In 2019, I finished my career as a student. From preschool to a PhD, I spent a lot of time BIS (butt-in-seat)—attending classes, completing homework, writing. And then every once in a while there was less time BIS, as with the thousands of hours I spent procrasticleaning or procrasticrafting when I “should’ve been” writing over the years.

In 2019, my mother passed. One of the last things she did for my siblings and me was to write us each a final note, for our father to forward to us after she died. My mother wrote about my “ambition,” my drive: this surprised me. Looking back at my education, I always thought I was just doing what was expected of me, following through on a path that felt obvious to me.

Yes, I loved the challenge, I loved competition, and I loved going above and beyond. But I also loved getting to tell my mother about it. Cathy Leibman set such a strong example for me. I wanted to do right by her, to show her what I could do, just as she had accomplished so much across her lifetime.

When I think of that year of arrivals and departures, I’m reminded of a line that predates both me and my mother. American newspaper editor Hodding Carter wrote, “A wise woman once said to me that there are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One of these she said is roots, the other, wings.”

Writing Prompt

Set a timer for five minutes. What are your roots? What are your wings? How do they work together? Which do you need most right now?