I look back at 1993 or 1994 when I made it to the National

The words of Michelle Kwan—“I look back at 1993 or 1994 when I made it to the National Championships, and I was on used skates and handmade or borrowed costumes. But my mom was there every step of the way for me: she was the one traveling with me all over the world at age 13.”—are a hymn to sacrifice, perseverance, and love. In them, we hear not only the story of a young athlete’s rise, but the echo of an ancient truth: that greatness is never born in isolation, and that behind every triumph stands the quiet labor of love. Her words are a reflection of humility—the remembrance of beginnings that were humble, yet radiant with devotion. They speak of a bond between mother and child, of shared struggle, of the sacred fire that passes from one heart to another when dreams are carried not by wealth, but by will.

In those early years, Michelle Kwan was not yet the legend who would dazzle the world with her grace on ice. She was a child of modest means, skating not in luxury but in borrowed costumes and used skates, the tools of a dream held together by hope. Her story is not merely about the pursuit of victory—it is about the quiet nobility of those who believe when the world does not yet see. Her mother, with hands perhaps weary from toil, was her steadfast guardian, her guide through the storm. Together they traveled, not as tourists of glory, but as pilgrims of purpose. In this, Kwan reminds us that the road to greatness is not paved with gold, but with sacrifice, love, and endurance.

The ancients would have called such devotion sacred. For in every age, there have been mothers who have borne the weight of their children’s destinies upon their backs. Think of Olympias, the mother of Alexander the Great, who instilled in her son the belief that he was born not for mediocrity, but for conquest. Or of Monica, the mother of Saint Augustine, who followed her wayward son across the seas, weeping and praying for his salvation until he became one of history’s great thinkers. Like them, Kwan’s mother walked beside her child, not seeking her own name in lights, but giving everything so that her daughter might rise. This is the timeless law of love: the parent sacrifices, the child ascends, and both are immortalized in the memory of what they endured together.

When Kwan speaks of used skates and handmade costumes, she does not lament; she honors them as relics of her own becoming. For every scrape on those blades, every imperfect stitch, was a symbol of resilience—proof that excellence is not born from abundance, but from discipline. The world often measures success by the splendor of its surface, but the ancients knew better: the true measure of greatness lies in the strength of character forged in struggle. Just as the blacksmith tempers iron through fire, so too did Kwan’s early hardships temper her spirit. The glimmering performances that would one day captivate millions were first kindled in those modest beginnings, when faith was her only wealth.

There is also, in her remembrance, a lesson about gratitude and memory. The truly wise never forget their roots. Kwan, even in her glory, looked back—not with pride alone, but with reverence. In her success, she carried the spirit of her mother, the woman who never let her fall, who traded comfort for companionship, and who traveled the world beside her young daughter with nothing but belief as their compass. Such love is not measured in medals or applause; it is the foundation of greatness, unseen but eternal. Those who forget where they come from lose the anchor of their soul; those who remember draw strength from every humble step that carried them forward.

Consider the story of Abraham Lincoln, who, though he rose to lead a nation, never ceased to speak of his mother, Nancy Hanks Lincoln. She died when he was a boy, but he said, “All that I am or ever hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.” Like Kwan, he understood that the truest power is not in the crown or the office or the medal, but in the unseen love that raised us, believed in us, and taught us how to endure. Every act of greatness, whether on the ice or in history’s pages, is a continuation of that love. It is the divine chain that binds generations in purpose.

So let this story be a lamp for your own path. If you are young and striving, remember that your beginnings, no matter how humble, are sacred. If you have been blessed by the sacrifice of others, honor them not in words, but in excellence. And if you walk beside someone you love—child, student, friend—give as Kwan’s mother gave: with patience, with courage, with faith that does not waver. For greatness is not born in the bright arenas of the world—it is born in the dim rinks, the long nights, the weary journeys, and the hearts that refuse to give up.

In the end, Kwan’s story is not merely about a champion of skating—it is about the power of love, humility, and endurance. Her mother’s footsteps are the quiet drumbeat beneath every triumph, and her words remind us that no one rises alone. The lesson is eternal: cherish your roots, honor your sacrifices, and walk your road with gratitude, for from such soil grows the most enduring kind of greatness—the kind that outlasts victory, and becomes wisdom.