Look At Me

Memoir, Photography

When quarantine and social isolation really began to settle into my mind and body earlier this year, I wrestled with the uncomfortable sensation of the walls of our home closing in on me.

I felt trapped, unsettled, powerless… all the while I had to give my best to my daughter, my partner, my work – there were expectations and responsibilities that I could not shirk. Sometimes I felt like my best wasn’t good enough, and though I tried to be kind and compassionate to myself, the guilt still weighed on me.

Our small walk-in bedroom closet has always been the preferred place for me to practice meditation, but it also became a safe space for me to indulge during my precious bit of alone time.

I found a blessed escape in the guitar, returning to an instrument that I hadn’t played in ages. Cross-legged and crammed, I delighted in the pressure on my fingertips, the lick and thrum of the strings, the beauty vibrating and filling my private chamber.

One of the songs that I recorded in the closet was a favorite by John Lennon – a heartaching and vulnerable outpouring that echoed my own soul’s cry to see and be seen; to understand and be understood… to love and be loved.

Look at me –
Who am I supposed to be?
Who am I supposed to be?

Look at me –
What am I supposed to be?
What am I supposed to be?

Look at me –
Oh my love, oh my love.

Here I am –
What am I supposed to do?
What am I supposed to do?

Here I am –
What can I do for you?
What can I do for you?

Here I am –
Oh my love, oh my love.

Who am I?
Nobody knows but me.
Nobody knows but me.

Who am I?
Nobody else can see
Just you and me.

Who are we?
Oh my love, oh my love.
Oh my love.

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