While I walked down the vast; wide hallways of the Smithsonian museum, I walked into all different sized rooms. I attempted to memorize everything around me, I never wanted to forget where I was or what I was saw. I viewed the museum through the lens of my camera, and while I captured as much as I possible could, I managed to abandon everyone I had come with.

I was with a group of hundreds of students from all around the country when I realized one of the most important lessons of my life: I had walked around taking photographs of everything except my experiences. No matter where one goes in life, none of it matters if one does not express it with those one cares about. I had not realized it at the time, but my photographs would have been much more powerful with my peers.

I had lost track of time and forgot to meet up with the larger group. When I realized I had not seen any students who had been previously been walked around, I decided to go to the center. I walked into the vast room, and embraced the sunlight that soared through the glass ceiling. There were dozens of chairs and a stage set up. I was greeted by our leader,

“There you are! Did you get lost?”

“Sorry, I lost track of time. I’m so sorry.” That’s when I noticed the first few rows were empty, the next few rows were full of strangers, and our group was in the middle.

“You were going to miss the citizenship ceremony!” He said as he ushered me to the front row.

“What? Why here? By myself?” I asked as I trembled. I was only thirteen at the time.

“There’s no room in the back, you’ll be fine.” The itinerary informed me the lectures would last two hours. Worse enough, I wasn’t in the back where I could doze off. I was in the front! He seated me all alone in the first seat of the first row. The row I was seated in; and the row behind me were so empty, one would think these seats were reserved. I was mortified.

As I took photos of all the speakers, my ears had been replaced by my focus on getting the right shots. Before I tried to take a video, I looked behind me. Some of my peers looked right at me, but most of them curiously watched the speakers. As I turned back around, an old woman had walked up to the podium. I took a few more photos, when I realized a video would be more valuable. After a few minutes, I realized I did not want to capture this moment forever, I wanted to be there and listen to her. My memories are worth more than a video.

The charismatic woman Gerda Weissmann Klein, an author and Medal of Freedom winner, told us her story, being a Jewish girl and growing up during the Holocaust. She stared into my tears as she told us how all of her family and friends died; that she was one of the lucky ones, and that we were even luckier. The part I remember vividly is when she fell in love with a solider who saved her life. That story, her memory, gave me hope and faith in humanity. It was the most inspired lecture conversation of my life.

I am thankful I learned to put down my camera just in time to hear the most inspirational memoir of my lifetime.