There once was a man who believed that a certain emblem on the front of his car said something important about who he was.
He admired its engineering, its heritage, its quiet prestige. When he was younger, it made him feel that he had arrived — that he was honoring the world his father came from and the one he had built for himself.
Over time, though, something began to change. The emblem no longer shone quite as brightly. Repairs became frequent. Technology passed it by. Yet he held on, believing loyalty meant endurance.
One day, he realized he was no longer driving a car — he was carrying a memory.
He had mistaken sentiment for identity.
So he set the emblem down.
He chose something new, not because it was better or flashier, but because it fit the life he was actually living — simpler, steadier, still beautiful in its way.
And to his surprise, letting go didn’t feel like loss.
It felt like release.
He could remember his father with love, and still move freely in the world of today.