When my genealogical research revealed that I did indeed have Scottish lineage, despite what all my relatives said, I sort of felt like I was meant to find out. Maybe it was God, maybe it was the universe, maybe it was someone/something else, but I knew it wasn't just a coincidence.

Then, at my first Highland games in my homemade black twill kilt, my first experience hearing massed bands in person turned me into an absolute weeping mess. For some reason, I felt homesick.

I don't know how I feel about reincarnation yet, but I am starting to think there may be something to the idea of cellular memory.