Cayli Cavaco Reck

A month from today I will pack up the car with a mattress topper, shower caddy, and whatever else I am currently being targeted for on social media, and drive what I anticipate will feel like the shortest six hours of my life.

A few days later, I’ll drive that same route home after dropping my firstborn at college. I suspect those will be the longest six hours.

I have spent the last 18 years knowing this moment would arrive.

I have spent the last 335 days preparing.

Who’s counting?

Me.

I am counting all of it.

Only now I realize it all counts, just not in the way I once thought it would.

I had 13 summers with my mom.

So far I have had 21 with my husband, 18 with my daughter, 16 with my son, and 49 with my dad.

As I begin making lists, in my mind, in my Notes app, on scraps of paper, I notice that every list is really asking the same question.

What is enough?

Enough sheets to change the bed weekly and the pillowcase daily if your skin breaks out. (Pro tip.)

Enough underwear to let laundry day have some ease.

Enough skincare to share.

Enough shoes to have options.

Enough familiar things to remind you of home.

Enough empty space to invite something new.

Enough calls and texts to offer support without becoming a tether.

Enough opportunities to come home.

Enough opportunities to make a life that has nothing to do with home.

And then, beneath every practical list, sits the only question that really matters.

Have I given her enough guidance?

Enough confidence?

Enough agency?

We have a lifetime to find out.

This is us celebrating 10 years of Knockout Beauty last week.