Different Stories. Same Feelings.

I could almost smell my father’s aftershave from 30 years ago.

That’s probably a strange way to begin a Note about music, but it’s where this one started for me to be honest.

A few days ago, I was reading a message from someone who had listened to Time together with their child. They are going through a difficult period, and the song had somehow helped them share something emotional together. Something that brought them closer together to face the world and its hardships.

And while I was reading it, something happened that I hadn’t expected.

I was suddenly reminded of my own father. Not just the things he used to say (and still says) or what it felt like when he comforted me during some of the more difficult years of my childhood. I could almost smell the aftershave or cologne he used back then. I honestly couldn’t tell you what it was called, but for a brief moment it felt as familiar as if I’d been standing next to the version of him from thirty-something years ago.

Memories are strange that way.

Time was written about experiences that stayed with me for a very long time. About being young, feeling powerless and trying to believe that things wouldn’t always be the way they were. My father used to tell me: Your time will come, and those words eventually found their way into the song.

Years later, I found myself saying the exact same thing to my own son.

And now, somehow, a song that grew out of those memories had become part of a moment between another parent and child.

I sat there thinking about that for quite a while.

Not because someone had told me they liked the song, although of course that means a lot too. But because two people I’d never met had found something in those words that helped them find a deeper connection with each other.

Their story wasn’t mine. I don’t know everything they’ve been through, and I wouldn’t pretend to understand their situation just because I wrote a song they connected with.

But I recognised the feeling.

Something similar happened with Trust.

Someone shared a deeply personal experience with us after listening to the song. Their story involved a kind of betrayal that was completely different from the experiences behind the lyrics in Trust, yet they recognised something of their own life in the lyrics and found strength by making them their own.

And that’s something I find fascinating about music.

I wrote Trust about something very specific. The circumstances, the events involved and the things that happened were mine. But the emotions behind those experiences aren’t exclusive to me.

Betrayal doesn’t always look the same, and doesn't even have to involve a person. Neither does fear, anger or the struggle to trust someone or something again. You can arrive at those feelings through completely different experiences and still recognise them when someone else puts them into words.

When people send us messages like these, I sometimes find myself thinking more about what they’ve told me than about the fact that they’ve listened to our music.

Especially when someone shares something painful or very personal. I wonder how they’re doing now, whether things have become easier and what it must have taken for them to share something so personal with someone they’ve never met. And I feel grateful that they chose to tell us how our music has brought something positive even if it reminds them of something hard.

There’s obviously a certain satisfaction in writing something that connects with people. I don’t think any songwriter would deny that. You spend a lot of time trying to find the right words for something you feel, and knowing that those words have reached someone is an incredible feeling.

But for me, the most meaningful part is knowing that a song might have helped someone. Maybe it gave them a little strength when they needed it. Maybe it brought back a memory they’d forgotten, helped them understand something about themselves or simply made them feel less alone for a few minutes.

For me, I think that’s worth far more than being told you’ve written a good song.

And it’s something I couldn’t really have fathomed before we started making music again, and releasing these songs so that my lyrics and stories now reach people all over the world.

For months, Circles Of was a collection of stories and songs that belonged to us. We knew where the songs came from and what we wanted to say with them, we had our own interpretations of every line, because we knew the experiences behind them.

But the people listening to them now don’t have those memories. They have their own, and as I've written before: Now the songs belong to everyone who listens and feels something because of them

And sometimes those memories and feelings lead them somewhere completely different from where the song began in our heads. But that doesn’t make their interpretation wrong, if anything, I think it’s part of what makes music so interesting and beautiful.

A song about one kind of betrayal can help someone through another. A song about a childhood experience can become something meaningful between a parent and child who have lived another life but needed that song in that moment to connect even deeper.

The circumstances don’t have to match for the feelings to be familiar. I’ve been thinking quite a lot about that since those messages arrived.

Especially the one about Time.

Because somewhere in the middle of someone else’s story, I found myself remembering a moment from my own childhood with a clarity I hadn’t experienced in years.

My father’s arms around me. His words telling me that my time would come. And that familiar smell I hadn’t thought about for so long.

I don’t know what that parent and child will remember about listening to Time together. Maybe it will stay with them forever, or maybe it was simply something they needed at that particular moment.

Either way, I’m glad the song could be there. And I’m grateful for all the stories we are being told on how you all connect to our songs.

Because while the songs may have given you something, your messages gave something back to me too.

In this particular case, a memory I hadn’t realised was still quite so close. But all combined they also give a sense of kinship, that we can be there for each other in one way or another by connecting through our music.

Different stories, different lives, same feelings.