Lately, my days have been filled with lots of two-handed chord practice and a whole lot of noodling — shaping my song on the piano, every single day.

And something beautiful is happening.

The song is starting to take shape. I finally got the chords. Little bits of melody are beginning to appear through the arpeggios, and even the “Would You Mind” phrases are starting to emerge naturally — coming from high A, C, and then resolving into the chord. It’s messy, experimental, and still very much in process… but it’s working.

This phase feels really beneficial. It’s not polished yet, which is why I haven’t shared many videos. But I can feel things clicking internally, and that’s been far more important to me than showing something “perfect.”

“The penny has dropped.”

That’s the best way I can describe it.

For the first time, I’ve made that transition from theory into actual practice with arpeggios. That feeling of “something missing” that used to follow me at the piano? It’s not missing...

Right now, I’m on week three of practicing smooth scales at 120 bpm — two octaves, two hands, both directions. And honestly? It’s slow. Very slow.

I still have two major scales to go (G# and A#) and all 24 minor scales ahead of me. It’s going to take me at least a couple more weeks before I complete them all — smoothly, evenly, and at tempo. But I’m okay with that.

For the first time, I actually feel like I’m accomplishing something real.

Practicing slowly, perfectly, and consistently until I reach 120 bpm is working. It’s not flashy. It’s not fast. But it’s solid. And there’s something deeply satisfying about feeling my hands begin to understand what they’re supposed to do — even if they’re still not fully independent yet.

I’ll be honest: I can’t wait to get to chords.

But I’m choosing to wait.

I know that if I rush past the foundation, I’ll only slow myself down later. I even went back to drill where both thumbs start on the same note — and realized I had rushed that exercise b...

“All we’re really doing is playing with frequency that creates an emotional impact, in an almost magical way.”

When I heard Stephen say that, I felt something click inside me.
He spoke my language — and that one sentence summed up everything I’ve felt about music for as long as I can remember.

I was drawn to music at a very young age. I still remember the first time I heard the French Horn play the fanfare in Camelot. Something in me stood up. Every cell in my body felt aligned, awake, and alive. Even then, I knew music was more than sound — it was frequency, emotion, and meaning.

What fascinated me even more was learning how the Greeks had already figured this out long ago. How music, frequency, and emotion were deeply understood… until power structures shifted. The Church. The Ages. Control. Singing restricted. Notes labeled as “tonic” or “dominant.” Rules layered on top of something that was once free.

Hearing this explained so clearly felt liberating.

For so long, I’ve felt lo...

“All we’re really doing is playing with frequency that creates an emotional impact, in an almost magical way.”

When I heard Stephen say that, I felt something click inside me.
He spoke my language — and that one sentence summed up everything I’ve felt about music for as long as I can remember.

I was drawn to music at a very young age. I still remember the first time I heard the French Horn play the fanfare in Camelot. Something in me stood up. Every cell in my body felt aligned, awake, and alive. Even then, I knew music was more than sound — it was frequency, emotion, and meaning.

What fascinated me even more was learning how the Greeks had already figured this out long ago. How music, frequency, and emotion were deeply understood… until power structures shifted. The Church. The Ages. Control. Singing restricted. Notes labeled as “tonic” or “dominant.” Rules layered on top of something that was once free.

Hearing this explained so clearly felt liberating.

For so long, I’ve felt lo...

Three months ago, I tried to play “Fly Me to the Moon.”
I loved the song — but I couldn’t memorize the chords. The rhythm was another challenge altogether. It felt like one of those pieces that just wouldn’t settle in my hands.

But I kept going.

Recently, something changed.

As I progressed and started going through Level 5 for the second time, it suddenly clicked. Not in a vague way — but clearly, deeply, and all at once.

I was on the train when I watched a YouTube video. I sat down afterward, wrote down the chords based on a lead sheet, and within three hours… I was rolling.

That moment felt incredible.

It wasn’t just about memorizing anymore. It was about understanding.

After a lesson with Rex, everything came together even more clearly. His lesson was perfect — and suddenly I got it. I realized how the 4-5-1 concept works together with inversions, and how it integrates into the way we’re actually making music.

Here’s what really stood out to me — my personal takeaways from t...

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...

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...

Being in the Mentorship Program has opened my eyes to something I never truly understood before: the incredible advantage of having a competent, caring piano teacher who is personally invested in my progress.

Rex is my teacher, and from the very beginning, he convinced me that I would reach my piano goals. That belief alone changed everything. Today, I feel more confident than ever in my capabilities, and I know I will continue playing and improving for the rest of my life.

One of the most important things Rex taught me is what to practice daily — and even more importantly, how to practice.
That second part is essential.
The way you practice determines whether you make real progress or stay stuck. Learning the correct method has made all the difference for me.

Both Rex and Stephen also taught us how to play songs using chord sheets, which has been transformative. I’ve even started creating my own arrangements in the refrain of a song I learned — something I never imagined I would do...