Story & Lesson Highlights with Nikki Dunlap of Long Beach

We recently had the chance to connect with Nikki Dunlap and have shared our conversation below.

Nikki, so good to connect and we’re excited to share your story and insights with our audience. There’s a ton to learn from your story, but let’s start with a warm up before we get into the heart of the interview. What makes you lose track of time—and find yourself again?
What makes me lose track of time is creating. The moment I open a project — whether it’s a beat, a visual, or a new song — I sink into it. Hours pass without me realizing, but it never feels like time wasted. It feels like time returning to me.

Music is where I find myself again. It’s the only place where all my versions get to breathe at the same time — the veteran who learned discipline the hard way, the software engineer who loves building systems from scratch, and the producer/artist who refuses to dull her imagination. When I’m layering sounds, shaping a mood, or turning a feeling into something you can actually hear, I remember exactly who I am.

It’s like creativity puts a hand on my shoulder and says, ‘You’re still here.’ And every time I finish something, even if it’s just an idea or a 30-second loop, I come out of it more grounded, more centered, and more myself.

Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
My name is Nikki Dunlap — I’m a software engineer, composer, producer, and songwriter who builds full worlds through sound, tech, and storytelling. I’ve never been the type to stay in one lane. I’ll be writing code and solving technical problems during the day, then turning around and creating cinematic beats, writing songs, or developing the identities behind my musical personas at night.

What makes my work unique is the way I merge structure and imagination. The engineer in me loves clarity and precision; the artist in me loves emotion and world-building. Together, they let me create experiences that pull people in — whether it’s a beat that feels like a movie scene, a storyline woven through lyrics, or a track that opens the door to a whole different universe.

Right now, I’m deep in my music — producing, composing, writing, and expanding the visual and emotional world around my projects. At the same time, I’m growing as an engineer and preparing for what’s next in my career and in life. Everything I make comes from a place of reinvention and honesty, and I want my work to be something people can feel — not just hear.

Thanks for sharing that. Would love to go back in time and hear about how your past might have impacted who you are today. Who were you before the world told you who you had to be?
Before the world tried to tell me who I was, I was an imaginative kid who genuinely believed life had no limits. I did not see boundaries in who I could become or what I could create. If I could picture it, I believed I could do it. There were no ceilings on my dreams, my music, or the kind of life I wanted. I moved through the world with a natural confidence in my abilities, and creativity felt as instinctive as breathing.

I have always been someone who builds worlds in my mind before I have the tools to bring them to life. That part of me has never changed. The way I saw the world at 18, wide open and full of possibility, is the same way I see it now at 32.

Of course, life can try to reshape you. Jobs, relationships, expectations, and the people you let into your space can sometimes make you forget your own power. There were moments where outside voices got louder than my own. There were seasons where I shrank to fit places that were too small for me, or let people tell a story about me that did not match who I actually was.

But every time I return to myself, I find the same truth waiting for me. I am still limitless. That kid who believed anything was possible is still here. The only difference now is that I have the skill, experience, and awareness to create with intention. I know that I can succeed in engineering, in music, in storytelling, and in any lane I choose because I have done it before and I will do it again.

So who was I before the world tried to define me? I was exactly who I still am at my core. Someone who dreams big, creates fearlessly, and chooses to define myself on my own terms. I am who I say I am, and no one else.

When did you stop hiding your pain and start using it as power?
Honestly, this shift has happened more than once in my life, but the most defining moment was recent. I went through a loss that did not involve death, but it felt just as final. Someone who lived in the center of my heart was suddenly no longer in my world. It was the kind of loss that rearranges the inside of you. Even now, two years later, it feels close, and not a single day passes without me thinking of her.

For a long time, that pain sat heavily. I tried to ignore it, quiet it, hide it. But grief is patient. It does not disappear simply because you ask it to. At some point, I realized that if I kept treating it like something to avoid, it would keep hurting in the same way. So I started turning toward it instead of away from it.

A big part of that shift came through music. Instead of sitting in the grief with no outlet, I wrote a song about what the loss did to me. Every feeling, every memory, every ache turned into melody. I listen to that song whenever she is on my mind. It became a place where the love still lives. It became a way to hold what I cannot touch anymore.

Most people don’t understand what this kind of loss feels like, so I stopped looking for a shoulder to cry on or a perfect listener. I started leaning on the one thing that has always understood me without translation. I lean on music. I lean on my creativity. It is the one space where pain can breathe and transform into something that gives me strength instead of taking it.

So if I had to name the moment when I stopped hiding my pain and began using it as power, I would say it was when I realized my grief could guide me rather than trap me. The hurt did not leave. It changed shape. It became fuel, direction, and a quiet promise to keep becoming the person she would be proud of. I carry her with me in the light now, and my art helps me do that.

I think our readers would appreciate hearing more about your values and what you think matters in life and career, etc. So our next question is along those lines. What truths are so foundational in your life that you rarely articulate them?
One truth at the center of my life is that everything I’m building begins with me. I’ve learned that my spirit is the anchor I return to, no matter what shifts around me. People come and go, seasons change, life moves in ways you don’t expect, but my inner voice and my creativity have never abandoned me. I don’t say that out loud, but it lives deep in me.

Another truth is that I was born to create. I don’t mean that lightly. Creating is the way I breathe, the way I understand myself, the way I translate emotions that don’t fit into regular language. When I’m writing music or shaping a song or letting a melody pull something honest out of me, that’s when I feel most aligned. That’s not a pastime. That’s my truth.

I also carry this quiet belief that I’m allowed to become new whenever I need to. Reinvention isn’t something I fear. It’s something I trust. I’ve learned that I can shed old versions of myself without apology and step into something better, softer, stronger. I don’t talk about that much, but it shapes how I survive and how I grow.

And the last truth is about love. Even when it’s no longer present in the physical sense, it doesn’t disappear. It leaves an imprint. It becomes a kind of light you can still feel in the dark. Some people leave your life, but they leave something behind in you, too. I carry those pieces like reminders. They push me to move with intention, to create with heart, and to keep choosing growth even when it hurts.

These truths don’t need to be spoken for me to live by them. They sit quietly in the background, but they hold everything together.

Okay, we’ve made it essentially to the end. One last question before you go. If you knew you had 10 years left, what would you stop doing immediately?
If I knew I had 10 years left, I’d stop abandoning myself. I’d stop shrinking to fit spaces that were never meant for me. I’d stop questioning the gifts God placed in me and acting like my purpose is something I can ignore until I feel ready. I’d stop treating my creativity like a side note, when it has always been the clearest expression of my soul.

I’d stop letting fear write the story. I’d stop letting doubt make decisions that my spirit should be making. I’d stop carrying people and situations that pull me away from who I’m becoming. I’d stop holding on to pain out of habit. I’d stop giving my energy to anything that doesn’t nourish me or lead me closer to the person I’m meant to be.

I’d stop waiting for perfect timing. I’d stop saving my ideas for later. I’d stop pushing my dreams to the back of my mind like there will always be another chance. I’d release all hesitation, all guilt, all smallness. I’d speak up more. I’d create more. I’d love more. I’d move with intention.

With only 10 years left, I’d let my spirit lead. I’d pour myself into the music that lives inside me. I’d lean into the stories that want to be told through me. I’d trust the path, trust the timing, and trust that every gift I have was given to me for a reason. I’d live boldly, honor my truth, and create like I’m leaving something sacred behind.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.nikkidunlap.com
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/nikkidonthebeat
• Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@NikkiDunlap
• Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/nikkidonthebeat

Image Credits
@laquanndawson
@byseneca
@ricardohoratio