One shouldn’t miss the forest for the trees.

My mom used to say, “One shouldn’t miss the forest for the trees,” and honestly, I didn’t really get it as a kid. She said it all the time—when we were rushing through things, focusing on the little stuff, or just generally not paying attention to the bigger picture. One time it really stuck was during a family RV trip we took across the U.S. My mom, dad, sister, and I hit the road in this huge, moving house of a vehicle, and to me, that was the coolest part. I was obsessed with the bunk beds, the snacks, the fact that we could literally eat cereal while flying down a highway.

But my mom had other plans. She handed my sister and me these blank travel journals and told us we had to write something down for every state we passed through. I remember thinking, “This isn’t school, this is vacation!” I just wanted to look out the window and play cards or nap or eat chips. But she was firm—just a few lines, write what you see, what you feel, anything. At the time, I thought it was just another mom thing, a chore tucked into a road trip. I didn’t realize she was giving us a way to hold onto it all.

Now I look back at those journals and they’re gold. They’re messy and funny and full of little kid handwriting and big emotions. Things I would’ve forgotten if I hadn’t written them down. My mom was right, as usual. I was so caught up in the fun of the ride—the “trees”—that I almost missed the bigger picture, the “forest.” She knew one day I’d want to remember more than just how cool the RV was. She wanted us to see where we were, who we were, and how we were changing with every mile. And thanks to her, I do.