There’s a photo that I’ve been hauling around in a folder for years (at least 30). Of course, I can’t put my hands on it right now, but let me describe it to you. It features a Jewish man who is weeping profusely, his face mostly buried in a damp handkerchief. If you read the caption, he is remembering what happened, probably to his family, in the Holocaust.
Now, why would I carry this newspaper clipping around for so long? Was it his sadness that resonated with me? Or, was it something deeper?
It wouldn’t become clear for years. Eventually, I would see it was related to my identity.
How about you? Have you had a similar experience? Reflect back and share!