Memory Lane

I love when people write those open letters to their younger selves. I read them. I listen to them. But I’ve never written one myself.

Then, one day, I stumbled on an old photograph. I had just come home from a beautiful outing with a dear friend, and the next day, something inside me stirred. That image unlocked a version of me I hadn’t seen in a while.

We say everything happens for a reason—or a season—and maybe that’s true. That photo felt like a quiet reminder. A safe space. A smile. A sense of relief. The way I felt in that moment is hard to describe. It reminded me of who I was—and how far I’ve come.

I shared the story with others. I even had the chance to talk about it with the person in the photo. And here’s what I realized: Sometimes we don’t think we matter much to people. And sometimes, that’s okay.

But sometimes, we do matter—more than we ever imagined. And hearing that, in their own words, was a gift.