Somewhere only we know

This song wrecks me...

There’s a song by English alternative band Keane that just absolutely haunts me. You may have heard it—Somewhere Only We Know.

You can listen to it here:

The lyrics of the song place the protagonist (as a writer, I’m always thinking in terms of a protagonist) in an “empty land.” It’s a familiar, wooded place where they sit by a river and, from my perspective, reflect on their life and the people that they once knew. All those souls that flitted in and out of their life, and now they’re gone.

The protagonist says, “I’m getting old and I need something to rely on.” And for me, that feels like crying out to the past, to the people and experiences remembered but are now long gone. It feels like yearning.

The first time I heard the song, it wrecked me.

I’m not prone to this. I’m pretty stoic about most things, most of the time. But there are things in this world, nuances and subtleties, that can work their way through my stony exterior and get right to the tender and sensitive flesh of my heart. There are songs and pieces of writing and films and books that can bring me to my knees.

This song is one of those. It resonates with me. It crumbles me.

The vision that plays in my mind and my heart, when I hear it, is a bunch of childhood memories of roaming the woods behind my house. I would sometimes spend an entire day in those woods, just sitting in solitude, listening to leaves rustling in the wind all around me, feeling the energy of it.

It was like hearing the whisper of God.

I knew, without even having to think about it, that I was only a short walk from my family, despite being in that womb of wooded isolation. I could feel safe and comfortable there, alone in the woods, because everyone I loved was just a short distance away. I always knew the way home.

Over the years, the distance between me and those people I called “home” has increased. And I haven’t always known the way home from where I’ve found myself.

Over decades, with the loss of so many of the people I loved, home has gotten further away. The isolation doesn’t feel as cozy when I remember that my home isn’t quite where it used to be, that many of those people I loved aren’t there anymore. There’s nowhere to return to. Only the mental landscape remains. An empty land.

This song feels like longing.

It feels like I’m back in those woods, living in a simpler and warmer age of my life. A ghost in my own memories. It’s a haunted wood, and I’m the spirit inhabiting it. No longer relevant in that land. Just an echo myself.

The song haunts me because I can remember what it felt like to know that I was loved and cared for, and that there were people who would do anything to make sure I was nurtured, protected, encouraged. Many of those people are gone, and here I am. Not alone, exactly. Not abandoned. I’ve just, somehow, outlived my moment. The show has ended, the curtain is lowering, and for some reason I’m the only one on stage. Everyone else has bowed out.

I think of my Granny a lot, when this song plays. I remember her smile, I remember he hugging me tight when I found out that my mom and my brother were moving far away and I was staying behind. I remember every silly moment we had together, the support she gave me as a writer and an artist, the pride she had when I did something truly good in the world. She inspired me to do good as a matter of habit, and that’s made all the difference in my life.

I also remember all the other souls I’ve lost along the way. My Uncle, who was someone I apparently reminded everyone of so much that I was often called by his name as a kid. My stepfather, who only ever wanted to be my dad, and yet we couldn’t quite learn to understand each other. My old friends who have drifted from my life, becoming practically unreachable after all those years of us being inseparable. I never imagined there could even be a life without them. But here we are.

This song reminds me of all of them. It feels mournful. It feels like longing.

The vision in my mind is of someone hiking out into the forest, after a long life of everyday moments, and finding a spot where they used to spend time alone and with friends. Sitting there with nothing but nature and God as a companion, they think about what was. They recognize that their time is coming—it’s almost the hour. Soon they’ll reunite with all those lost souls and lost moments, and all that will remain in this world of trees and forests and careers and mortgages is this quiet, private spot that only they knew. And then... silence. Stillness.

The world goes on with no memory of who we were or how we lived.

It’s a sadness. But it’s a sweet sadness. It’s mourning, but it’s a healthy mourning. We’re forgotten, but we still were. We still mattered. And always will.

Of course, this may have nothing to do with what Keane and the songwriter had in mind when they wrote the lyrics. But it’s what the song means to me. It makes my heart ache. It brings me to tears remembering all those souls who were my home, and still are, and knowing that there’s a distance between us that can’t be crossed in life.

Songs like this remind us to be alive now, and by choice, and to build those memories and moments with the people we have in our lives. They remind us to remember what was, but don’t forget what is. They teach us to mourn, but with hope. They teach us to remember, and to honor that memory.

I wouldn’t say that this is my favorite song, but it’s one that moves me every time I hear it. And that makes it meaningful to me.

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