sick (even if he didn’t know it yet). So, the night he told me he had COVID, I jumped back on the dating apps. By the end of the week, I had three dates lined up for Labor Day weekend: Two dinner dates and a trip to Barnes and Noble on Labor Day. I liked talking to Guys #2, 3 and 4 for different reasons, and I wanted to see if the in-person chemistry matched up to the vibe we had over text.

Right as I was leaving for my date with Guy #2, Guy #4 texted me. I wish I could tell you what he said, but I remember how he made me feel. I melted inside, the kind of slow, warm feeling that envelopes your body while simultaneously speeding up your heart rate. For the entire 40 minute drive to see Guy #2, I couldn’t stop thinking about Guy #4.

Lo and behold, the SAME EXACT THING happened before my date with Guy #3. Guy #4 texted me out of the blue, maybe about our upcoming date, maybe about the books we were reading or how work was that day. It didn’t matter. I sat through my dinner with Guy #3 just waiting to be able to text Guy #4.

When the day arrived and I pulled into the parking lot at Barnes and Noble, I remember not just feeling nervous or excited. There was a weight to this moment, a tension in my bones that told me this guy could be different than the other ones. Not just because he wanted to meet in a bookstore and buy books of each other’s favorite authors; it was the way he applauded my work with MQ, made me laugh when I was having a stressful day, opened up about his life and the work he does. Something felt right about the way we vibed, and I just needed that in-person confirmation to know if this could have potential.

I remember how his brown eyes crinkled in the corners as he smiled at me behind his mask. I remember the deep tone of his voice, the way it made my toes curl in my sandals. I remember his tattoo-covered arms, sprawling in stories about the things that are important to him in his life. I remember how he hugged me at the end of our date, how right it felt to be folded against him.

Before my senior year in college, I’d never had a boyfriend. Before January 2020, I’d never kissed a guy. Before the pandemic, I’d never truly contemplated how alone I felt, even as I reassured myself that I was fine not having someone who cared about me romantically. But when I met Guy #4, when

Leanne’s high school friend Madison accepts this horribly dead plant at a Christmas gathering and promises to propagate it and attempt to bring it back to life.

I started dating Mateo, I knew that all the waiting was worth it.

It wasn’t just waiting, though. It was believing in myself and what I had to give to another person that allowed me to put in the work to find him on the dating app. It was having the courage to shed the skin of a girl who only looked for boyfriends in books and become the girl who fell in love with boys in bookstores. It was being confident enough to just be myself, to not pretend to be somebody in a desperate attempt to make a connection. There was no need to pretend with Mateo, because he saw me and understood me completely.

We went back to that Barnes and Noble last week. He bought me another book, I bought him another coffee and we grinned like lovesick fools as we reenacted the scene of our first date. I can’t wait to see how many other goofy and heartwarming and thoughtful moments we share in the months to come.

I had killed it.

For three weeks, I’d kept this stupid plant alive as a Christmas present to my friend. It wasn’t my first choice for a gift, but my other two friends had already claimed the other items on Madison’s Christmas list for our yearly gift exchange. All that remained was “Plants (preferably ones that are easy to care for, but omg no more snake plants, I have four pots of them).”

When I looked up “easy to care for plants,” devil’s ivy was one of the first to pop up. It’s a vining, hanging type of plant that grows with little water and little sunlight. Kevin at epicgardening.com even said the plant goes by that name because “it’s nearly impossible to kill.”

Yeah right, Kevin.

Maybe I potted the tiny sprout wrong when I transferred it from a cup of water to a planter. Maybe I overwatered it once it was in the pot. Maybe I should have paid more attention when Kevin said that only direct sunlight and direct darkness was bad for the plant, and I should not have boxed it up for a four hour car ride from Indianapolis to Chicago on Christmas morning. By the time I reached my friend Janae’s house for our gathering, that sucker was dead.

I didn’t put it with the rest of my and Janae’s presents under a fake palm Christmas tree in her basement, but placed it on an end table off to the side. I didn’t want Madison to realize right away that she’d gotten a plant as one of her presents, and that whoever had gifted it to her had done a shitty job of keeping it alive. The second she saw it, she’d know it was from me anyway.

The four of us — Madison, Janae, Kirsten and I — have exchanged presents every year since junior year of high school. As sixteenyear-olds, we had bonded over shared nerdy interests and AP classes, celebrating homecomings and proms and graduations together without fail.

Even when we scattered across the country for college — I went east to Ohio, Madison headed to Iowa, Kirsten traveled north to Minnesota and Janae escaped west to Colorado — we never lost contact with one another. And we always matched up our winter breaks to be able to see each other at least once a year around Christmas time.

That didn’t quite work this time around.

Primarily, because of the pandemic. Cases were skyrocketing at that time, and the four of us only promised to meet up for a few hours to exchange gifts and watch a movie together, fully masked and socially distant at all times. It was a far cry from the actionpacked weekend we usually crammed in every December, trying to make up for lost time.

But it was also our last winter break as college students, the last time we knew for sure that the four of us would meet up in Chicago to cackle over inside jokes and bond over Mamma Mia movies. Next fall, Kirsten would head to the West Coast for grad school, Janae was moving permanently to Colorado, and Madison and I had no idea where the job hunt would take us.

But what were the chances that we’d all be able to meet up in Chicago around Christmas next year? What if life pulled us in a different direction?

As the four of us sat in Janae’s basement though, opening gifts and sneaking bites of Doritos under our masks, I knew we would be alright. We’d survived not only four years of college apart, but a global pandemic keeping us from in-person visits all year. We’d perfected weekly Bachelor watch parties on Zoom and late-night phone calls when we were stressed. We’d found ways to lean on each other when tight hugs weren’t an option. We’d recognized each other’s growth, from the tiny high school students we were into the adult women we are today.

And we’ll continue to be there for each other, no matter where the future takes us.

Leanne checks out the Continental Divide on her way through New Mexico. This is her first time traveling through the Southwest United States, and she is loving the desert scenery so far.

Leanne (left) spends time at the pier at Manhattan Beach with her parents and older sister on their cross-country vacation.

When everyone had opened the last of their presents, I stood up and started towards the plant sitting on the end table. “I have one more present for you, Madison.”

“Is it that dead plant?” she exclaimed.

The whole world seemed to shake with the force of our laughter.

Without fail, I have worked during every college spring break. No sunny beaches or wild road trips for me. Just putting in as many hours as I could at Shoe Carnival, measuring people’s feet and signing them up for rewards cards they didn’t need.

I thought about planning an elaborate trip sometime my senior year, but when the pandemic hit and Miami announced that spring break would be replaced by wellness days in the 2021 spring semester, I laid those dreams to rest.

Only for my parents — my parents, who insisted I work as much as I could in college — to resurrect those dreams again.

Of course, my senior year spring break trip wouldn’t be a rowdy getaway with my close college friends. It would be a family road trip, traveling from Indiana to California to visit my older sister, Hannah.

Hannah’s partner was away on an extended business trip for three months, leaving Hannah on her own for the first time since the start of the pandemic. We’d only seen her once in the past year, for two days at my cousin’s wedding in October, and with her and my parents half-vaccinated at the time, they decided it was worth it to drive out for a visit.

I couldn’t wait, both for the chance to see my sister and to get out of the Midwest for a while. We’d be traveling through the Southwest, a region I’d never spent much time in aside from layovers in airports, before reaching Manhattan Beach, the L.A. suburb where Hannah lives.

But the closer we got to the trip, the more worry started to set in. Online classes made it easier for me to up and leave for a vacation during school, but it still meant I’d have work to do and classes to attend while I was there. I told myself I’d have roughly five days total in the car to work on assignments when I wasn’t driving.

The journey to Manhattan Beach flew by with barely a dent made in my homework. Between the hours I put in driving and the pile of leisure books I’d brought with me, I couldn’t bring myself to focus on classwork. You’ll find time when you get to Hannah’s, I told myself.

And I did find time, in between visits to the Botanical Gardens and L.A. Zoo, walks down to the beach and yoga in the park. I forced myself to pick up my laptop, go to the next room, and try to focus on my work for MQ or class. But in the background, all I could hear were my parents laughing at something my sister said, the clink of the wine bottle hitting the rim of the glass, the murmur of conversation as my family soaked in their time together. Without me.

Not that I resented my family for having a good time. I was more angry with myself for not trying to get ahead the week before, for scheduling an MQ meeting, for continuing to push things off because I just couldn’t concentrate. It was impossible to focus on work when all I could think about were all the moments I was missing out on right in the other room.

So, eventually, I closed the laptop. I finished the one assignment I absolutely had to get done that week, and pushed off the rest. I only got to see Hannah a few times a year, and I was tired of wasting that precious time. I allowed myself to laugh and drink and soak in those moments too, because God knew I’d earned it.

I’d earned this rest, this break from the constant slog of schoolwork. I’d earned the chance to enjoy an afternoon sitting on the balcony, watching the sun crest over the waves and keeping still when hummingbirds flitted up to my sister’s feeders. I’d earned a reprieve from the guilt that I should’ve been doing something productive.

I’d been productive every other damn spring break of my college career. Between Shoe Carnival and homework, I’d been kept busy enough during my supposed time of rest. Even now, on the fake spring break I was lucky enough to have, I still found myself working.

When I think about the trips I have ahead of me this year, I know one thing for sure. I’m not going to worry about whatever work I might have pressing me at the time. It’ll still be there no matter where I go, what I do, or who I spend time with. And it’s no more or less important than the memories I can make while I fully enjoy my (real) time off.