Our mission
For twenty years, I've been editing my school's graduation yearbook. Every year I notice the same thing: students learn to love their school only after they've left it. Later, they remember those days with nostalgia. Everyone remembers a detail or two, but no one the whole story.
One summer, a designer colleague invited me for coffee. We had both lost someone close that year, so I assumed we'd be sharing memories.
Instead, he brought up the paper notebooks we all passed around at school, the ones where everyone answered the same questions. "No one has made a digital one yet," he said.
"Maybe that's because nobody needs one," I replied, playing devil's advocate.
"But it's the best way to preserve a beautiful period of life and share it with the people who lived it with you," he said.
"People don't have time for that. It's something from the past," I argued.
"When you read a Leksikon, you realize that the people and moments from the past aren't gone at all. They're always with you," came the reply.
I finished my coffee and said, "Then we need to find the right people to build it."
And that's how the digital Leksikon was born: so everyone can keep close a story about what matters most to them, a story they didn't write alone.