Maybe this hit home because my mom was 35 when she had me; and when I turned 35, we traveled to Iceland together to bury her mother in her hometown. My daughters loved my Amma, and she was my last living grandparent and the only one to meet my youngest. She died at age 91, two months after she fell and broke a hip, but every day leading up to that she was independent and capable, and losing that was hard on her. I couldn’t help but appreciate her legacy and her story, and my own mom’s life as I learned so much more about her on that journey. I thought long and hard about what generations after me will be like and what I can do to affect that. And suddenly, at the age of 35, urgency sunk in, but instead of being scared I became inspired.