During World War II, countless people were displaced from their homes. Some were imprisoned in concentration camps. Many left to fight in the war. Others fled to safer lands. When the war finally ended, the chaos and devastation were almost unimaginable.
Among those displaced were a number of French soldiers suffering from amnesia. Because of trauma and the horrors they had endured, these men emerged from the war with no recollection of who they were, where they had come from, or even their own names. Their memories had been completely erased.
Someone had an idea.
An event was organized at the Paris Opera House with the hope of reuniting these lost soldiers with their families. Anyone searching for a missing loved one was invited to attend. One by one, the soldiers would stand on stage before the audience in hopes that someone in the crowd would recognize them.
I imagine people slowly filing into that theater, carrying a mixture of hope and heartbreak. Wives searching for husbands. Parents searching for sons. Sisters searching for brothers. People trying not to get their hopes up too high because they had already experienced tremendous loss.
Finally, the moment came.
One soldier stepped into the spotlight. He walked to the front of the stage, looked out into the darkness of the crowd, and shouted in French:
“Does anybody know who I am?”
I don’t know how the story ends. I don’t know if someone in that audience recognized him and rushed forward. I don’t know if that soldier ever rediscovered his identity. But I do know that his question has stayed with me.
Because the truth is, you don’t have to be a French soldier to ask that question.
How many of us are wondering if anyone really knows who we are?
Not the carefully crafted version we post on social media. Not the highlight reel. Not the perfect family photos, vacation pictures, promotions at work, or accomplishments.
But the real us. The dreams we’re chasing. The struggles we’re carrying. The fears we’re hiding. The roadblocks we’re facing. The things that bring us joy. The things that keep us awake at night.
How many people truly know those parts of us?
I was at dinner last night in Vail, Colorado, with Jill, Tate, and one of Tate’s hockey friends. At the table next to us sat a family of five. Mom, dad, and three kids.
Everyone was on their phone. The entire meal. They barely looked up when their food arrived. And honestly, it broke my heart.
Here was a teenage girl, perhaps searching for connection through Snapchat, sending messages to dozens of friends. Yet the people sitting closest to her, the people who know her best and love her most, were missing an opportunity to truly connect.
Mom and Dad had a chance to ask questions, hear her heart, and understand what was happening in her life. Instead, everyone sat together physically all while remaining emotionally disconnected.
I have spent the last 30 years coaching leadership teams. I’ve talked with thousands of employees, and one question surfaces over and over again, whether it’s spoken aloud or not: “Does anyone here really know me?” Does my boss know me? Does my company care about me? Does anyone see me as more than a job title or employee number?
As Heart-Led Leaders, it is our responsibility to answer those questions. We must go beyond managing performance and start to truly know the people we serve. We must take the time to ask questions. To listen. To understand. To make people feel seen.
Because at the end of the day, that’s what most of us are chasing.
Over the last 27 years, through our National Leadership Academy and Global Youth Leadership Academy, I’ve had the privilege of working with more than 15,000 high-school students. And I can tell you this with absolute confidence: these young people are starving for connection.
They want someone to know them. They want someone to hear their story. They want someone to care enough to ask another question.
The solution isn’t complicated.
We need to become the kind of leaders, spouses, parents, friends, and coworkers who care enough to slow down and listen.
Ask the extra question. Put the phone away. Create space for people to share their stories. Make eye contact. Be curious. Be present.
Because behind every face is a person quietly asking the same question that the French soldier asked from the Paris Opera House stage all those years ago:
“Does anybody know who I am?”
And the greatest gift we can give another human being is shouting at the top of our voices, “Yes, I know you!”