Progress Rowed by Patience and Purpose Together
Let patience and purpose be the twin oars of your progress. — Harriet Tubman
Twin Oars, Single Direction
Tubman’s image invites us to picture a small boat: two oars dipping in rhythm, each necessary to move straight ahead. Patience without purpose leaves us drifting in place; purpose without patience spins us in circles. Progress, then, is not merely motion but coordinated movement, achieved when steadiness and direction work in concert. In this sense, the metaphor is less about speed and more about symmetry—about keeping both hands on the work, evenly.
Patience in the Shadows
Historically, Tubman’s campaigns required a disciplined patience that favored timing over impulse. She planned escapes for winter months and dark-of-the-moon nights, and often moved on Saturday evenings so notices in Monday papers would lag behind (Kate Clifford Larson, Bound for the Promised Land, 2003). Through disguises, quiet observation, and carefully chosen routes, she reduced risk at every turn, coordinating with free Black communities and abolitionist networks (National Park Service, Harriet Tubman Underground Railroad). Such patience was not passivity; it was a protective silence before the decisive stroke.
Purpose that Returns
If patience set the tempo, purpose set the destination. After freeing herself in 1849, Tubman repeatedly returned south, guiding family and others to freedom—about 13 trips and roughly 70 people, according to Larson (2003). Her oft-cited boast, “I never ran my train off the track, and I never lost a passenger,” appears in Sarah H. Bradford’s Scenes in the Life of Harriet Tubman (1869), capturing the moral clarity that animated her missions. Purpose, in her life, meant coming back again and again until the work was done.
When Waiting Turns to Action
Patience prepared the way for swift, purposeful action during the Combahee River Raid (June 2, 1863). Tubman scouted river channels, mapped rice plantations, and assessed Confederate defenses; then, alongside Col. James Montgomery, she guided Union gunboats that liberated more than 700 enslaved people in a single night (National Park Service; Smithsonian Magazine, 2018). Here, the oars moved in unison: careful reconnaissance followed by decisive, communal rescue. The lesson endures—wait to understand, then act to transform.
The Science of Grit and Timing
Modern research echoes this pairing. Angela Duckworth defines grit as passion and perseverance for long-term goals—purpose sustained over time (Grit, 2016). Meanwhile, studies of self-regulation and delayed gratification suggest that pacing effort and managing impulses enable wiser choices under pressure (Walter Mischel, The Marshmallow Test, 2014). Taken together, they imply that progress is rarely a sprint; it is the practiced cadence of knowing what matters and enduring long enough to achieve it.
Practical Oarstrokes for Today
Translate the metaphor into practice by drafting a one-sentence purpose, then aligning weekly commitments to it. Set “patient” rituals—quiet planning, staged milestones, and recovery time—so that urgency never erodes judgment. Conversely, schedule small, bold actions that honor purpose now: one call, one prototype, one conversation that moves the boat forward. As you refine cadence, measure progress by learning gained, not just tasks completed. In this way, patience becomes cumulative rather than delaying, and purpose remains vivid rather than abstract.
Legacy and Collective Navigation
Finally, Tubman’s oars rowed for a people, not only a person. Her legacy ripples into movements that link moral purpose with steady organizing, such as the Combahee River Collective’s A Black Feminist Statement (1977), named for her Civil War raid. Their insight—that liberation is indivisible—reminds us that disciplined patience amplifies justice, and focused purpose prevents drift. Thus, our progress is most reliable when we row together, keeping time with both courage and care.