Bethlehem, Brewster, Behind the scenes for the Album!

“Bethlehem” gets released tomorrow, November 8th, available on all streaming platforms AND free charts for download here: "Bethlehem" Charts and Streaming

I’m really proud of this song. I wrote it around Christmas time last year and we’ve been working and waiting for its release up until now. I hope you hear it and remember there is plenty good room in the quiet, constant, beside still waters shelter of the Lord come down to dwell among us. I remember when I wrote it, I had this idea in my mind of what I thought I should write, I had the impulse to want make it look good and be the Christmas Hallmark movie everyone seems to love and then…and then I just decided to write something from right where was I was at. And this is what showed up. Maybe it’s a little tired. Maybe it sounds a little detached from the holiday displays and isn’t that part of it also? It is a Hope Dunbar song but it’s being released through The Songwriter Initiative of The Center for Worship Leadership at Concordia University Irvine. You can search your streaming platform for “The Songwriter Initiative” and find it. I’m so grateful to have partnered with them to help get this song out into the world. I hope you like it.

Brewster. HOUSE CONCERT!!! Coming up November 17th I’m so excited to be hosted by George Mallas and share the evening with David Ray to bring you some songs. I haven’t played a house show in a minute so I’m really looking forward to that quiet place where we can gather and dive into some stories and share an evening thanks to music. You can RSVP by emailing me. We’re gonna have a great time.

Behind the Scenes on the making of the record. Oh boy. October was in FULL EFFECT. While I spent half of October in California, simultaneously Jana and a delightful cast of masters were working hard on the tunes. There are twelve of them and I can’t wait for you to hear. I can’t explain how it is that, when big things happen, other big things happen but I think there’s something to it. While I was in the midst of saying goodbye to my mom, a big orangey ball of light and love started swirling around and created this beautiful musical storyline inside the other one I was living and I’ll never forget it. I’ll never forget October 2024 and how two things side by side at the same time can happen so powerfully and unexpectedly changing the way the light comes in, dropping into blues, then purples and then beachy peachy moods I never saw coming. Flower arrangements, sympathy cards, casseroles, and voices from far away. St. Louis on a Thursday morning with the wind blowing and the quiet of the St. Timothy and Titus Chapel where they still have the kneelers. Crying at 30,000 feet and landing somewhere else. I could try and tell you but you’d never believe me. When I made the decision to launch this campaign and set out on the path toward a next record I decided I would never be the same again. I decided I was never going back. And to me, going back means never doubting the vision again, never questioning my own dream, doubling down on trusting the thing and trusting me, the one who’s working on it. That decision has appeared and reappeared countless times since April and it keeps showing up still. I can’t wait for this record to find its way into the world. I’m committed to two more records after this one: the Christian one and the country one, but the thing is I can see myself writing a whole new batch of songs and I get excited just thinking about it.

Have you ever been to Spain? Let’s go to Granada for three months. We could write and get lost in the Albaicin, find our way up into the Cuevas then drink wine in the Plaza Nueva. I can see us there bathed in Spanish afternoon sun.

On what it's like to see my kids grow up

I was not the young mom who loved having little kids. I was not the mom crying at preschool and/or kindergarten drop offs. I wasn’t the mom who wished they all stayed little because I was the mom looking forward to watching them gain independence and grow into the people God created them to be and I had a keen sense that they weren’t me and I wasn’t them and we were a family of unique individuals called to love one another into our next chapters. I laughed at their jokes and I loved when we could all hike the same amount and carry our own water bottles and I loved sending them off to church camp and boy scout camp and youth retreats knowing they were getting a chance to try out the world on their own. If it works, they come home happy with funny stories to tell that belong just to them and their own becoming and I liked being the mom who gave them space to be themselves and venture forth- probably because I like feeling what it’s like to be myself and to venture forth.

And then one day, after all those breakfasts and drop offs and check ins and dinners, the venturing forth outweighs the staying and Next Level Becoming becomes the season and the reason.

You send your first kid off to eollege and you think that’s pretty tough. We all made it to the other side so surely, when the next one leaves, it can’t possibly be as bad.

Oh dear reader, it’s also hard to watch the second leave.

My oldest was so ready to get out that he made it very well known how much he wanted to get out over a period of many months so that the only way for any of us to drop our shoulders and breathe was for him to pack that car and move in to that dorm and, in line with his desire to get out, college move in day was brief, cold and concluded with a parking lot goodbye hug steeped in ‘yeah yeah yeah, just drive away.’ And we gave it to him.

That was three years ago. Little did I know on his Move In Day how much our lives would change and how 20 minutes away from home would turn into 1300 miles from home and all that Becoming would happen without my ever getting to see it.

Watching kids level up is always a good thing. Looking back on all those growing up years gone by is part of the parenting thing. Not knowing what you had when you had it just a heartbreaking human thing and the collision of all three is how it can feel on days like today.

Gotta take the bumper lanes out. Gotta take the water wings off. Gotta let them assume some risk and watch from the edge of the playground without making a move til it’s really necessary. Gotta quit that impulse to swoop in and save and give thanks for what life was like when everyone was still here.

Our second son started college this week. Our youngest starts his senior year in high school on Tuesday. I’m doing that thing where I’m thinking about the past and worrying about the future before it’s even here. Both are bad strategies for peaceful living. But there it is.

Who am I after I’m not a useful mom anymore? Well, I suppose that’s my Next Level Becoming journey right alongside my children’s and, well, isn’t that the journey for all of us? As much as we think things have stayed the same, they never have. As much as we miss what was, it was always a gently flowing stream we thought we could keep tethered to one moment, one bend in the current, one still cool sparkling pond when really it was a slow growing beautiful cultivar not of our own making as much as we wish it were. We’ve been charged with tending the garden, clearing the field, planting and watering and cleaning out the air filters. Of course the day would come when our field is too small a patch of land for what wants to happen next. And isn’t that our story too? And weren’t we those eighteen year old kids just itching for the chance to get out there and explore on our own? And a caretaker’s heart gets used to caring for another and forgetting their own and Moms and Dads, Move In Day for them is MOVING Day for you. Just like we work ourselves out of a job, I think the Good Lord is hinting to me to do the work of becoming who I need to become next. And he gave me three young adult examples to help me get moving. What a beautiful gently flowing stream this life has been. What a lovely, grassy, meandering path to the ocean. I never knew that big briney tidal body of water was this close to me this whole time. Thanks, God.

The Evolution of the Real Hope Dunbar

Around 2018 was when I used the term “The Real Hope Dunbar” for the first time. I used it in connection with a crowdfunding campaign I did to make two studio albums. And I liked it.

When I was feeling particularly “real” in my Hope Dunbar-ness, I invited my friend, Karyn, over to my house at the spur of the moment for an impromptu photo shoot. Together we spent the afternoon in my garage cracking each other up with stupid ideas and funny poses. It was so much fun.

The way I came to understand the Real Hope Dunbar, was to differentiate my strongest clearest most powerful self from the version of myself who had a lot of self-doubt, fear, confusion, overwhelm and tentativeness around her own life. Accessing my real self was a super highway to feeling fearless, powerful, playful, fun, easy, and possessing a clarity for possibility that was palpable. The Real Hope Dunbar just easily walked into a room on gig day, she just automatically showed up when the lights came down and the stage was mine. I knew I’d find her playing music. I knew I’d find her wherever she was that required a passport. She’d show up when the music was on and the kitchen windows were open, when spring came rolling in, when dinner was served on the back patio or when it was cocktail hour and there were flowers. I started getting really aware of what cues prompted real Hope Dunbar strength and confidence to show up on the scene and the cues were certain people, a sense of adventure, a challenge (most of the time), a packed suitcase, a Colorado festival, a chance to work on songs, natural beauty, the sky above me, stuff like that.

But here’s the thing. That Real Hope Dunbar came and went. As fast as she’d enter, she’d disappear and I’d be back to self-doubt and vulnerability. Even when I was feeling free and easy, I sensed the nagging “this is temporary” warning bells ringing somewhere in my head. And this is what I know now that I didn’t then: my true self was fighting a civil war to see who was really reign supreme. Burrito Supreme. Who would reign victorious? The real smallness and getting out of the way Hope Dunbar or the real imperfect open hearted willingness one?

Back and forth and back and forth and around and around I’d go looking for outside circumstances to conjur up my inner strength until one day I realized what my problem was.

All this time, even before 2018, even before I knew to be conscious of any of this, I deep down believed in my weakness MORE than in my worth. I figured out a work around for eclipsing who really truly was my reality. My Personal reality. My personality. And, at the end of the day, as strong as I looked, I handed my chips to one holding back tears. I thought I was right. I thought I understood, but I know now that I was inside some second-class story.

For all my fleeting feelings of clarity and strength, for all my joyful playfulness deep deep down was an ugly truth that I was holding MORE REAL than any freedom I could cling to. The real Hope Dunbar, for so so long, has been the one I’ve been trying to avoid. The one with hurt, the one with old stories from when I was a kid, the one with fear and survival tactics and ways to make it so that people never have to see her. And you know what? If all I ever do is find ways to make it so that no one sees the real REAL HOPE DUNBAR? Well, that sucks. That’s a pretend freedom that feels like a nice vacation, but it inevitably ends and sends me right back to where I don’t want to be. However, I do want to be in process and continually learning and willing to let go of whatever old version of me that might be getting in the way.

And the old version, the old real Hope Dunbar is getting buried in the ground now. I’ve decided.

The evolution of the real Hope Dunbar has finally brought me to this new place where the weakness has become the illusion and the clarity is the only thing left to embrace. The ghosts of my old self can go haunt someone else’s playground. Here’s what I’m gonna do.

I’m going to be the Real Hope Dunbar and, it turns out, she’s the one with the clear vision and the strong arms and the playfulness and fun. She’s the one who’s going to wrap her love and wisdom around those younger selves of her’s without any need to hide them away or try to make them stay quiet, but with love and care, the Real Hope Dunbar is going to let them heal and integrate into this mature woman’s self. What else is a grown up gonna do but give herself permission to be grown and to carry all those vulnerable versions of her younger selves with love and compassion, tenderness and care. No shame, no hiding, no believing in the survival tactics of a little kid she still listens to every now and again. I’m a leader. I’m open hearted. I know my own mind and I know what I’m capable of. I know what love is and know how to use. What else would I possibly use my time for?

Now I know. I never was that scared girl, I just felt her terror and responded with instinct. Now I know I’m the one who will save the day with my real hands and my real heart and my real life undivided. The war is over. Peace reigns. The God of heaven and earth has called me redeemed and set me free so I’m gonna see what freedom’s got for me from now on. I don’t care if it sounds crazy, I know what real is. High five.

My trip to California

I just got back from California and it feels good to be home. Sure, the no sleep red eye flight mixed with the time change has me up at 4am (you’d think I’d be sleeping forever, but no) for some reason, but all the more eastern dawn for me, I guess. Yay sunshine.

I haven’t written here on the bloggy blog since the beginning of the Kickstarter campaign. Well, gentle reader, allow me to catch you up.

I launched a Kickstarter for $25K on April 28th. It began a 30 day container of living into my future self. (Don’t worry, I can talk like that because I’m a life coach. ) Like lots of independent artists, I want to make a record, I lept and asked my fans and followers to help me out like they have twice before. By May 19th, things were not looking great. I hadn’t even reached the halfway point toward my funding goal and I got on the weekly livestream on Facebook and told everyone as much. I was thinking about my Plan B for when we didn’t get to the finish line that was disappearing slowly in my sightline.

But we got to the finish line and my brain exploded and so did my heart. At the darkest moment, a Light Bringer arrived anonymously and abundantly as a matching donor sparking a wave of new pledges. And then the Light Bringer said, “Let’s just make sure you’ve got the money for the record.”

Not only that, but the campaign clocked in with over 200 backers which I did not think was going to happen had you asked me on May 19th.

So, dear reader, May 28th arrived while I was in California and, from that place, I was able to see the time run out of the campaign’s clock and behold that yes, indeed, I arrived at the goal and yes, indeed, I am making a new record. What does it feel like when a dream comes true? Well, for me, it can feel beautifully emotional AND usher in a whole new timeline that will ask me to go deeper, throw farther, become to version of myself that lives into the dream that is now squarely reality. So it feels like awesome stretching for round two.

This is the part where I tell you that I had been visualizing that moment in my Dad’s backyard surrounded by his beautiful flowers and swooping birds on May 28th since before the kickstarter began and that, along with the daily visualization, I had decided that come what may (in May), I was going to be different after the 30 day journey. I decided ahead of time that this was going to change me and it truly did.

I worked on that thought and that conviction without really knowing how it was going to appear or how it would come into focus, but thankfully, the Good Lord knows exactly how it’s gonna go down so I don’t have to, and what was being offered to me as the lesson and oh so slowly, as the days progressed, was a flashing neon sign reading, “Be Open, Be Vulnerable, Love More.”

Ok so that plan isn’t a new one. It shows up a lot, but truth be told, my brain doesn’t always connect with it in a way where I believe the message and want to participate. Does that make sense? I mean, we can dress “growth” up in all kinds of goodness and practicality, talk numbers and booking emails and minutes on the treadmill and shit like that, but for me? Strip all those action items away and you’ve got one simple message getting whispered in my ear that sounds cool, but scary and it is, “You’re OK. Be here, be yourself and trust your moves are safe and love is real.”

Dude. My whole life is pretty much about hearing the messag, doubting it, doubting it, then seeing that to believe it would be game changer, trying it, believing it, then forgetting again, back into doubt and wash, rinse repeat. Because Love can be a terrifying thing sometimes. Because love can get eclipsed by action items and minutes logged.

Yes, I over-complicate, yes, I forget. Yes, I need reminding and yes, Love is the simple profound, eternal educator of the Over-Thinking, Earn Your Worth Crowd to which I belong.

I don’t wanna belong to that crowd, but I keep getting fooled by the free offer, ya know? It’s like going to a Time Share presentation for the free toaster and then you get “Hotel California-d” and can’t find the exit. That’s me. That’s what I do. And California seems like the appropriate backdrop for getting free again this time for me.

My childhood home, the place where it all began, was the reset center and the fruition of God’s goodness this time around and that’s significant. (First, cuz I’m a life coach and I think like this, it’s totally fine). Significant because all stories are available for makeovers and redirects at any moment. Starting the wayback machine in 2024 with a fresh set of eyes trained on openness, vulnerability and love can recast the light falling on the now, upon what’s come before and the light that will bathes all the hours we’ve yet to live. So my trip to California marked an important moment made ever more amazing with The Songwriter Initiative Songwriting Retreat at Concordia University where I had the pleasure of co-writing three songs with three different co-writing groups that each were beautiful, fun, powerful, unforgettable sessions filled with creativity and connection. Not only do I love the songs I got to help write, but more importantly, I got to be in rooms with other open, vulnerable, loving artists offering their presence for a few hours to see if we could make something cool together. And we did. And knowing what I know, the room, the time, the people in that room? That’s the actual gift. Gravy if you hook a big one. Awesome that you got to make something out of nothing for three hours with other people curious and open enough to try.

My trip to California concluded on Monday. One last lunch with Mom, one last afternoon talking theology and God with Dad, one last walk around the neighborhood, one last cup of morning coffee at the breakfast table, then laundry and packing and the long walk back home (that’s not true. I flew. I took two planes to New Jersey).

Oh what thirty days can do. Oh what wonderful things are waiting for you to venture out in openness and vulnerability and love no matter what. No matter what happens, exercising those muscles is always a good thing. Love, openness and vulnerability have a way of reconnecting the synapses and preparing you for bigger leaps as you go. And here I go. My trip to California placed me squarely in this moment between the past and the future. Heck, every day we’re alive does that for us if we’re willing to acknowledge the crossroads we keep crossing. I’ll never be the same again and I don’t want to be. I’ll be glad for the lesson again and again around love and openness and vulnerability. It’s what shapes so much and clears away so much clutter and dares us to live into each destination, trust our Maker, and start plotting our course toward where we’ll go next. High five.

April 30th, Day Three of the Kickstarter, seventeen years in the making

April 30th. Day Three of the Kickstarter, and it’s my son Joey’s Birthday today. He’s seventeen.

Why is this significant?

Because I started writing songs when Joey was six months old. I measure my songwriting journey (among many other things) alongside his lifetime because they are so connected in my mind.

Many of you know this story, but I like telling it so I’ll tell it again.

There I was. A young mom with three little kids in Algona, IA. A couple years previous I had started meeting up with another young mom, Sarah, and we’d let our babies and toddlers crawl around and play while we talked about our shared love of music. Together, she and I started working up some folks songs with some folk harmonies and eventually start playing out. We’d play the Farmer’s Market, the library, the different community events in town. I had recently gifted my husband a guitar for Christmas and bought him some guitar lessons, but soon I had commandeered his guitar for my own purposes and started clumsily playing those three chords just so I could sing some truth.

Around that time the movie, “Once,” came out and it was a direct hit straight to my longing heart and that calling bird, that gentle pull, that true north of possibility just wouldn’t let me go until one day, the cover songs started staring back at me daring me to join in.

On the other side of the Iowa state line my sister-in-law, Emily, had been taking guitar lessons and started writing her own stuff. She too was in her season of young parenting and I watched as she started writing, then performing, then joining a group of musicians in her own town for song circles and song shares and I wondered if I could do that too.

Fast forward to that fateful, God-sent afternoon when all three kids were all napping at the same time and rather than push that gentle pull away, I let it embrace me and gave in to the notion that I could try and write something with just a pen and paper and a quiet hour to myself. And so I did. I wrote my first song based on Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice.” On account of I love “Pride and Prejudice.” Who doesn’t?

What I didn’t anticipate was how that first song opened a door I didn’t even know was there and ushered me into a frenzied, beautiful, unstoppable tsunami of desire to write. That afternoon unleashed a season of constant writing, constantly chasing after something I could write and love and, as they say, the rest is history. I never stopped and now it’s seventeen years later. It’s Joey’s birthday.

I could tell you about all the internal arguments about whether or not I was worthy, or good, or if this thing mattered. I could tell about the self-doubt, the guilt, the other sticky wickets that showed up when I finally started showing up for my life’s work, but that’s not the point. The point is that today marks 17 years of ups and downs and never giving up. Of believing in this thing sometimes faintly, at times tentatively, until the day when I told someone out loud, for the first time, “I’m a songwriter.” And there it was.

And here I am. Thanks to Sarah, thanks to my napping kids, thanks to Emily, thanks to Jon and my kids coming up to me grabbing my hands off the guitar saying, “Mama stop, Mama no playing.” thanks to Darrell Scott and Robin and Todd and Cody, thanks to Song School, and Emily and Andy in “The Neighborhood,” Thanks to FARM and Styka and Sue and Jane and the “Sad Offs” thanks to Sarah Sample and Sweet Talk Radio, thanks to Lisa and Jessica, and to Chez Bubba, and Folk Alliance and Denver Uke Fest and Eric and Kenny Lee and Marty, and Dalis and New Folk, thanks to my Red Path Gallery groupies, RealWomenReal Songs thanks to Heather and Jana, and Leah and Zoe and Marci and The Art School, and Mark and Leigh and Pino and Anke and Keith and Nikki, my brothers and Mom and Dad, thanks to Steve Seskin and Peter Himmelmann and Bonnie Hayes and all those teachers who let me soak up their wisdom, to Ellis and their song “Right on Time,” (that sends me weeping every, dang, time) to Siobhan and Michael and their song that makes me cry every time, thanks to Zack and Jesse and Nomad and Mare, Thanks to the Monday Night Songwriting Group and Bob, thanks to Prompt Queens, my undying love for Cory Branan, and thanks to Katie my forever roommate and all those moments of magic we’ve all shared together. I didn’t get here alone. I did it with one song and then all your help along the way.

Seventeen years ago I was someone who had gotten tangled up in an internal fight between who I thought I was, who I thought I should be, and who I thought other people wanted me to be and I was stuck without clearly seeing this whole world of wonder. One song was my start toward getting back to essentials. You might be able to relate to that internal struggle and how it doesn’t exactly go away, but it can get quieter, and less condemning, and it can lose its fangs in time. And thank God for that.

Fourth studio records aren’t the stuff of any given Tuesday. They are special and so is this moment. Kickstarter campaigns can be seen in a million different lights, but the light which shines brightest is the one of hope and belief and the work of a lifetime being realized.

What’s your “one song” moment that changed everything? Have you thanked it recently? I’ve been blessed to have a quite a few of them- moments of YES that sent me along a current where I couldn’t see the destination, but was willing to go forward anyway. In the words of a songwriter I know, “We may not be able be able to see too far down this road, but we know that love will guide our way. We follow love, love, love, love. We follow love.” A birthday is good reminder to do just that. High five.

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…..