Journal № 014 — The Bravest Woman I Know.
It began with a yes.
A quiet yes from a woman who has spent most of her life putting others first. A woman who raised two children on her own without ever asking for help. Who worked hard, stayed strong, and rarely gave herself permission to simply be. After years of traveling with someone by her side, losing that companion left her hesitant. She became unsure of how to move through the world alone. Unsure of how to say yes without someone next to her. She got scared of the world, scared of what people might think, scared of taking up space.
But the woman I know is brave. Not just in the way people use that word lightly. Her bravery was quiet and constant. She raised me and my sister on her own, working part-time jobs that somehow stretched far enough to cover not just our needs, but our dreams too. I never felt the absence of a father figure or the lack of his income. What I had was a mother who showed up every single day. Who made us feel whole, even when she was carrying more than her share. Because of her, I became a man who understands what strength looks like. A man with integrity. A man who respects women, not because he was told to, but because he was raised by the best example there is.
So for her 70th birthday, I wanted to remind her. Not with speeches or gifts, but with the kind of journey that starts in your feet and works its way to your heart. I wanted her to feel life again. To feel the freedom of saying yes, even when it’s scary. To remember how strong she is.
She thought we were heading to Miami. But instead, I picked her up at JFK and turned the wheel north. Just me, my mom, and the pups, Freyja and Frigg. We let the map unfold without much of a plan, weaving through cities and towns, driving the coastline, and following whatever felt right in the moment. From New York City’s old neighborhoods to small harbor towns in New England, we shared meals, walked new streets, and talked more than we had in years. There was lobster, bookstores, salt air, slow mornings, and the kind of laughter that only happens when time stretches.
We made our way up through Portsmouth, Newburyport, Gloucester, and Boston. Then out to Provincetown and finally the quiet hills outside Rhinebeck, NY, where we stayed in a cabin surrounded by trees, built with care and intention. We watched movies, lit fires, and made s’mores together for the first time in our lives. Something simple we had never done as a family. We visited the Woodstock monument, stood in silence, and let the past meet the present. Every part of the trip felt like a return. Not just to places, but to ourselves.
Two weeks. A stretch of time that gave us more than just memories. We didn’t just visit places. We felt them. We were in them. And through it all, I saw my mom begin to remember who she is.
Not someone who needs to be taken care of.
Someone who can still say yes.
Bravery isn’t always loud. Sometimes it looks like boarding a plane alone. Sometimes it’s ordering a glass of wine at a quiet bar, solo. Sometimes it’s walking into the world again after a long time away.
This trip wasn’t just overdue. It was necessary. For her. For me.
And I hope she carries that courage home with her. So the next time life calls, she doesn’t wait for a plan.
She just goes.