Not too long ago, my uncle passed away. Going through his life, and the way he had lived it, the reality of loneliness became almost tangible to me. It touched me deeply and I started seeing that loneliness. My own, and the kind I saw reflected in people around me. Islands was born out of that loneliness.
For my uncle, loneliness had become a way of life. He had crossed beyond despair and settled into it—found some measure of comfort in being alone, in knowing he had lived the life he chose. But standing there, I couldn’t help but feel the cost. Because when we live as islands, we lose something essential. We forget how to truly reach across.
We like to believe we understand each other, but so often we don’t. And yet, there’s something in us that aches for connection—an instinct as old as being human. The tragedy is that the longer we stay on our own little islands, the more difficult it becomes to build bridges. Our world shrinks, and so does our capacity for fellowship.
Islands is my attempt to hold that truth in song. To name the loneliness that so many carry. To remind myself—and maybe you—that no man is truly an island.