When I started my academic and professional life, I had a very clear path in mind: get good grades, get a degree, get high impact factor publications, get recognized by peers, get a good position, get promoted. Get Get Get. Climb Climb Climb. Be bold. Be Ambitious. Be Brave.

Never have I ever felt like I was not striving for more, so focused on the conveyor belt of the professional achievement. Then, my husband and I bought a car. For the first time in my life, we decided to make an investment that many take for granted. To be fair, since I was 19 I had been living in cities where I could get around by riding a bus or a bike, and never felt I needed to drive. Sure, I got a license because I felt I had too, but never had any intention, nor any pull to use it.

Until we bought this car, and my ineptitude started weighting on me. How can I call myself a feminist, an accomplished, independent woman, if I always depend on others to drive me?

For a long time I have masked this insecurity by trying to convince myself that driving was not an essential skill. And let me clear: it is not a fundamental one, it really depends on your needs. Yet, the paradox of facing bravely my life at each pivot, while shaking in fear at the thought of being behind the wheel, gave me an unexpected kick.

And so I did it: I booked a driving lesson, and this morning I sat behind the wheel for the first time in 20 years. It was scary, and exciting, and proud. Still, driving feels like such a basic skill to have, that I wondered if I am even allowed to feel so excited about it.

The honest answer? Yes, I am! I was busy reaching for the stars, and I forgot that basic can be brave.