"Find You" by Melissa Polinar

September 12, 2025 

I first heard singer-songwriter extraordinaire Melissa Polinar at a music event called Nitelight Sunset. I believe it was in 2018. I went to the event not knowing any of the artists and just excited to hear live music in an intimate setting.

It’s hard to find the right words to describe my first experience hearing Melissa. There’s something so emotionally penetrating about what she creates. It’s the richness and uniqueness of her voice, the artistry and finesse with which she plays the guitar, and the way the two seamlessly melt together. It’s the fresh and compelling shape of her melodies, and the truth and heart woven into her lyrics.

I’m from the church world, and what we often call it is “anointing.” It’s when something happens that shifts the atmosphere in a way no technical skill alone can accomplish. It’s more than the sound—it moves something in the spiritual and emotional realm.

I quickly found another chance to hear her live, and it confirmed that the first experience wasn’t a fluke—because it happened again.

After several years, I had the chance to see Melissa live once more in June of 2025, and I was thrilled.

She opened with “Find You,” and there I was, crying again. At the time, I couldn’t fully explain why—maybe the excitement of hearing her again, the beauty of the music, the love in the room, or that overwhelming emotional force that sweeps over you and leaves you undone.

The entire concert was amazing, and I was literally sad when it ended. But “Find You” lingered with me. I searched for a version that could capture what I felt live, and I found this one: https://youtu.be/dLyf6KyjKbk?si=KYjPi7FxISmwJCCf. Just Melissa and the guitar.

Again…I was moved to tears. And as a musician, I wanted to understand why. So I started breaking down the parts.

The VoiceI’ve never heard anyone who sounds like her. Her timbre is unmistakable. She knows her voice so well—navigating her registers, shifting from chest to head with ease. The tasteful embellishments, the natural flow, but most of all, the conviction and expressiveness behind every word—like she believes everything she’s singing.

The PlayingI love the guitar, and when she plays, it feels like she and the instrument are one. The blend of strumming with that percussive pulsing, the way the changes frame and support the melody—it’s all seamless.

The SongThe melody itself isn’t standard. It feels like a narration, like an entry straight from her journal. It’s unpredictable, yet it makes perfect sense. It draws you in, makes you listen deeply, but also invites you to sing along.

I was so caught up in the radiance of it all that it took me a while to dig into the lyrics. And when I did, it opened up a well of grief I hadn’t even realized I was still carrying.

In October 2021, my stepdad passed away in a tragic motorcycle accident. He had been in my life since I was four years old—the only father figure I ever knew. We were very different, and we had our struggles, but as two adult men we forged a bond that was equal parts fraternal and paternal, grounded in love, respect, admiration, and acceptance.

He was the strongest and most fearless man I’d ever met. He was also deeply loving and generous. I didn’t always realize it, but there was no greater sound than his voice lighting up whenever we spoke.

Shortly after his passing, I had a dream. We were in his favorite place—inside a vehicle, riding around. I remember the light being so bright, maybe because our smiles were so wide. We were just so happy to be together. We celebrated the fact that he wasn’t really gone, that we had each other again. I told him how much I loved him, how grateful I was for all he had done, and we made plans to prioritize our time together.

I was so happy—until I woke up. My heart pounded, my eyes filled with tears as I frantically tried to seal them back shut.  I wanted to return to that dream, to be with him again. But I couldn’t. The grief of waking up was as devastating as losing him the first time. My heart broke all over again.

“But when my eyes open you disappear… For me to find you, I’ll close my eyes.”

I don’t know what Melissa originally wrote this song about. For me, it connected to grief. It made real for me something I had only heard expressed—that you don’t ever “get over” losing someone you love; you just learn to live with the pain.

I thought I had healed, but this song reminded me of a hard truth: our hearts will always long to go back to when our loved ones were still with us. Only in hindsight do we fully grasp the depth of those connections. But reality doesn’t let us go back. We can only accept what is and make the best of it.

Still, if we can bear the pain of experiencing the loss again, we can close our eyes and return—if only for a moment—to that love, that light, that connection, that presence.

I’m grateful for the healing this song has offered. It opened up my eyes and my heart to be able to release pain that I had not been able to access, and helped me to come to terms with things in a way that has brought peace and continual connection. 

In a way, writing this is a way for me to put my experience into words.  I also use it to honor the incredible gift of Melissa Polinar and hopefully for her to know the impact her gift, her willingness to share and be vulnerable has made in my life.