I heard this beautiful song by Sampha the other day. It got me thinking about what might be a useful self-reflection exercise. What inhuman object or living thing knows you deeply? Do you talk to your dog when you’re experiencing struggle? Do you sit down at an instrument or with a notepad? Do you go for a drive?
No one knows me like…
A biro. My biro. There have been many. They know my grip and fingerprints. They have felt my pulse and the heat of my skin. They have created the lines and curves of my unique handwriting. A messy scrawl that can’t fill the page fast enough. Or when there are no words, it rests in the valley next to my thumb.
The biro has heard my thoughts, my reflections, my feelings. Notepad upon notepad. It knows what I’ve learned and what I’ve prayed, what I’ve hoped for and what I’ve lost. It knows my story and it has answers I still haven’t worked out for myself.
Yet, I know, I often don’t pull the innermost veil back, even to my biro.
This object may help our self-expression through struggle and is a gift, in that way.
But, it’s not enough, right?
Who knows you? Is anyone allowed that terrifying privilege?