Every once in a while, a student shares something that perfectly captures why I teach the way I do.

Ben’s message was one of those moments.

He was recently asked to watch a new video on scales — and at first, like so many students, he wasn’t entirely sure why they mattered. He assumed they were important, of course, but something was missing. There wasn’t yet a personal connection. No real understanding of why they mattered.

And then something clicked.

After watching the video, Ben didn’t just “learn” about scales — he felt them.

“I gained a firm understanding of why they are important… from an exercise in it.”

That sentence means everything to me.

Because scales were never meant to be memorized mechanically.
They were never meant to be lifeless patterns or boring routines.
They were meant to unlock understanding.

For the first time, Ben began experimenting on his own — playing with different scales, intentionally stepping outside of them, hearing the dissonance, and truly ...

There are moments when music isn’t about meeting a deadline, completing a challenge, or checking a box.

Sometimes, music arrives simply because it needs to be shared.

Pamela reminded me of that in a beautiful way.

As the Christmas season came and went, Pamela didn’t complete the Christmas Song Challenge in the way she originally intended. But instead of turning away from the piano — or turning that into disappointment — she chose something far more meaningful.

She shared her Solstice Song.

What followed wasn’t judgment or comparison. It was a connection.

Her fellow students responded with kindness, generosity, and understanding. They didn’t hear imperfections — they heard honesty. They didn’t focus on what wasn’t finished — they felt what was true.

Pamela described how her song carried what was in her heart through her hands at the piano. Even with a vocal that felt less than perfect and piano playing still in progress, the emotion came through.

And that is the point.

Music do...

I was recently asked to watch a new video on scales — and to be honest, it was exactly what I needed.

During my studies, I always knew scales were important. At least, I assumed they were. But if I’m being honest, I didn’t have a firm, personal understanding of why they mattered. They felt like something you’re “supposed” to do, without a clear connection to real music.

That changed after watching this video.

For the first time, I gained a solid understanding of why scales are so important — not just as an idea, but through actually doing the exercise. Something clicked.

Instead of just repeating patterns, I began experimenting on my own. I tried different scales. I intentionally played notes outside the scale. I listened carefully to what happened when the notes didn’t belong.

And suddenly, I could hear it.

The discord.
The tension.
The difference.

That’s when it became real.

I realized that scales aren’t just about finger movement or discipline — they’re about understanding h...

This is a win I didn’t expect — and one I’m deeply grateful for.

This winter, instead of lamenting the fact that I hadn’t completed the Christmas Song Challenge yet, I chose to do something different. I posted my Solstice Song.

I wasn’t sure what would happen.
What surprised me most was the response.

Some of my fellow piano students — many of whom did complete the Christmas Challenge — responded with such kindness and generosity. They understood what was going through my heart and how it poured out through my hands when I played my lyrics. They felt the emotion and my sincerity, even though my voice wasn’t “perfect” and my piano playing, of course, is still a work in progress.

And that meant everything to me.

“I can take satisfaction in knowing that my song touched listeners.”

That, to me, is what music is meant to do.
The song did its job — and for that, I call it a win.

The truth is, I didn’t complete the Christmas Song Challenge on time, even though I’m still working on i...

With the coming of Christmas, I found myself doing what so many musicians do — playing the big three carols late into the quiet hours of the morning. Fingers numb, my pedal foot begging for relief. The dog had long since given up and gone to sleep, probably wishing I would close the door and finally call it a night.

And then, Silent Night appeared.

My mind wandered, as it often does, and suddenly I was no longer at the piano. I was back at a Christmas gathering from my teenage years — a moment that has never left me.

My mother had suffered a massive stroke when I was in high school. Overnight, everything changed. She lost her speech. Her mobility was limited. She wore a specially engineered leg brace, and for two years, we watched her struggle through both good days and not-so-good days. She communicated through her eyes, shared our exhaustion, and somehow still showed up — attending my graduation and every one of my chorus concerts.

Music never left her.

As I sat down at the stag...

There are moments in life when music stops being something we play —
and becomes something we are.

Patricia shared one of those moments, and it’s stayed with me.

As Christmas approached, she found herself doing what so many musicians do — playing familiar carols late into the quiet hours of the night. Fingers numb. The pedal foot is begging for relief. Even the dog had given up and gone to sleep.

And then Silent Night appeared.

What followed wasn’t just a memory — it was a return.

Patricia’s mother suffered a massive stroke when Patricia was in high school. In an instant, speech was taken away. Mobility changed. Life reorganized itself around patience, resilience, and love. For years, her mother communicated through her eyes, showed up through sheer will, and attended every graduation and every chorus concert.

Music, however, never left her.

During Christmas, the power went out. The room went quiet. Someone produced a napkin with the words Silent Night written on it. And without...

There’s something electrifying about standing at the edge of a new year.
A blank page.
A decision point.
A moment where who you’ve been and who you want to become finally meet.

Maybe 2025 was loud for you. Maybe it was quiet.
Maybe you achieved everything you planned — or maybe it didn’t go the way you hoped.

But 2026 has not been written yet.
And that makes it powerful.

Because here’s the truth:

Nothing changes because the calendar does.
Change happens because you do.

Your dreams won’t chase you.
Your joy won’t build itself.
Your passion won’t ignite out of nowhere.

At some point, you have to decide that the life you imagine isn’t something you admire from a distance —
it’s something you build with your hands.

Maybe you’ve been waiting for permission.
Waiting for clarity.
Waiting to feel “ready.”
Waiting for the fear to go away.

But fear doesn’t disappear —
you just get stronger than it.

And confidence?
It isn’t something you magically wake up with.

Confidence is a result.
A...

Some breakthroughs don’t come with applause or big performances.
They come quietly — in moments where fear loosens its grip and confidence gently takes its place.

Irina experienced one of those moments recently, and it meant more than she may even realize.

She played a little for a friend who listened over the phone. On the surface, it sounds simple. But for Irina, this was something entirely new.

“I wasn’t shaking and I wasn’t in a state of anxiety like before.”

That sentence alone says everything.

In the past, playing for someone — even informally — brought anxiety, tension, and fear. But this time, Irina noticed something different in herself. Her body was calm. Her mind was steady. And instead of panic, there was presence.

One of the key shifts came from a simple suggestion:
to start recording herself on video, and to send those videos even with mistakes.

“Sending videos with mistakes helped me let go of fear.”

This is where real growth begins.
Not when the mistakes...

Yesterday, I experienced something that felt small on the outside — but incredibly meaningful on the inside.

I played a little for a friend while she listened over the phone. That alone might not sound like much, but for me, it was a real breakthrough.

In the past, moments like that would fill me with anxiety. My hands would shake, my heart would race, and fear would take over. But this time, something was different.

“I wasn’t shaking or in a state of anxiety like before.”

And for the first time, I could truly feel how far I’ve come.

One of the most helpful suggestions I received was to start video recording myself — even when I make mistakes — and to share those videos without waiting for perfection. That idea alone changed my entire relationship with playing.

“Sending videos with mistakes helped me let go of fear.”

Instead of freezing, I played.
Instead of panicking, I breathed.
Instead of judging myself, I listened.

And something beautiful happened:
my confidence beg...

One of the most powerful things I witness inside Ridley Academy is what happens when a student receives the right guidance — personalized, thoughtful, and rooted in genuine care. Benoit’s journey is a beautiful example of this.

From the moment he joined the Mentorship Program, he discovered something essential: the extraordinary advantage of having a competent teacher who is deeply invested in his progress. Rex, his mentor, did what great teachers do — he saw Benoit’s potential immediately and helped him believe in it too.

That belief changed everything for him.

Benoit shared that he now feels fully confident in his ability to reach his piano goals. Not eventually. Not “maybe someday.” But truly — and for the rest of his life.

“Rex convinced me I will be able to reach my piano goals. Now I am very confident about my capabilities.”

What struck me most is how clearly Benoit understands one of the core truths of becoming a musician:
It’s not just what you practice — it’s how you ...