Unmarked Trail

Song story & origins

Introduction

In 2020 I released Being Human: Instrumentals, a 20-song collection of instrumental pieces composed and recorded over the last two decades and then remastered into one set. The album is part of a wider project on self-care and mindfulness that I’m developing with a colleague; it’s paired with a free downloadable journal that offers a short note on each composition and an invitational prompt for reflection or journaling. The timing felt right in a season of social distancing—a way to give people a gentle structure for listening and noticing. On release, the album appeared first on CD Baby and then quickly on iTunes/Apple Music (with Spotify following shortly). From the album, I highlight three pieces here—Starting Out, Grindstone, and Unmarked Trail—along with the spirit and exact wording of the journal invitations that accompany them.

How to use the journal (and why there are “so many questions”)

The journal pages begin with a brief context for the piece and then a cluster of questions. Those questions aren’t a checklist; they’re invitations—an approach drawn from Lectio Divina (“sacred reading”), where you read or listen and then notice which single word or phrase rises up for you. With the music, try this rhythm: listen once, skim the questions, then listen again and let one question or phrase choose you. Journal from that starting point. When you return to the piece another day, a different word may rise and take you down a new path. The point is to cultivate an open, beginner’s mind—to see what connections appear and follow one where it leads. In quiet, isolated weeks, that kind of reflective experience can be steadying and fruitful.

Where it came from. This is the oldest of the three, first recorded in 2000 on my second album, Topo. In those early Black Hills days I kept finding “trails” that weren’t really human trails at all—they were deer paths: clear underfoot, but five feet up a tangle of brush. I’m 6′4″, so those trails often meant a branch to the face or dropping to a crawl. That became the metaphor: some obstacles slap you, some trip you, some stop you cold; each asks a different kind of problem-solving—around, beneath, over, or through. A tiny production note: the main rhythm you hear pulsing through the track is just me rubbing my hand on my jeans—a homemade “psst, psst” that fit the piece. I also added vocalizations that mirror those brush-slap moments.

Journal invitation. Under Barriers the prompt asks: “What barriers stand in my way? Are they barriers that trip me up, or that slap me in the face, or that simply stop me in my tracks? How do I get around these challenges? Do I always take the well-marked, well-groomed path, or do I sometimes take the deer path? Why?” As with the other pages, let one phrase rise and walk with it.

Closing note

The album and journal were made to work together: music that leaves room for your story, and questions that invite rather than assign. You can stream the music on the usual platforms and download the journal to keep on a device or print for handwriting; use it here, then try the same approach with any art that meets you on a given day.

Source: New Music Memoir (1).docx