It occurred to me that she was the one who had told me I could be the kind of woman who is free to do whatever she chooses. My mother had never once been surprised when I accomplished something. She had never believed me when I told her I would fail, even when she took me to the airport with my hulking backpack when I was twenty-two and afraid of Phnom Penh, afraid of Katmandu, and, of course, so was she. She didn’t say, “You’re right, it’s too dangerous—let’s go home.” She said, “Get on the plane. You’ll be fine.”
