Upcoming Kickstarter Launch Pep Talk

Hey you there. Be the version of yourself that already did that thing you’ve been dreaming of for so long.

Imagine you’ve run the race, written that first draft, lost the weight, bought that plane ticket, got that promotion, got that raise, paid off that debt, moved into your dream home, found love like you’ve never known before, fill in blank with other future dream HERE . Imagine you’re that future self on the other side of now.

Now consider that the only difference between the YOU of this moment and the YOU in that vision is the future version of yourself has accrued proof that they themselves are, indeed, more powerful than any obstacle that stood in their way toward their goal.

Turns out they’ve learned that time wasn’t that big of a problem, their age wasn’t a factor, their looks weren’t a deal breaker, their never having done it before didn’t stop them, their missteps and hiccups didn’t bring down the whole operation, their fear wasn’t enough to keep them from getting there, and so on and so forth until what they dreamed of was right their in hot little hands.

Now. Instead of waiting to be that version in three months, how ‘bout we all try being that version of ourselves right now?

Yes. We have thoughts about how we’re worthy and how we’re not worthy. Yes, we have thoughts about how our life is structured and what we’re allowed to have and not have inside it. Yes, we wonder if we have what it takes.

Now, remember that the only difference between YOU and Future YOU and is that Future YOU knows they have what it takes.

Newsflash. You can believe that thought right here, right where you’re at. You have what it takes.

I have what it takes. We all have everything we need to get moving toward a future we love and we have permission to find out more as we go, ask for help, celebrate, grow, learn, become a new version of ourselves just by starting the journey in the first place.

So begin the journey today as though you’ve already done it. Trust yourself, treat yourself well in a way that equips you with clear eyes, a strong body, a sound mind, and well-managed emotion. Give more attention to the road and less to the roadblocks.

I’m launching a Kickstarter campaign on Sunday, April 28th. I think of it as a victory lap from day one. That I even got this far to launch a new campaign for a new record is worth celebrating. I’m not going to withhold joy and a sense of self-trust until I’ve earned it by getting fully funded. No. I’m giving myself the joy of achievement from day one. Like the woman who, on day 30, will be abounding with achievement. I’m going to start from there. Why? Because it’s fun, clear, and confident. We get to be that. No more waiting. This is your pep talk. No go be amazing.

It's Sherry's Funeral Today

It's Sherry Hoffschneider's funeral today. Pray for her kids, Becky, Rachel and James. God promises to wrap up those in grief and sorrow and shepherd them to green pastures beside still waters. He doesn't promise to stop the storm, He promises to be safe harbor while everything around us seems to fall apart. He doesn't promise ease, He promises that he will never leave us or forsake us or yell at us to hurry up and get over it. God has more patience than we do, more presence than we do, more grace, more mercy, more love and willingness to be in the pain- way more than we ever will. The significance of a suffering savior suffocating and dying on a cross in real time is that he gave himself to the long process of torture, ridicule, shame, mockery and long painful death in order to know our suffering and be with us in it, to be like us and know what it's like to live this human pain so that in our own pain he comes as a fellow sufferer who chose that pain on our behalf AND he comes as the one son of God sent to rescue us from it for eternity in his sacrificial dying and redemptive resurrection. Thank God for a God who chooses to dwell with us and take on our life as his own so that he might save us from this mournful state and give us freedom and shelter! Jesus is the first of the resurrected. Sherry died and will rise to new life in Christ on the last day. In His we are saved from sin, death and the devil.
Sherry was one of my first friends in Utica because she was aiding in the preschool classroom at the time when we first moved there and I did pick up and drop off at the preschool for Jesse (he was four) and Joey (three). That was like my one social interaction was the pick up and drop off of Fall 2010 and that fall was my loneliest falls on record so far. And there she was and there I was and our boys, Jesse and James, were in the same class. And Sherry was walking her own road raising her own kids after Todd passed and she brought a feeling of comfort with her that I sensed when we would sit together in the preschool room after I came to teach the kiddos a song.
And she was an artist and a creative and always kept that spark alive and had that same struggle so many of us do with balancing out the jobs of life with the playful creativity of life. What didn't she cut out and glue together for St. Paul Lutheran Day School? What didn't she prep for classes seasonally for every bulletin board? What face didn't get painted by her hand over the years? Which backdrop wasn't she in charge of turning into a saloon or jungle or desert for the spring plays?
I think I hosted two in person Dreamer's Club meetings at my house when I first got started coaching and she was there. Because Sherry was a dreamer. Of course she was.
As the kids got older and St. Paul School wasn't our connecting point, we didn't see each other as much. Sherry started working full time and we'd connect up around whatever the boys were planning to do and checking in with each other on half-baked teenage plans and say, "Jesse just told me such and such, can you please confirm?" And then she'd reply, "Well James said...." and we'd piece the thing together from the third party Mom perspective and clear it all up.
She got this beautiful feather tattoo on her forearm. It was a black inked feather that looked like it was moving in the wind and from that movement rose this rainbow swirl of sparkle and color. WE have our every day selves that drive mini-vans and go to the bank and pick up dinner on the way home and then we have our essential selves that dance in the wind and spin around in a swirl of rainbow and sparkle. That version of us isn't just for quitting time and bank holidays. That version is truer. It's redeemed. It's playing in the freedom of becoming a new creation. I wonder if her tattoo was a reminder to herself about who she really was and what really lit her up.
Sherry was 53. Let's all let love move us into bigger love, bigger saftey and comfort and presence and let's paint our faces with pink and purple butterflies and play plinko like it's Fun Day and not lose another minute holding fast to what is true, and precious and not guaranteed to last.
At my funeral I want them to play "The King of Love my Shepherd is"
"The King of Love, my shepherd is
his love it faileth never
I nothing lack if I am His
and He is mine forever

Where streams of living water flow
my ransomed soul he leadeth
and where the verdant pastures grow
with food celestial feedeth.

Perverse and foolish oft I strayed
but yet in love he sought me
and on his shoulders gently laid
and home rejoicing brought me.

In death's dark vail I fear no ill
with thee, dear Lord, beside me
Thy rod and staff my comfort still
Thy cross before to guide me.

Though spreadst a table in my sight
Thine unction grace bestoweth
And oh, what transport of delight
From thy pure chalice floweth.

And so through all the length of days
Thy goodness faileth never
Good Shepherd may I sing thy praise
within thy house forever."

It's been more than three months

It’s been more than three months since I’ve written here but don’t think I haven’t missed you. I have.

So what was so important that you couldn’t clock in and tell us your innermost thoughts, Dunbar?

Pretty much nothing.

I returned from Europe and experienced a post-European slump. Cinderella may have only needed the clocktower bell to strike 12 times before carriages resumed to pumpkins, but I needed like three weeks. So I’m not a good candidate for fairytale princess but I digress…

I returned to my regularly scheduled schedule. I did the Ladies Fall Tea, I walked, I watched the leaves change from red to brown to gone, I watched the rainfall, I went to Lambertville, The Halloween Town, and stood in awe of how they do it up SO BIG. I cannot stress enough how big up they do Halloween. It’s nutso. And then Asbury Park and our PBnJ bars, then Thanksgiving and then Christmas time and now 2024.

Thank God for one more year.

The word I chose for the ending of 2023 was ‘crescendo.’ I came up with it one night together with my amazing friends over expensive cocktails at a bar in DUMBO riffing on the back half of our year. I suddenly realized I did indeed have more to give. I realized the intensity of RIGHT NOW is a proper reason to go big, risk more, believe more, yes and MORE.

And don’t get me wrong. This craving for more isn’t to stuff my coffers or outdo my neighbor. You should know me well enough by now to know my more is mostly invisible and in my heart and soul. My more is one of freedom and the fearlessness of a rock n roll show where I’m unleashed and slighly unhinged and that’s a good thing. A more measured person might call it flow, a liberated version would say past the point of ego and delving into the humanity of our flesh and bone having left self-doubt behind. That’s my idea of more. It’s mostly between me and me and aren’t most of the biggest shifts we encounter in our lives, at the end of the day between us and us with God as our witness?

If I should take “crescendo” into 2024, you won’t see it on my tshirt or have to hear about it over dinner. It’ll be that silent conversation I have with myself when I’m alone saying, “Why not make the ask? Why not try your hand? Why stop here when it’s clear you can see past the breakers?” And when I’m alone, I’ll make myself answer and confess that I’m frightened and let the words land on paper and wait for my reply. And my response will start softly and then get a bit louder until the truth is revealed that fear will not stand a chance. It won’t stand a chance when I start in like I want to, like a warrior in battle unafraid of the fight. When I get loud I get honest, and when I’m honest I get untethered, and more powerful and more daring thanks to crescendo once again.

Also I wish you very well. Thank you for reading. Thanks for sticking with me. I have added shows to my calendar. I want this to be a great year for all of us and I believe it can be. The God of heaven and earth has done everything for us so we’ve got the space to get in there and go for broke. High five.

Tour update AND Play shows, go places, meet new people

First Germany Tour update: Katie learns German at lightning speed, Oberursel Bierwagen and 1000 tour posters, Dreihausen Andre’s birthday Sekt toast, Tim’s jokes, Marburg castle, Brother’s Grimm fairy tales, and Luther/Zwingli debates and walking into organ practice in an empty church magic, Hannover New Rathaus, Turkish restaurant and Zwiebelkuchen surprise, driving to Eckernforde taking the ferry across the Elbe river, cool venue in the harbor of the Baltic sea as the sun goes down, post gig Whiskey around the table and hearing Shetland Fiddle song so beautiful it brought tears after midnight, walk in the country, apartment in Kiel, laundry drying on the balcony and having to go back to the market after realizing the coffee I purchased was “EntKoffeineiert” (decaffeinated). Not OK. And now on to the topic at hand:

Everyone. Now hear this: Play shows, go places, meet new people.

Of course, I’m bias because I dig playing shows, going places and meeting new people. I confess I’m better at new than I am at consistancy which is something I’ve been working on in my adult years- improve on my longevity skills. But also. I just naturally fall into new so easily that it feels like coming home. You would feel that same way too if you cut your teeth on new things like I did- new people to host at your house all the time, new people to meet on vacation in the campgrounds and in the church pews, new places to go and new languages to learn in other countries, new states to move to, new everything was the running theme that I picked up on early and ran with so of course new and undiscovered has a homey quality to it.

But I digress. Play shows, go places, meet new people.

Photo by Christoph Barnbrock, Oberursel, September 19, 2023

Play shows. I kid you not. Being in the mix is one million times more glorious than thinking about it. If you’re a musician you may read the words ‘play shows’ literally, but if you’re not, how would you articulate the equivalent in your neck of the world? How do you define the highwire act? Where is it that life really feels like living for you? Do that, my friend. Thank God I was reminded about how much I love playing shows on this tour. I just love it. I love getting up there on the highwire where it feels like home and connecting and trying stuff and getting so present in the moment you can neither think back to the previous moment or lose the present by consider the next. The playing shows vibe is so in the moment and wow, doesn’t in the moment feel so good? When you give yourself the gift of living without the weight of the past or the anticipation of the future to hang over your head? Do it. Play the shows.

Moving in the moment Tim Grimm and Sergio Webb, Spieker, September 23, 2023

Go places. I have never once in one thousand trips ever regretted investing in exploration. Never was there a dime I wished I could get back from the decision of getting in that car or boarding that flying machine to parts unknown. This is how I feel about this trip too. Oh, by the way, I’m writing you from an apartment in Kiel, Germany while the washing machine spins round and round with a load of darks. Pre-departure always has me second guessing and asking myself why in hell did I disrupt everything and think this was a good idea, but getting here and doing the thing it is crystal clear to me that this is a totally good go. This is a good go. Of course, I’m bias having grown up in the realm of newness and exploration and meeting people from all over the world and talking about going all over the world since I was a kid. But for reals, you guys, wanna make life feel more like living? Trust that this is good money well spent on the kind of adventure that keeps paying out over and over again. One night is all it takes to turn your world upside down or, better yet, put the world all back in order after having been jumbled by obstacles, set backs and disruption. Put your world back together by stepping out into it. I guarantee magic will find you. It found me, that’s for sure, on the floor, sitting at the foot of the stage beside my friend Katie, in a packed house venue looking up at our friends Tim and Sergio playing their show beneath the stage lights with a glass of red in my hand in a venue on the Baltic like a gosh dang sailor back from sea. I looked at Katie and I looked up at the stage, and all around the room and I was like, “Yeah man. This. This is it.” And it was. And it is. And however you imagine that moment for yourself? Do that, man.

Meet new people. Of course, I’m bias. I grew up among new people. New friends always coming through town staying at our house. I’d bunk in with my brothers while they got settled in my room. Nothing more fascinating than sitting around that kitchen table over coffee getting to know the new person- maybe a friend, a distant relative, a coach come to scout players, a new player waiting for his apartment to open up, a foreign exchange student come to meet their new host family. So many new people. Meet them all. First, because I said and second because it’s a wonderful door into the human experience that is both so varied and so so similar. We share so much in common, we are curious by nature, we have hurt that we can identify in each other, we have celebration that only savors sweeter when we share it. We can offer understanding, we can receive it, we can offer newness and we can enjoy it as something lovely and light and not something to be feared. Why do I say this? Because our tour in Germany this time has been made beautiful by the people we’ve met. I’ve seen familiar faces, of course, but Katie is getting all new all the time. We’ve been lucky enough to stay in homes, share meals, take walks, see beehives, drink whiskey, saddle up to the Bierwagon and always among people who have added to. the delight and tapestry of this tour. I’m always pro-meet people. Maybe because my whole life has been about that. I’m always pro-talk to a stranger. Sometimes I’ve been known to love strangers more than my friends…..

Katie and I in Hannover twenty years after being there the first time. Crazy.

Tour in Germany 2023. I can’t believe this is my life. I can’t believe dreams come true like this. During one show I was telling everyone 2023 is the 20th anniversary of my living here (with Jon and Sammy once upon a time). I’m 20 years older than the first time I walked around here and learned German word by word, bird by bird.

Twenty years later here I am still playing and exploring and allowing things to play out. How lovely it is to simply follow the thread and see where it leads. How lovely it is to look back and give thanks for all those shows and moments and places and people. Stay tuned for more. Stay attuned with your antennae picking up signals re: MORE. High five.

The story is written with your vision

The story is written with your vision, man. How do I know? Because I know I walk from storyline to storyline depending on what I’m looking at. My old hurt and trauma tell me one story about a girl who is horrible at love, knows how to keep her distance and shut down in order to maintain safety, has little to work with (how many blog posts have I mentioned my unemployability, lack of wage-earning skill sets and general worthlessness? I shudder to think….) who is holding on to Jesus for that Kingdom come crown of glory. Ain’t nobody promised her nothing this side of heaven.

There’s another storyline I walk myself into but I can’t say it’s of my own doing, when all around is an angel choir, and the most magical shit I never could have imagined where I find myself living a fairytale with grace-filled moments fudging all around me. Case in point:

Last night I showed up to volunteer with the other Marching Band parents to help load and unload marimbas and xylophones and and amps and drums and generators from the storage pods over to the football field then schlepp them onto the field for the halftime show, then load up the truck again and put it all back. It was a gorgeous afternoon in early fall in central Jersey and there I was, talking to other band parents and lugging equipment up and down and over again like I belonged there. Like I wasn’t a stranger or a new kid and it felt amazing. What does amazing feel like? It feels like you don’t have to try or edit or curate or tip toe, you just get to be effortlessly you. To me, that is amazing. My darkest timeline (shout out, Community fans) always has me not belonging. My darkest timeline always tells me I have no business being here so when it gently exits powerless to the forces of grace and ease, I get to walk into a world where it’s OK for me to just be.

And there I was, just being. In the football stands of all places! And there I was watching my kid #64 on the sideline running in to play O-Line, running back and high fiving other guys, watching my other kid on the top row of the bleachers playing that tenor sax with the pep band then marching onto the field come halftime to the cheers of the crowd. And this, this is the part I wanted to tell you about:

After the game, after the Bulldogs got their W, we motioned to our kid on the field to come over to the fence for a picture. He ran over happy and sweaty and still hopped up from the homegame and how did I even walk into such an unforgettable Thursday night?? He’s gushing to me and his dad about the plays and about the win, about the whole thing when we start hearing his name getting called from over by the pep band. See, this is his first year of football, as a senior. Before then, he was up in the bleachers with the band playing a mean clarinet. We hear them calling his name and I tell him, “Jesse, look, the band is trying to get your attention!” And he looks up, smiles and waves to where all the uniformed marching band kids are and they erupt in cheers. I don’t know the current state of High School Band/Football diplomacy, but my guess is the crossover rates are slim. I’ll never ever forget that moment when my kid and those band kids saw each other from across the great divide between atheletic field and bleachers and cheered. And just like that, the darkest timeline is a foolish mirage of garbage.

How can I keep from singing when I see such joy and growth? How can I keep from seeing how love and grace abound?

I’m packing for a dream come true European trip crossing off Scotland from my bucket list. I’m planning a Fall Ladies Tea Party at church, I’m going to Arizona for. a writer’s retreat in January, I’m living in one of the most beautiful places on earth, in my opinion, and, my 79 year old dad is back on the basketball coaching roster and getting back to being himself after years of sitting it out. I have these three amazing, crazy talented and unique sons, I have this wonderfully loving peaceful faithful man, I have two perfect pumpkins on my deck that grew from my compost pile and I’m here with some decades left yet to live and hell, it’s looking like I might be making a record with my musical hero like I’ve dreamt of doing for years. How could anyone with such an embarassment of riches keep from singing?

The devil is a liar. He will do everything in his power to keep you from seeing what’s right there in front of you, convince you to stay frightened and fighting and push a stone up a hill until your last breath. He will convince you that he’s good and that love and grace are evil and he will delight in breaking you and everything you hold dear.

How do I know this? Because I fall for it on the daily. I let my old hurt and trauma be the most trustworthy and true version of myself without seeing them for what they are: they are parts of me, but not everything. My old wounds and trauma are in need of rest and respite as much as I am. How do I wake up from such shadows? Oh ya know, I say yes to the invitation and let the good Lord do the rest. I wake up when I read a short facebook post from a friend about her inoperable untreatable diagnosis and all of a sudden I can see that what I’m seeing is really a seductive suffering siren determined to watch me drown while I’m still breathing.

While I’m still breathing. And I am. And we are. While we’re still breathing, who do we really want to be? While still with breath, how close to love and belonging and the cheering section might we get? I assure you it’s out there. I assure you, even if you come from a place where to be worthy is to despise what is feather-like weightless, the gift of freedom blows softly on the wind. The story is written with our vision. Set your sights on something good. You’re not alone in the very human struggle between storylines. Let’s just encourage one another to be free. High five.

Work/Life Balance

Work: for now it’s packing to go, shopping for groceries to stock the fridge for when I’m gone, practicing my songs and planning for rain. I got me the boots, the rain jacket, the plan for when they lose my luggage. I got the rental car and the friends over there and the excitement of getting to sing my songs. I got some euros and a prayer the plane don’t go down and a notion that maybe I can eek out one more adventure.

On account of this being the season I’m trying to work up a plan to get more work once I get back. Put in my resumes, fill out applications and hope for the best. One shift at a time, one more shift, another shift at a time for paying off what I owe. It’s the American way. Work is a tricky one with me. It’s probably a tricky one for lots of people. I always dreamed of being engaged in meaningful work. I have always longed to have something I can offer the world and I have had small glimpses of what it feels like to do good work and feel like I can contribute.

Past “work” I’ve done that I’ve loved: podcasting, songwriting, making records, playing shows, teaching (within reason).

Once, when I was riffing on my dream life, I told my coach about wanting to pay taxes- how that was part of my dream because it meant that I had earned something and that I was able to pay into the system after so many years spent in the shadows unaccounted for and broke. I don’t particularly want to go wait the tables again, but I sure do long to do something that earns a wage. The question is always what kind of work can I do AND do all the other stuff I said I was going to do also? That seems to point to working nights and lunch shifts that don’t last six hours.

I do get up in my head about work because my natural inclinations don’t naturally favor consistancy, repetition, routine, schedule, guidelines, rules but I do try. I’m willing to try. And try again. And again.

Life: find stuff you like, man. Don’t run away from living and hole up in some cave of pain of your own making, ok? Sound like too much? All I know is it’s easy to tell the neighbors who are hurting. It’s easy to tell who is running from something or missing something they shoulda got early on. It’s easy to see the markers of people who aren’t comfortable in their own skin. Life is about settling in to getting comfortable in your own skin- and that skin might be bruised and banged up a little but life keeps pointing to life. Life has a way of showing up every morning and watching you fall asleep every night. Life has this thing where it grows up through the cracks in the crooked concrete desperate to get your attention. Life is begging you to listen for how soft it is and linger on its calling to the mountains, to the ocean, to the rapid river’s current bounding you toward somewhere if you just give it a chance to run. Find heart, find rest, find recreation and recreate like life does. Find celebration and grace, find gentleness. Don’t be taken in by cynicism or bitterness. Don’t be taken in by ‘this is just how it is.’ Better to pack a bag and wander on walkabout for six months than to surrender to apathy and acedia. Life. There’s nothing apathetic or acedia-ish to breath and heart beats, systems working without asking your permission, seeds scattered onto rocky soil that get a foothold and flourish as best their strong will and desire allow before frost sets in. And that’s you too. You’re a part of that. You’re a part of that runner falling in the final stretch being rescued by two competitors all three arm in arm limping to the finish line in tears. That’s why it makes you cry. You’re a part of that. You’re a part of that little girl getting up in front of full house crowd and singing an old song she only knows from her music teacher making a bunch of adults cry because that song is a lifetime of moments and memories coming from her little simple voice straight to our guts putting human beauty and frailty on full display in one quiet pin-drop instance. You’re a part of that. And those sports docs that get you dreaming? Those waters too blue to be real? You know. You know exactly why they cut you so deep. You know what it feels like to open up that hidden hopeful place and let light in as though perhaps this place is better than you ever imagined and you are freer than you ever thought you could be and you are loved and known so clearly and purely by the One who made you that peaceful slumber is your birthright along with bravery and wonder from now til forever.

Hold those two things in balance. Life and taxes. Songs and Someday. Meet them both at the crossroads and let them in on your plans. High five.

Europe, Love, The Fool and Now

I’m leaving for Germany and Scotland Tour in the middle of the month. Before that is start of high school, marching band, football Friday night lights, plan the Women’s Breakfast, go meet other parents at the Marching band social, write five songs, stop eating carbs, practice, scare up some merch, learn, walk, breathe, vacuum, dream dreams, go to church, fantasize of burning all my clothes and getting new ones, consider the role of overalls on the European continent, listen to ‘Free Fall’ by Cory Branan one million times, try to memorize ‘99 Luftballons” and “Flugzeuge im Bauch” to sing as covers, coach, probably thaw some meat for dinner menus, probably go to Walmart for school supplies, practice my set, listen and practice German every day, pray to the Lord I pull off yet another crazy plan that seems bananas right now and cue the very last minute panic attack right before leaving where I’m like, “What was I thinking? Why am I going? This is insane. I’ m insane. This is nuts.” And then go, have an adventure with my friend Katie, get to see my dear friends and thank God for lives lived, songs sung, planes flown, new places, beers embibed and then come home.

Of all those things, memorizing cover songs in German might be the hardest. Second place is making desserts I signed up to make for the football team’s pre-game meal. I’ve made cookies one million times but every time they need to go public, I get real up in my head.

And speaking of being up in my head…..I heard recently that falling in love with stuff too much was a sign of being messed up so now I’ve got that to worry about. How is falling in love with people, places and things a bad thing? I guess I’ve got some work to do on a brokenness I didn’t even know was a problem. I didn’t know that sound healthy people don’t fall in love with stuff except for once and don’t get too excited. I guess I’m guilty of getting overly excited. I am very guilty of falling in love with stuff. I thought that was what we were supposed to do and now I hear it’s just another symptom of unhealthy people? Dang it. Can’t a sister catch a break?

And to think I liked that part of me. I like falling in love with interesting people and interesting places and trying new things and discovering cool stuff. One might say I built my life around those things. Case in point: Germany and Scotland, New York and Women’s Breakfasts, Jam Sunday afternoons and writing songs, retreats and conferences.

In the Comedia d’ell Arte there are fixed characters and one of those characters is the fool. Among the cast are archetypes that are used to play the different people we meet in the stories we inhabit. The fool is that character outside the conventional. The fool is not bound by the rules of the play like the other characters are and, because of it, the fool can see things the others can’t. In Spain, back in college, I was taking classical voice lessons at a studio where we put on a lyric opera and, in preparation for that production, we gathered on Saturday mornings to do acting exercises. I remember vividly the acting instructor teaching us all Il Zanni, the fool.

Let’s not desire wellness to the exclusion of the others, shall we? Let’s not value fitting in over belonging, OK? Isn’t that our eternal struggle? How to make space for everyone instead of curate the guest list to the exclusion of those we deem unacceptable? Not cool.

The fool reminds us of the need for everyone. The one who sees things different. The one who dances in the rain. The one on meds who sometimes gets off their meds but is still precious and conscious and embodying a beloved member of the whole. Cathy Heller is always reminding us we called each other ‘someone’ in order to remember that we are all some of the ONE. We need everyone to make up the parts of the ONE. We are each waves helplessly mixed into the watery current of the collective with our scars, our hurt, our healed parts, our interdependence and integration. Put as a church lady: The God of heaven and earth created all things and all people and longs for the oneness of all things and all people and, as promised since the fall, God himself would save the world by sending his only son to be the one and final sacrifice for all the world and all people and through Him as a perfect and final offering, restore what had been broken forever and ever. All those made by God and loved by God are longed for by God have access to the oneness of God through Jesus Christ our Lord and will be restored to newness of life and live in flesh and bone eternally in the same way Jesus was resurrected from the dead and restored to life in body and soul. And as prophesied and promised, Jesus will return to earth and establish a new heaven and a new earth where we will live in closeness with our loving God forever. We live in sin’s shadow now, but soon sin will be gone and we will never know darkness again.

The Fool, Il Zanni, reminds us we don’t know as much as we think we know. The fool laughs at the plans and logic of man ever striving to gain what is not his and rule over what will not be ruled. The Fool, because of his weakness, is very very strong. The fool, because of his absurdity, is wise.

So in the middle of making cookies and packing for Europe and driving for football and thawing the roast, consider the scene where the perfect version of us- that sought after well-behaved and self-controlled soldier meets face to face with the broken hidden vulnerable lovelorn version of us and instead of sparring, they embrace. Watch them as they finally come together and cry in each other’s arms finally united after an agonizing separation. Watch as they get the chance to look lovingly and unflinching at the other, lay down their striving and collapse into laughter.

August 1st and August 2nd

August 1st marked a year since the movers came, packed up our Nebraska belongings and we piled in the van. A year ago we sat outside in the hot August air watching the guys load the truck. We ate our lunch on the concrete floor of the yet to be finished basement in the house on Colorado Street making sandwiches out of cooler and using paper towels as plates escaping the heat and passing the chips.

And now it’s been a year. One year of big change, big fear, big loneliness and big leaps. Did I ever imagine I would have Jersey plates? Not at all. Did I ever think we’d find ourselves here at this time in this life like we are? Nope.

And here we are. New everything. How do I feel when I think about how I get to ride a train into New York City whenever I want and I kinda know my way around now and I kinda know where stuff is and I can dash on back to Penn Station and do the funny thing where all the Jersey transit riders hover round the train departures board like cheetahs stalking prey and then pounce with a mad dash to the train track once it flashes up on the board cuz you’ve only got about three minutes before that thing leaves the station? How much do I love that I get to do that? How much do I love that buzz and excitement then quiet ride to the transit station then 15 minutes back home? I can’t believe that’s my life. I can’t believe I get to do that. And then what if I told you I invited my NY girlfriends all to meet up on my birthday for fancy drinks at the Algonquin and they are magical beautiful powerful inspiring women and now we meet up on the regular? Well that’s just gravy.

And we get to have our old friend Martin over for dinner and we get to see our old friends Josh and Amie so much more. And we walk the the tow path by the river and we hike up into the woods and we spend the day at the ocean and we visit New Jersey colleges with my son who’s going to be senior and football starts next week? August First feels pretty important. Oh and also we saw two cars die within our first New Jersey year to really put a fine point on newness. Out with the old…

By next August First I hope to get to know more people. By next August first I think I’ll be playing lots more music. This August first, I’m proud of our family and what we’ve learned, how close we’ve grown, what adventures we’ve shared together.

August 2nd.

And August 2nd is important because I graduated from Martha Beck’s Wayfinder Life Coach Training. It’s been something I’ve been working on since September. Weekly classes, weekly assignments, practice coaching, reading up, watching back, working on it. It’s something I’ve been wanting to do for years and with this new start, I figured, now was the time to do it.

I’m so glad I did. And I can’t believe it’s come to an end (kinda). You all probably know how much coaching changed my life when I started working with a coach back in 2018 and I still think coaching is changing my life even now and getting trained and certified to help other people get out of frustration and blocks like the kind I was in is so so important to me. It took guts to take that big leap, making that kind of investment, deepening my commitment to the practice and, wow, it’s been a powerful year! And I did it! I did the thing I’ve been dreaming of doing for years! It’s worthy of celebration.

At one point, Martha, in our final class together, told us to look around our room where we were and pick up something precious to us. Something precious to us that, at one point, we couldn’t have imagined would be ours. I looked around my study and saw my guitar. My beautiful Gibson LG-2 guitar and picked it up. She said, “Just hold it and remember the moment you got it and what it felt like to have your dream become reality.” And I held my guitar and remembered how long I dreamt of that exact make and model and how I knew the moment I played that guitar that that was the dream guitar. I remembered how often I would search the internet to look at it, see if it was on sale, find models that I might buy and then go back to the real world. I remembered how the decision to finally buy it was terrifying and exactly right when it was clear to me I could put it off forever or I could just buy that guitar and I took the chance. And I remembered getting it and having it really be mine and how precious and beautiful it was to me then and how precious and beautiful it is to me now and I got a little teary.

That feeling of a prized possession. Your prized possession- the love of your beloved, the child you adore, your mother’s best china, your dad’s old tackle box, your college diploma hanging up on the wall that tells a story stretching back generations perhaps. That moment when the richness of life and its layers and its heart all come flooding back to you to remind you it’s working. It’s moving.

What’s working? What’s moving?

I’d say the Holy Spirit hovering over these burning waters. I’d say the bravery of the soul to stretch and extend and pursue because some unknown voice calls and we respond. Perhaps Love capital L as in LORD. Love for this one life and the faint spark of a notion that in our stardust-like insignificance we can shift the sands of time in small moves and motions such that mountains fall into the sea and new days appear for unknown kin hundreds of years from now because we loved deeply, because we shared generously, we because we feared not and we poured out our gifts and OUR love and OUR presence as though we just knew we would never run dry.

Most Days I Favor the Light

Yesterday I was the practice client for a practice coach in an observed coaching session during class and, if you think you can’t find a painful thought, access it, ugly cry in front of your classmates, recover and find new insights in an eight minute coaching session, well I’m here to tell you you can.

Vulnerability, am I right? Did I expect to be overwhelmed by an intense emotional response in front of class? Not at all. Did I just let it happen and stay present? Sure. Yeah, I did. My only alternative was to pretend and fight it and that didn’t seem like an honest, true, or helpful choice. One of the things I’ve really come to learn in recent years is that vulnerability- that exposed and shaky human feeling- is powerful and beautiful and honest AND (and here’s the thing I’ve come to see) it doesn’t have to lead to shame.

Shame shame shame. That terrible notion that is vulnerable-adjacent but painful and darker and interested in harm and stuckness. I can see how those inklings of shaky exposure could signal the coming on of Shame and its darkness, but not so, my dear friends. Not so.

The wobbly open humanity of vulnerability is raw and visible, but it’s clean and powerful. It doesn’t have me scrambling for SORRY and regretting my decisions. Shame does that. Vulnerability lets me show my cards and admit, “This is where I’m at.” Shame punishes me into guilt and self-loathing and accuses with words like, “And this is why you’re so bad at this.”

Vulnerability is really great because it’s a lesson in some emotional literacy. This is how THIS feels, this is what I call _______. When I am in this situation, these are the emotions that bubble up. This is what those emotions propel me to do/avoid.

Shame just wants me to hurry up and bury it all and promise not to come around again. Shame wants me to turn that exposure into something I did wrong and something I don’t get to have and condemnation for being a loser.

Vulnerability, free from shame, is my new thing. It’s been coming on slowly for years now but now I can articulate it better and can see what’s not in the cocktail that used to sour the whole damn drink. So let the tears flow, let the weakness show, let the call for help go out. Those are beautifully human, free things available to us all and good for us. They will surprise you more than anything. They will create something while also helping you shed old things. Brene. Just talk to Brene about it.

Life, am I right? I can’t believe this is my life. In the midst of emotional rollercoaster whirlygigs, my life is pretty amazing. Friends visiting, beauty outside, adventures and exploration and a European tour come September? Crazy. I can’t believe this is my life. My special little guys aren’t so little anymore and we’re going on college visits with Jesse next week but so is life and this is mine. I’m a second string singer in a praise band on call for when the first string singer goes down (can’t make it). Was that on my bingo card? Not at all.

Forty six is nutsenheimer. Just when I think I get my sea legs, I lose ‘em. Just when I think, “Fuck it, I’ma do what I want,” some (shame) voice creeps in and says, “You’re done, lady. See if Walmart is hiring.” Most days I favor the light. Most days I favor the light. All days, you guys, the light favors me. Even when I don’t deserve it, the light favors me. Thanks be to God.

So if you’re still reading this, let me remind you the light favors you. Favor it back. The darkness has its own way of staying present and in the story in a way that doesn’t require our attention. The light, however, is offering us an open door to more freedom, more creativity, more love, more breathing room. When that light shines on you and you bask in it, and when you bask it in you get a chance to see what life is like in the light, rinse repeat and believe in Light LIFE MORE than whatever Darkness is trying to sell you. I know plenty of Darkness marketing and I know plenty of buying it and believing it and, friends and neighbors, let me tell you, it is AT BEST not helpful and AT WORST Harmful AF. Skip it. Be a crazy person that believes in the version of yourself basking and give no mind to the dark. That’s probably my 46 talking. It’s vulnerable, it can feel shaky but it’s not shameful. All those “What will people think?” voices? Bullshit. Bask, I say. Bask. Be in the bask, Wear your bask mask. High five.

Beginner's Brain and the First Day of Summer

I’m knee deep in beginner’s brain these days as I work toward my coaching certification. Here’s the thing: I do most things imperfectly the first time and then adjust and make corrections. Would that I were one of those kids back in school who used the full hour to take the test, go nice and slow and review answers! But no. I went quick, finished quick, turned it in. I can see two paths before me: do it now imperfectly, or put it off til the eleventh hour under a mountain of stress.

I choose the road of imperfection and correction and I have grown up a lot from the days when I would really kick my own ass over my own inability to get it right.

Now I know it’s a choice I make. And I make it.
And then days like these come along when my quick start haste gets assigned a mentor and I get my work recorded and transcribed and sent in for evaluation and I get to share in the joys of my imperfect lack of correct everything and walk in humility as one being shown all the red pen marks.

We call this, “eating a shit sandwich.”

Listen, truth talk. It’s a challenge to ask for help. It’s a challenge to be seen as something other than a proficient master. It’s a challenge to be a beginner and yet, it is the role I am asked to inhabit if I have any chance of getting better, ya know?

I’m feeling the pull. I’m feeling the pain. I’m asking myself over and over again do I even have anything worth giving this world besides a turkey sandwich and folded laundry? Who the hell knows? Only Jesus and he’s not talking (outside his promise of everlasting forgiveness and eternal salvation- he’s as into whether or not you hit the nail on the head or not professionally speaking….).

But the only way through it is through it am I right? Only way to more trust in oneself is the place of self-doubt, leaning in to that canyon of misery on the hero’s quest and still getting at it. The only way to tell a different story is to re-write the characters, overhaul the script, inject a little hope and take another step. And so that’s what I’m doing. Sitting and feeling the feeling that comes with each answer that needs correction and each misstep that needs redirect and each line I keep attempting that I could take one of two ways: proof that I’m working or proof that it’s not. In this situation, with both screaming in my ear, I gotta believe the working will work. No matter how deep the mire.

And it’s the first day of summer over here and rather chilly. The wind picked up, the skies are grey, but don’t make it mean anything for the longest day.

New used cars and new used us

Take it all in, my humans. That’s all we can do sometimes.

When I was in California, Jon and Jesse got rear-ended in the red car at Pennington traffic circle and the dumb car got totalled and yesterday we drove out to West Long Branch, New Jersey and bought another car with our insurance money. It was a funny car buying experience filled with way more stories from the dealership owner than I had ever expected to encounter that included that time his brother saved Warren Buffet’s life, the seven presidents of Ocean Grove (or something like that), a man named Blumkin and Nebraska Furniture Mart, all the churches in Asbury Park, his dad and the first Dotson dealership on the east coast….all the while I was wondering if we could go ahead and skip the Facebook pictures about a recent trip to Banff and just fill out some paperwork. No. Let this be a lesson: story is key, my friends. More key than a car key. Story is key.

So second car to die in Jersey, second used car purchase on a prayer and prayer yesterday in 80 degree weather.

It was my mom’s birthday. She turned 79 in San Juan Capistrano where, rumor has it, the swallows aren’t visiting anymore? Or maybe they thought, for branding purposes, birds are for business. I love you, Mom. You don’t know it’s your birthday, but we do. I love how peaceful and content you get to be in these days. I wonder what life might have been like had it been different.

Dreamer’s Club 12 week Group Coaching Program came to an end on June 1st and I am overwhelmed with gratitude and awe and those brave souls willing to shine forth and be brave in their wholeness and that I had the honor to hold space and ask questions. Feel into your bodies, people. The truth sits in the body with clarity and ease. Doubt is frenetic and never sits still. Be still and KNOW. Notice the darting target and identify as something other than truth.

Write songs, make appointments, lift weights, have friends over, drink beer, plant flowers, wash cars, write set lists, make new friends, connect, belong, celebrate, have courage.

Such things make for a beautiful life that is not without its challenges, but clarifies and gives good challenge instead of false ones. Choose living over evaluating. Choose creation over days and weeks over consumption to fill one instance of discomfort. Build the things you love and keep showing up with one more brick then one more brick then another over and over again.

I’ve been busy and I’ve been tired and I am practicing rest when needed. I’ve been lost and I’ve been found again and I am practicing the art of allowing for both. I’ve been working on my recovery time like Michael Phelps getting back into the pool after just getting out. To hear him talk, that recovery time window isn’t the absence of working out. It’s the presence of deep deep rest, nourishment, serious attention to all systems in a quietness that supports very serious activity.

And I have questions and doubts like always. Can I really make this next thing? Can I really create what I’m working on? can I really write these songs in strength and power and fearlessness? No matter what, I whisper ‘yes.’ Whyever would I consider an alternative? Yes in knowing, yes in presence, yes in process, yes on Saturday about to go play in Hackettstown for a Preschool Anniversary celebration where they say there will be horse and carriage rides.

High five.

The Writer's Block

The Writer’s Block is the 1600 block of Harbourton Rocktown Rd. over here (longest street address ever and if I was blessed with rather easy last names, I’m now getting my due trying to read off my address to unsuspecting folks on the telephone).

Also, just in: There’s a lightning bolt icon in my Squarespace tools I’ve never noticed before and that’s the AI that can crank out a post without me needing to do a single thing or whatever. Perhaps you can tell by this post, I’ve chosen to forego its services. And we write on.

I’m in the editing bay. I’m on the writer’s block. I’m in the woodshed trying to make sense out of deconstructed lines and giving myself more time and more space and more investment in my craft. What are you investing in?

Hint: Whatever you’re giving your time to- that’s your investment. Whatever you’re spending your money on- investment. Whatever you’re eating, doing, thinking, sharing: investment, investment, investment. Don’t think of consumption- it’s a scarcity game. Sure, it’s a pile of money that dwindles and then fills back up over and over again, but really it’s a gas tank. Really it’s a currency exchange, really you’re taking your money and turning it into something better (hopefully) than money that returns to you somehow by way of avocado toast, a good cup of coffee, a cold plunge, a cheap replacement tshirt on holiday.

Our car got totalled. My wardrobe is trash. I look at old pictures of myself and see a pretty girl who never, not ever thought she was pretty and always thought she had at least 20 pounds to lose. Now I see photos of my old neglected self and think she didn’t have any weight to lose. She was hiding behind old clothes and bad hair making sure she wasn’t beautiful for all those years so as to not call attention to herself- because she was already too much and too loud and too everything. Huh. Life lost. She coulda been pretty for a minute there. She was as pretty as she could be in rags and hand me downs, I guess. My mom was always so disappointed in me. Sorry, Mom. My husband was always a little puzzled when I tried being pretty with makeup for dressing up, I think. No, more than that, I just don’t think he ever thought about it much. And I probably thought about it way too much…and in a bad, sad way like I’m always apt to do.

And as you pull your life (as I pull apart my life) for the umpteenth time, this time I’m doing it with songs too. Unravelling, laying out in pieces on the living room floor in Lydian mode trying to make sense verse and chorus and chord change. Talk about a brain break! Talk about writer’s block! How does one unlearn and relearn and reimagine? All I’m doing it writing out words separating out sound and syllable and asking myself why? Why did I write this? What’s the point? Is this a song or a writing exercise? How do I not give up and, instead, salvage this thing and turn it into more of what it should be?

Which essentially is the question I’m always asking myself, “How do I salvage this thing called life and turn it into more of what it should be?”

Now that I know I did a bad job for all those years, what’s left for me at 46 other than disappearing? I guess rework these songs and give more time to the craft, ya know? I guess let go of all those missed opportunities and invitations and be here now? Be her now. Abide the editing bay a little longer, Grasshopper.

So here I am. On the page. Not giving it over to the AI just yet. Believing that I can be better at this job, better at my life, that I can dust off the dirt and try again as many times as it takes. And that’s an investment in presence, process, participation. In forgiveness, in letting go, in tears. It’s a totaled car, it’s discount duds, it’s a sunny day, it’s not giving up.

High five.

I'm engaged

That was a title to make you ask all these questions like, “I thought Dunbar was already married….What did I miss? Did she break up, move out, start dating and find someone else while I was busy rewatching all eleven seasons of The Walking Dead??”

No, I’m just being a dumb jerk and telling you I’m engaged.

In my life. I’m engaged in my life. There, I shoulda said that from the beginning.

Lemme tell you what full engagement feels like to me and then you can say, “Oh yes, I have experienced that before.” Or you can say, “Confirmed. Dunbar’s off in Lala Land.”

In full engagement I am coaching, writing, songwriting, parenting, booking, walking, living in a way that all feels connected and in flow and it is so much fun. And it is hard work but it’s the kind of hard work that feels exactly right for me. I am stretching and thinking and deeply engaged (there’s that word again) in what I’m doing and pursuing and ya know what happens when full engagement takes over?

Suddenly the tiny problems just seem to vanish. Like I don’t want to check my social media every other minute and I don’t want to watch Netflix because that seems boring compared to what I’m doing and I don’t shimmy over to the kitchen looking for something to nibble because I’m too busy fully engaged in work that feels like a pleasure and pushing up through the ground in green pointing to the sky with an inkling to bloom is a wonderful feeling.

Engagement eliminates distraction, activates clarity and changes how time moves. We know time is static and unchanging, but engagement/flow rearranges and bends and expands minutes and hours like dreaming- where a whole world opens up and we get lost in it so that we look up and it’s been five hours that feel as light as a single leaf falling falling gently intensely with purpose onto tall green grass.

And that feels pretty great.

Have there been hang ups and hiccups and hitting heads against the wall? Yup but those get reimagined too where there’s no road block there’s just walking deeper into somewhere I haven’t been before solving puzzles I’m not sure how to solve, reaching for anything I think might break through.

And breaking through opens doors and breaking through ain’t as hard as all that and breaking through becomes the new game. What else is there for me here to break through?

All of which to say, dear reader, is that the general consensus on how things are done usually involves hustle and hard work and striving that leaves us exhausted and sometimes in judgment about not being good enough, not knowing enough, not being ready for this or that or the other thing, whereas engagement in what you love and feel passionately about offers new information about work. This kinda work does not exhaust instead it expands. This kind of thinking skips confusion and mines the gold found in clarity. Its plans in a way that embrace process and passion MORE than perfection. It puts us in movement that has us feeling like ourselves- integrated, unapologetic, alive and dialed in.

I’m inviting you to let yourself be drawn in by what you love. I’m inviting you to let it be easier than you think it is and watch the ripple effect of engagement.

We live in a world warning us at every turn about how closeness is a trap, closeness brings danger and heartbreak when really, closeness, falling in love, commitment, and offering up of self in wholeness is the most powerful and counter cultural move there is. There she goes again, my friend, talking crazy. And if this is crazy, well I don’t wanna be sane anymore.

Sane can go find another lover to torment. I’m engaged.

I know I was there

My husband, Jon, just got back from a theological symposium held at our Alma Mater, Valparaiso University. It had something to do with the topic of time or whatever.

He goes to this symposium on a yearly basis partly to gather around the topic and more partly to meet up with his brother and two best college friends- all Valpo grads. So he’s been there more in the past five years than I have since graduating from there back in the 20th century.

Just this morning the conversation followed us right into nostalgia about that place and how formative those four years were to our becoming who we are now. I remember graduating from there on a day in May 1999 and wondering how I would ever be able to start afresh after the most amazing four years of my life where I met my best friends, got me a man, went on adventures, really goofed off at a level that was life changing and hilarious and actually walked away with a piece of paper saying I did the thing and have the official stamp to prove it! How does one go to college, graduate, and then go on to something else? One just makes a series of tiny decisions, mistakes, redirects, rinse and repeat over and over again until it’s 23 years later and here we are reminiscing on a Thursday about times gone by.

The thing about times gone by is that I know I was there, but I’m not sure if any of my memories are true. That’s probably diagnosable as a problem, but truly, having revisited all my childhood memories through the lens of adulthood and maturity, compassion and seeing the parts I simply could not know, I start to think all I can know firmly is that I was there. I know I can firmly say what I thought was happening, but I know I cannot really argue what was because I’m not sure. Don’t put me on record for any of it.

All of which is to say, I don’t trust my memories at all. Don’t put my memories on the stand, they will be easily refuted. Don’t ask me about what really happened. I couldn’t say. Time has not fashioned me into a reliable narrator about my own life.

Are you? Are any of us? I have this core belief about not being in this story called life- even my own life (I know it’s off, but there it is) and I assume that means that I’m not in anyone else’s story either. I would never dare presume I’m in anyone’s thoughts or story or memories. Hell, why do I make music? Because I truly believe it will be the only thing that I can do and leave as a flag in the sand proving I was here. Songs are all I have.

So I know I was there at Valpo. I know my name will show up on rosters and beneath choir photos labeling my existance. I know I have lifelong friends from there and a husband and memories of that campus and wearing shorts too early in April because I was so excited it finally felt like spring time, but who knows what’s lore and what’s truth? Who knows what time is really about?

What becomes of time after it has passed and joins ranks in our bank of memories that leave the realm of truth and enter the realm of story? And who are we without it?

Like all tiny liberal arts colleges with a faith-based history, Valparaiso may not be around much longer. Word on the street is they are selling off their art collection to re-do dorm and install HVAC. After it’s gone, do we mourn its demise or honor the changing of the seasons that never stop their changing? And us too? Us with our changing so slowly and with such subtlety that we forget and re-remember and live some more with our storied selves. Food for thought. Let’s brew more coffee.

I’m Hope Dunbar and this has been my symposium on time. Thank you.

"You Let the Light In" Review from Dave's Basement Tracks

Dave's Basement Tracks Review

It is so heartening whenever someone reaches out to ask me about my music. It’s even better, when, after a little distance from any initial release, I get the chance to think on something I haven’t had at the front of my mind for some time. That’s what happened with, “You Let the Light In.” Thanks to a sort of musical six degrees of Kevin Bacon, I got connected with Dave Schipper, writer and review of music by way of his aforementioned Blog. And thanks to that Kevin Bacon/Dave Schipper folk superhighway, here we are.

You, dear reader, might recall all the ins and outs of how “You Let the Light In” came to be, but if you’re like me, you may be due for a little refresher and a relisten. That’s what I did after talking with Dave. I drove Jon to the airport and listened to this record again for the first time on the way home.

How much can change in three and half years! And oh, how much can stay the same! I think it’s good timing that this lovely 11-track baby gets some attention- especially as I assemble the batch of songs for my next record slated for recording in September.

We all keep going. We all keep the story alive. We all feel that connection and feel that pull into tomorrow. High five. While up above, still the birds sing their melodies…..

Dreamer's Club 12 Week Group Coaching March 14-June 1, 2023

Friends, I am starting a new group coaching program starting March 14th. It’s a 12 week group coaching program over Zoom that include twice weekly meetings on Tuesdays and Thursdays, a virtual retreat and four artist’s dates.

You may know I am getting my Life Coaching certification through Wayfinder Life Coach Training offered by Martha Beck Inc. and I am so excited to add this to my calendar.

The more I coach, the more I dive deeper into the world of thinking and somatic experience, the more I am convinced that intentional commitment to time spent looking at our lives, our thinking and our emotions can help us unlock untapped potential and really normalize living from the truth and power of who we were created to become by our Creator. I have personal experience with the power of this kind of Next Best Self strengthening among a group of future-focused individuals and can say there is nothing like it.

Together, over 12 weeks, we will be learning, practicing and integrating skills that you can use your whole life long to lean into wholeness, creativity, possibility, integration and ease in a way unlike any I’ve tried.

No, it’s not a class. It’s a process that dares your participation. No, it’s not earning approval from a master, it’s mastering the kind of living you know deep down you want to claim. You already know most of what you should know. I’m there to help to you rediscover it.

Over 12 weeks we’ll be working on our clarity, our wholeness, the releasing of confusion, stuckness and self-doubt so that, when it comes knocking on our door from now on (because it probably will), we’ll know just how to care for ourselves, our lives, and our vision in a way that helps us continue forward motion.

A prospective participant should, ideally, have an area of focus they wish to explore for the 12 week program. By choosing one area of interest, the participant will best be able to apply the skills directly to one action plan from week to week, see how it grows and changes and ultimately create a path to achieving a set objective. Don’t worry, focusing on one thing WILL spill into the other realms of your life and you will see progress in so much more beyond the stated goal!

The benefit of doing so in a group is that the group, together, builds its own storyline to accompany each individual storyline. The group holds space for the group. The individual practices bravery in community and our bravery grows exponentially.

I will facilitate instructional time during the Tuesday call and then, together, we will coach with the thoughts and emotions we bring to class on Thursdays. Calls will be recorded and posted for anyone unable to make it in person.

Joining this group may help you realize you may be much closer to your dream than you once imagined possible. Joining this group may reveal a peace, ease and freedom to this life that previously felt out of reach. Joining this group might redefine how you see goal-setting, invite you to more celebration and see what life is like when we start living it in a way that lines up with our deepest values and our truest selves.

Think that might be fun? Does this sound like you? Let’s talk. I’d love to hear about where you’re at and what we can accomplish together. You can message me hope@hopedunbarmusic.com.

High five.

Energetic equalizing

Energetic equalizing. I just made it up. I’m not sure what it means, but what I wanted to say was that sometimes I’m feeling it and sometimes not. And by ‘it’ I mean energetic momentum and by ‘not’ I mean those days when my real life and me are far apart. The equalizing thing has something to do with making peace with both without making low days mean you’re doing it wrong and without making energetic momentum seem like a non-renewable resource that has us racing against the clock.

Which is part of why I’m rewatching the former NBC network television mid-level situational comedy, “Community.” That thing rules. I love it so much. What does it mean to watch a show from 2012 and reminisce on those days being simpler times? What does it mean to notice the collective shift into darker rage over the past ten years and wish we could go back in time? When mild to moderate anxiety/depression is the new normal, bring on the sitcoms and bless the college campus revival. We have nothing to lose at this point. What if ‘hope’ weren’t something to sneer at, but something we acknowledge as a down deep down longing that may help? What if healing weren’t sneered at as a pipe dream, but seen as a down deep down longing that is within reach no matter the day, no matter the hour, no matter how bad this place gets?

I’m flying to California. I’m going to see my family. I’m leaving my sons and husband with a grocery list and godspeed. I’m taking walks in the forest, I’m putting in minutes on the bike, I’m going back to doing sit ups in the basement like it’s 2012.

I’m working on my bravery, I’m working on my wardrobe, I’m plunking down money on my dreams coming true. I’m letting it be messy, I’m trying to get closer when closeness is a thing that terrifies me sometimes. I’m hoping for better weather, I’m building it up slowly like reps of sit ups in the basement and minutes on the bike. I’m letting go of old thinking but sometimes new thoughts won’t obey me and I fall back into patterns energetically unequalized.

So here’s to a Thursday and here’s to a process and here’s to you trusting you’re in the right place. You’re in the right place and that place won’t get smaller, it’ll get bigger as you expand into who you will become. I’ll be cheering for you from my side where I’m working on my bravery, working on my wardrobe while I’m working on getting my energetic equalized.

Who would you be without the thought?

Over here in New Jersey I am consistently astounded by the rainy days, the sunny ones, the lack of snow, the ability to walk outside and not get swept away. Speaking of sweeping, that’s a lot of what I did yesterday and that, along with the floors, I’m also sweeping all the thought clutter inside my brain into one dusty pile and trying to throw it away, but of course, it’s not as easy as all that.

The house is clean I made sure of it. Giving myself the gift of open windows and Fabuloso, Comet in the kitchen sink and Cake on the playlist I let my meditation practice involve paper towels and buckets of hot water, the vacuum cleaner and time. Time to move through the space clearing, cleaning, resetting, intending to take it as a lesson beyond the chore list into the work of this moment.

“Who would you be without the thought?” It is the fourth step in The Work of Byron Katie and it is a real brain puzzle. It almost seems audaciously arrogant to think of a life where I don’t walk around with “I’m not good enough” rolling around the backseat or “I could increase my value as a person if only I were more organized and more suited to repetitive tasks.” You mean there’s a reality I can experience where self-doubt isn’t cutting me off at the pass every other pass? Who would I be then? Well, I guess I’d go to the grocery store without judging myself about going to the grocery store. I guess I’d write songs and not judge myself around whether or not I should be writing songs. I guess I’d allow myself to be this version of myself without trying to fight for the opposing side when I had a minute. Well, what would that be like?

All of which to say, I am deep into the coaching and thought work these days, my friends. This is an intense road and I’m thankful that I’ve been in it for a while otherwise I might not be so at peace with being so vulnerable and uncovering my guts on a zoom call on a weekly basis.

And I’m loving every minute.

I listened to this podcast recently of a coach talking about how seriously she takes the coaching she receives. She was explaining that, if she gets coaching, she is for damn sure taking it all in, learning from it, applying it, believing it and using it to change her life- not just when she feels like it, but always. It really struck me and had me noticing how much coaching I’ve received that I haven’t used. How much coaching have I asked for and valued, but then didn’t take seriously enough to wrestle with for days on end until I figured out how to make it part of my new reality? Like a lot.

And now I’m think into it again after being a fair weather friend and it’s as deliciously bananas as I had hoped it would be. Molecular changes, the rewiring of the central nervous system, deep thought unlearning paired with body compass reading paired with some woo woo magic that I think lines up real good with the mystery of the gospel.

Who would I be without the thought? I’d spend more time believing and less time doubting. Would the believing be imperfect and messy? Of course it would. Would the believing start working on my darker parts so that the darkness didn’t seem like such a big deal? I think it would. I really do. Why do I think that? I’ve done it and it’s worked. It really has. And I could do it some more and it would work even more and probably, as I’m experiencing, break my brain on the way there.

They say you get to choose your discomfort. Either stick with the discomfort of staying the same or try out the discomfort of becoming something else. I know both. I choose the latter. Every time I’ll choose the latter, but not everybody is like me. And that’s a cool thing too.

I think I was born to be a keeper of dreams and hopefulness and tomorrows. Others have been born to be keepers and lovers of tradition and honoring the yesterdays. That’s cool too. Some are the keepers of facts and figures and others are leapers, others are protectors while there are some who can cannot resist the call coming from beyond the city walls. I never in a million years thought I’d become one of the planners because I spent so many years running in the opposite direction but here we are. If I’ve learned anything between house cleanings it’s that God will turn us into the people He wants us to become and sometimes he won’t ask for our feedback. And that’s cool too.

Fear will turn us into people we never wanted to become too only it’s harder to root out hidden in the shadows. Doubt and cynicism and hopelessness are on the field looking for souls to devour and that’s a thing too. I will call those enemies of life and living. I will call those dangerous bedfellows. Who would we be without them? What are we willing to become instead? Here’s a roll of paper towels and some window cleaner to help you think.

High five.

I'm using my mom's kitchen to make my dad his birthday cake

My mom was famous for getting up super early, especially on holidays to get started on the cooking. She was up at 5am putting turkeys in and making pies and I’m like her that way. I get up early too and today I’m up early at her house working in her kitchen to make my dad the pumpkin pie and lemon cake he asked for for his birthday.

So here I am in pre-dawn hours in my mom’s kitchen searching through drawers and cupboards for the measuring cups and spatulas, the pie pans and bundt pans all by myself while Dad stays sleeping.

I don’t have many memories of really using this kitchen beyond the dinners I’ve made for mom and dad while visiting over the years or looking for a smaller plate upon which to cut up hot dogs for whichever grandkid was still in finger food land at the time. I don’t think I can recall baking anything here like I am this morning before the sun comes up as the rain falls down.

And so, in the silence, I find myself talking to her while I’m searching, “Mom, do you have another measuring cup somewhere? Where did you get these measuring spoons? They are adorable but really hard to read the measure amount inside all those decorative hearts and flowers and shit.”

And, because it’s my mom, I naturally go to flabbergasted soon after, “What the heck, Mom? Why am I finding a second bundt pan in a completely different place than all the other baking pans? And you coulda told me you had a glass pie pan randomly over here before I went out and bought one and who in the world hangs on this old tin pie pan you’ve been using since before I was born? Seriously? Time to upgrade, Mom.”

It’s all just where she left it pretty much. And I’m talking to her like she’s here, but she hasn’t been this kitchen’s master in some time and she hasn’t slept here in this house in over a year.

Truth be told she never was one for cooking. She had other things to do and bigger fish to fry. She saved all her best tricks for Thanksgiving and Christmas and the occasional birthday meal us kids would special order, but other than that, this kitchen, for her, was ‘meh.’

For me, just now, it is full of clues and reminders. She held on to the last standing fragments of her wedding china on the top shelf of the cupboard to the left of the fridge and it’s still there as always. She kept a collection of teaspoons mostly from the Netherlands, first in an ornate tin that looked like something Vermeer had on hand, and then later put them all in a plastic bag. Her mixing bowl game is strong, her cooking pans and pots are an after thought. Like me, her linen game is strong. Like me, her kitchen tool arsenal is weak and don’t get me started on the knives….

She cares more about coffee cups than stemware, and doesn’t notice the years that have aged almost everything I recognize was here when I was eight. Why, Mom? Why did you give all that real estate beneath the stove to a fudging waffle iron that hasn’t seen daylight since the 90s? Why Mom? Why are there three separate drawers all of which seem to lack the most essential things, but you’ve got a whole cupboard full of old table decorations and tea candles Miss Havisham would really love to dig into to keep that old sad party going?

See? I go straight to criticism even in my mind, even as I do find what I need to bake something nice for Dad on the occasion of his 79th birthday. See? I’m playing one of the easiest and most dangerous cards to play in this game called Life and it’s the one that always reeks of ‘not good enough.’ Let me tell you what’s been ripped apart and left for dead by human hearts committed to proving themselves superior and set apart. So much. So much of the harm I cause is to point out the fault in others and remind myself I’m a cut above. And when it comes to my mom? I have a great list full of her foibles and faults I’ve perfected and exacted for the perfect moment in court. But for some reason, the trial never starts and I’m never the hero who gets to uncover the human to the gasps of the jury and the outrage of all. Instead I get older and the list just looks boring and I can see here in this kitchen she and I are the same. The same kinda imperfect just the measurements vary and the same kinda of hoping it’ll all be just fine and the same kinda willing to get up and start baking the same kinda woman sensing the passage of time.

I am talking to myself and talking to my mom while I’m waiting for the timer to go off half grateful for the quiet communion between me and my mom in this kitchen she left just so I could walk into it one morning and find her here among the baking sheets and lemon zest, the oven light and cooking spray. It’s all just how it’s supposed to be and so am I and so is she and here we are. I venture to guess the last person to ever make a pie here was my mother. And one day someone will say the very same thing about me.

Hey Mom, I know Dad would infinitely prefer you baked these pies for him today. I know he wishes he could wake to find you up early rinsing bowls and loading dishes, but since that’s not possible, I decided to do it for him myself and try it and do it in a way that we bring you right here to us with this. I’m a shadow of a substitute, but it’s all we’ve got. There are questions I have around what’s here and what’s not here. I have no idea if the lower oven works so I just didn’t even try. I was sure you had a set of small ramekins at one time but I couldn’t find them. Why you saved rotisserie chicken containers is beyond me, but I love you and I miss you. Love, Hope

The end of another year (not a list of stuff)

It’s happened again. We cycled through all twelve months and all of those days, four seasons if my math holds up, the waxing and waning and fullness of many moons to get us here, again, like last year, again, like next year again, only this time it’s here and not then and not some time to come. The now of this moment as practiced for all those previous moments as prepared for us to usher in all those moments to come landing smack where we left it last time only present and we’re a bit different, that’s not a bad thing and neither are we.

I heard someone say the mark of wisdom and maturity are that the lights slowly come on in a room full of baggage and skeleton bones and mud we take with us places and keep people from seeing but as age works its magic we stop killing the lights. As time goes on maybe we stop wasting time on what it looks like, start hauling out garbage and calling it like it is. I like that bright image I like the notion of courage and bravery and looking into a mirror darkly and being loved just the same.

So what can we offer that we didn’t try last time? What can we say that hasn’t already been said? Well, perhaps a shift in perspective and holding hands with our neighbor lets us lean into living and doing as man always has. You know what I mean like being? Like cycling through datebooks and standing and falling just like our forefathers did? Like repetition is a good thing and each time around we see clearer that this time and last time and the time still to come are all meant for our breathing, our growing our being right alongside all those other human doings the same. And that’s not a bad thing, that’s a thing to remember when the stakes feel too high and the fall seems too far to survive. You’re not alone in this this trying, this cycling, this end-slash-beginning.- you’re in line at the grocery behind some uncertain Picasso buying rotisserie chicken and dreaming of Spain.

That’s a thing to remember when the days and the seasons put you somewhere far off from the other heart beats and lungs. That’s a thing to remember when you want more to your living and you risk out loud speaking as the red wine is poured. I relate to the light switch and the revealing of weakness, I relate to the undercover Picassos and Spain. And wanting to fly higher and choosing a last day in December to declare to the angels what I want come what may. And I relate to hearts breaking and hope you know healing’s out there and peace and freedom are your birthright your grandparents wanted for you back when they held you and the future was massive, it’s still massive, you’re still out there, time is calling your name.