Frostwritten

One of the first albums I ever bought with my own money was Keane’s 2004 album Hopes and Fears. I bought it at an outlet mall in the Poconos while on vacation with my family, and listened to it on my walkman the entire trip. Although it is, to this day, one of the only albums I can listen to without skipping any songs, I mainly bought it because of the single “Somewhere Only We Know,” which became an anthem for me in my early-mid teens.

I have always considered it a song about reflecting. Looking back at a place of comfort when the road ahead is uncertain. About having a place to call home, where you can always return when facing adversity, or when things aren’t so simple.

Whenever my best friend comes back to town, we go for a walk to catch up. The weather has always cooperated with us, whether it be the middle of July or late November. We go to a local hiking/biking trail and get in a good 8-10 miles. The last time, which was only a few weeks ago, we very nearly didn’t make it back to our cars before the sundown curfew.

This trail has become a “somewhere only we know,” for me. A place to reflect. This past visit, I found myself feeling oddly nostalgic for my hometown. I drove by my old family home, where my parents lived for 25 years, and saw renovation vans parked out front. I drove through a town I no longer know by heart. I saw new signs and facades replacing the old. And yet it still felt like a homecoming, even though I’m disconnected from it, and will likely never live there again, and didn’t always like living there in the first place. Someone else driving through that small, Central PA town won’t see it the same way I do.

I listen to that song often. When I’m sad, lonely, or even just as a small comfort on a tough day. It evokes nostalgia, and also hope. And It makes me feel like home.