On the eve of my 49th birthday, this feels like the story I want to share.

I just returned from a mind-blowing and heart-opening retreat hosted by Nipun and Greg from ServiceSpace and Emerging Prairie. We were invited to come, asked to pay nothing, and show up with open hearts – willing to dive into the unknown and unknowable together.

I sat with Republicans, Democrats, farmers, vegan activists, devout Christians and Catholics, hippies, spiritual folks, movie directors, nonprofit founders, lawyers, ministers, and a former CIA officer-turned-peacemaker.

The diversity was awe-inspiring. And it gave me hope… in a tiny town in Medora, North Dakota.

There were so many moments of genuine connection, curiosity and deep listening. And when confusion entered the room, compassion sat right beside it. People shared from the heart, listened deeply, and held space for one another without needing to make others wrong.

In the end, something shifted in all of us. Unlikely connections formed. Kindness prevailed. We were all reminded that we are more alike than we are different.

And then there was my daddy’s violin.

For some reason, before I left for my 7-hour drive to North Dakota, I had a vision of someone playing the violin at the retreat. So I brought my dad’s violin, a violin that had been silent for 18 years (since he took his life).

I was curious who might play it.

Until Janessa, a former CIA officer-turned-peace activist, bravely stepped forward. Even though she doesn’t normally perform in front of people, she played my daddy’s violin alongside another retreat guest, a phenomenal professional violinist, Leoncarlo.

I watched healing happen right in front of my eyes. Eighteen years of silence… broken by stunning music. That moment will live in me forever.

What a powerful time to be alive. In a world that constantly shows us our divisions, I witnessed what becomes possible when we get curious about each other instead.

Leaving you with the balance of two of the songs they played: one holding grief, the other holding joy. Because if there’s one language that keeps reminding us we belong to each other, it’s music from the heart.