Finding out why I do what I do was important for me. And I believe you can discover your why, too. It’s already in you, like it was for me. You just need to look closer to who you are.

Here’s my story.

When I was growing up, in the beginning of every summer, my parents would drop me off at my dad’s mom’s house. She lived by herself in a small village 12 km from my town. I have many memories hitch-hiking with my dad at the outskirts of the town, catching a ride with strangers and then walking from the of the village center to the outskirts to my grandmother’s house. Here, we would always meet new friends like – a cat, a dog, a goose, a duck, a horse, a cow or a donkey.

The village was always full of new experiences for me. As a child who was growing up in a concrete apartment building in the busy town, these summers felt like freedom and exploration. When I was at my grandma’s house, I became one of the villagers. Grandma would take me to visit her friends and our extended family. She would introduce me to everyone we met, and she made sure they knew I belonged to her, as her granddaughter, and I belonged to the villagers, as one of them.

I had never realized what she really did, until this moment. Grandma didn’t say I was visiting her from the town. She always said I was there, with her. Thus, I have never felt like I was a visitor. And nobody would treat me like a visitor either.

During my stay there, at grandma’s house, she would ask me to go get things for her on my own. I remember going to get bread from the store one time, and everyone I had met greeted me with a smile, asked how my grandma was, inquired about my trip and wished me to be safe. As part of the villagers, I was cared for and protected by everyone.

But I was also a blessed one. My grandma was a modest woman who lived in a house that didn’t have plumbing. Water was in a well outside and there was an outhouse. It had electricity because I remember she had a small refrigerator that was half of the size of the one we had in our apartment, and she had a tv in one of the bedrooms that worked for a few minutes and then it would quit. Grandma lived alone because my grandpa died when I was really young. He was her second husband, and she never re-married again. Her first husband had never returned from the war.

Grandma was the wisest person I have ever met despite the fact that she only had four years of schooling. The war cut short her opportunity to learn. Yet, growing up, I didn’t know that.

What I had known, as a child, that everyone loved my grandma. People would stop by and come in for a few minutes to say hello and check on her well-being. On the street, people would greet her with a smile, sometimes with a hug, and the conversations would always be kind, loving and friendly. I felt her warmth, her optimism, and her faith in every interaction. She didn’t have wealth to give, but she had an infinite wealth of kindness towards everyone. She lived in the present and was always present with people. I felt her presence as a child by just watching these interactions. I have no doubt those who received her presence felt it, too.

One day this presence of hers gave me the biggest gift I could have ever received from her.

I was probably around 5 or 6 years old. I wasn’t in school yet, I remember. We were sitting on her folding couch that at night opened up into my bed. We must have been daydreaming together or she was just finishing up telling me a story. I loved her stories. She didn’t have toys for me to play with, but I wouldn’t have wanted them anyways. She would teach me about gardening, about plants, trees, flowers, and bees. She would teach me about how to feed the chickens, how to play with the dog, and so much more. But her stories were the best time of the day. I would ask her all sorts of questions and she would answer all of them – about her life, her childhood, and her experiences during the war.

My curiosity was thriving when I was with her. She always listened to me and gave me her attention.

That day she turned towards me and said she had a question for me. I was eager to hear it.

“What do you think people will do after I die?”

I remember I didn’t think long or twice about my answer. My face turned happy, my voice was cheerful, and I joyfully started telling her about how we would have a big party at her house, probably the whole village would be there, and we would have good food and music to celebrate her and her life.

Grandma’s face was puzzled for a minute. I could see she was surprised by my answer. It wasn’t the “normal” or the “obvious” answer. Although I am not sure what she wanted to hear, I remember her eyebrows lifting like she was ready to correct me.

But she didn’t.

She lowered her eyebrows and smiled.

Her eyes were shining, almost laughing and she said, “Tell me more.”

And I did. I went on imaging all the details my young child’s mind was able to imagine.

I felt so much joy as I was telling her about her afterlife celebration party that I can still feel it every time I think about that moment.

I was young. I had no concept of death or dying or mourning. I only knew about what was in my heart. And what was in my heart was what I have experienced while being with her: joy, happiness, and celebration of life.

Why wouldn’t I continue to live life like that?

My grandma couldn’t have wanted me to be sad, depressed and isolated. She would have wanted me to live a full life, filled with what I wanted to fill it with: my wants, my wishes, and my dreams.

For many years I didn’t even realize how significant this moment, this memory was for me.

I think my discovery came after someone asked me “Andrea, where do you gain your power of choosing to be yourself and believing in yourself, no matter the situation and the circumstances you have lived through?”

That question got me wondering. I didn’t know where my powerful belief was coming from. Yet, it existed, others saw it, I saw it, I knew about it, … so it must be rooted inside of me … somewhere.

That question started me on a journey, an inner journey that would change my life, and my work.  As a result, I uncovered a gift, my grandma’s gift. It was like a hidden diamond that had been covered up by so many other painful memories in my life. And for years I was afraid to look there, because of the fear of re-living those painful memories again. But this time, I knew digging deeper would become my transition through those memories.  

What grandma gave me that day was the gift of seeing me for who I truly was. She didn’t judge me for being different. She didn’t scold me for being wrong. She didn’t want to change me.

She accepted me for who I was. She allowed me to be in that space of my very essence and to invite my curiosity and creativity to imagine something that has not been created yet. She understood how important was to hold such a space for someone – indifferent to their age – and listen. She knew when you listen like that, you can really see and hear someone. As she would have said it “You can hear someone’s heart sing.” And that is a very special moment. Because when you hear someone’s heart sing, you don’t listen with your ears. You listen with your heart. This is how your heart can open another heart.

My grandma’s biggest gift to me was giving me this experience of being truly seen and heard.

It sounds like such a small thing. Do you really want someone to see and hear you in life? Or do you want to be rich and successful instead?

I say yes, yes you do. You just don’t know what you are missing until you meet someone, and you truly feel seen and heard.

I am blessed to have found my memory and grandma’s gift. And I pass on this gift to every engineering leader I work with.

Many people, including you, I believe, had hidden such a memory in their hearts somewhere deep down and had forgotten about their gifts. Yet your why, your memory and your gift is inside of you.

I have been witnessing it over and over in my work. When I have powerful conversations with engineers and when I listen to them, like my grandma listened to me, they can locate their memories again.

They are able to connect with their why again.

You have been given a gift sometime, too. Go find it. If I was able to find it, you could, too. I believe you can. Go find it.