It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. I was in Lisbon for my birthday trip and decided to visit Castelo de Sao Jorge. I walked up the winding cobblestone path toward the church, my hands brushing along the stone walls, stopping to touch the rough bark of the trees that lined the ascent. I don’t know what drew me to feel the ancient textures—instinct, maybe—but the moment my fingers made contact, something inside me shifted.