Homecoming
On Belonging, Identity, and the Transformative Power of Music
Ever since I was a young child, music and creative work were consistent sources of peace. But whenever I was not doing something artistic, my inner world was dominated by this unshakable anxiety that something did not make sense. Other than feeling different from most people, finding stable footing in my personal relationships was always a challenge unless I had a guitar in my hands. Though on February 1st, 2021, I received an explanation as to why that was the case.
That evening, I received the results of an AncestryDNA test, a pandemic project born out of boredom and also related to work I was doing to make sense of a bad childhood. What I came to discover was beyond words. Despite being raised as an only child with the last name “McKinnon” (a last name I inherited from a step-grandfather that no one in my family had a genetic connection to), the test revealed that my paternal roots were, in fact, Jewish. Within minutes, I discovered two sisters I never knew existed, which later turned to four. Growing up without knowledge of each other’s existence, we were connected through our biological father, a distinguished psychiatrist in Western Canada who was once a sperm donor. All at once, everything I knew about my life fell apart and came together at the same time. That feeling of being different all my life finally made sense, though the means of discovering this truth was devastating when I later learned it was connected to a greater, multi-decade family secret. When this happened, I was 37 years old.
In the years that followed, the news set off a domino effect of other related losses: experiencing estrangement from my raising and extended family members, going through divorce, navigating PTSD, the loss of relationships and so much more. It seemed like the harder I worked to normalize and make sense of everything that happened, the more it highlighted its invisible influence on my life. Over time, I came to understand that the secret surrounding my paternity was part of something much larger: generations of family secrecy, coercive control, and abuse. By the time I had connected with enough people who had navigated similar discoveries in support groups and other forums, I came to find out that the experience of having the world being pulled out from underneath me was far from uncommon. In fact, what I came to recognize was a troubling pattern in some of these stories where the same family dynamics that had allowed secrets to remain hidden for decades would resurface after their discovery, sometimes through hostility, threats or pressure to move on. The best way I can describe the paradox of the discovery is through two images featuring glass. On one hand, receiving the Ancestry test results felt like being given the prescription glasses that I always needed to see clearly. And on the other hand, it also shattered my self concept like a wine glass crashing onto marble.
Rebuilding has not been a linear process, often with steps forward and backward taking place at the same time. One of the hardest parts of trauma recovery work has been understanding and accepting that there was no way to go back to how things were before I took my test. Beginning with music, I found it to be a place where I experienced a significant amount of traumatic stress whenever I tried to play. Shortly after my PTSD diagnosis in late 2021, it was through learning about how movement therapies benefit trauma survivors and watching an episode of Ted Lasso that featured One-Man Band Cam Cole that gave me an idea. Thinking they could possibly serve a dual purpose, I sold a bunch of old gear and purchased a foot operated drum kit by the Michigan-based Farmer Foot Drums. It was my hope that at the very least, playing the Foot Drums would help me get back onstage in some capacity. While the possibility that it could have therapeutic benefits seemed like a shot in the dark, it did not seem far fetched based on existing research I had been reading. After they arrived in July 2022, I was surprised by how playing them had such significant therapeutic benefits. While each practice session challenged me to play guitar, sing, and now drum, in unfamiliar ways, something unexpected started happening. The more I played, the more grounded I felt, as if each beat I played chipped away at the weight of what I’d been carrying. It left me wondering more about how music could be used in a clinical context, particularly for other trauma survivors.
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The safety I was rebuilding in music began to spread into other parts of my life, through more meaning in service based work at a major NGO and continuing to build momentum for a return to the stage. In early 2023, I had the curiosity and mental bandwidth to begin exploring what it meant to be Jewish. I will never forget the first phone call I had with a community leader during this time, where hearing the words “Welcome home” felt like the most comforting hug for my soul. In the years that have followed, I have been met with similar kindness and friendship from others in the community, which have been invaluable to my rebuilding.
Although I have neither converted nor attended a shul service, discovering my Jewish ancestry led me to reconsider the musical influences that had shaped my life. Whether it was first being inspired to pick up guitar by Lenny Kravitz in childhood, the pivotal teachers I had in Mark Eisenman and Steve Khan, or the later Blues-Rock influences of Peter Green and Marc Bolan that shape my creative work, I began to see how profoundly Jewish musicians had shaped my musical identity since the beginning. Given all of the parallel work I had been doing in personal psychotherapy and ongoing practice of my Foot Drums, learning more about the relationship between music and Jewish resilience carried particular significance and inspiration over recent years, especially through learning more about a project like Violins of Hope and other stories of musicians who survived the Holocaust, like Alice Herz-Sommer. The more I learned, the more I began to see the power of music in a way that extended far beyond the bandstand.
And while understanding these connections have been pivotal, nothing has been more transformational than the relationships I have built with my sisters and their families. It has been an interesting experience in understanding what it is like to have sisters at 37 through unique means, though these relationships have served to be among the most stable and lasting during the toughest moments. I will never forget the first night I ever met a sibling in October 2021. If there was any worry there would be nerves, any initial tension seemed to evaporate within seconds of our first embrace, followed by a long drive from the airport home (a few exits were missed because we were too distracting chatting). What followed was an effortless conversation over dinner that lasted past 4:00 am, as if we had done it every day since we were kids. After having another positive experience during another sister trip to Toronto in 2024 (this time for the Taylor Swift Eras tour), 2026 has been highlighted by significant travel to meet and spend time with my remaining sisters and their families. Each trip provided new memories that felt like we had been doing them for years. Whether during reflective moments at Assiniboine Park’s Butterfly Gardens in Winnipeg, cheering together at a Seattle Sounders game, or sharing dinner in Calgary’s Kensington neighbourhood, I kept experiencing the same remarkable feeling: something entirely new that somehow felt deeply familiar. One of the more surprising aspects in developing these new relationships has been in meeting nephews and nieces for the very first time. In these instances, I have been inspired by kids, their innocence, and especially how naturally perceptive they are. They knew nothing of the complicated history that had brought us together, yet they simply welcomed me as family, with a warmth that affected me more deeply than I could have expected. The experience in building these relationships at mid-life has taught me that family can be the people you are related to or the people you choose. And in some cases, they can be both.
All of the things that once felt so different or mysterious could now be traced to something real, helping me make sense of the past and find a path forward. Creatively, releasing new music featuring my Blues-Rock One-Man Band is a major focus for the months and years ahead. Redefining music through creative process and reconnecting with so many of my most formative influences has inspired new songs that feature fewer notes and more of a storytelling focus. My relationship to music has deepened in other areas, too. Experiencing music’s therapeutic potential firsthand inspired me to return to university in September 2025 to pursue a Master’s degree in Music Therapy at Wilfrid Laurier University. Presently working in private practice with a diverse client population, I am now studying to become a Registered Psychotherapist who specializes in trauma-informed use of music in psychotherapy alongside traditional modalities and approaches. Knowing my place in relation to my family has inspired me to live with a greater sense of intention, meaning, and purpose, especially with the knowledge that my family includes a long line of helpers and artists, ranging from mental health professionals, physical therapists, and nurses to festival promoters, ballet dancers, and theatre performers. It is why I am choosing to adopt my paternal “Lazar” last name moving forward. This is not because of any one person or people I have a connection to, including anyone who has the last name. Instead, it is part of claiming what was hidden and embracing every part of who I am.
There have been many stories of Jewish resilience and transformation that have inspired me on a spiritual level, though none have been as inspirational as Abraham’s journey in Lech Lecha. In it, Abraham is commanded to go forth from everything he knew to find an unnamed place that God will one day show him. By journeying into the unknown, Abraham discovers a greater calling, finding meaning and purpose in becoming a leader whose life would be a blessing to others. This discovery, for all the loss, has taught me the importance of humility and how it is possible to be able to look in the mirror for your entire life and discover there is so much more beyond what you can understand. It has helped me find my spirit, my “ruach of resilience”, and a sense of urgency to make the most of each day. At 43, I finally feel at home in my body and spirit, no longer carrying that invisible weight of unease. Now, whether it’s the guitar under my fingers, the boots on my feet, or my ability to be present in conversation, there is a peace of understanding how all the pieces fit. And why they do.
Dan Lazar
November 10, 2026
