"Returning to piano after loss can feel overwhelming, especially when life has taken you through grief and hardship. At Ridley Academy, we often see how learning piano becomes more than music — it becomes a path back to healing."

Returning to piano after loss can feel overwhelming, especially when life has taken you through grief and hardship. At Ridley Academy, we often see how learning piano becomes more than music — it becomes a path back to healing.

Stephen,

I just want to say… thank you.

You truly are an inspiration. And I know I’m not the only one who feels this way — all of your students, past and present, are very lucky to have you in their lives.

I’ve been quiet for a while.

I’ve buried my head and stepped away… not because I didn’t care, but because life has been heavy. I’ve gone through some deeply painful things.

I lost two close friends to cancer.
My brother passed away.
My sister passed away.
My mother passed away.
And recently, my best friend passed away too.

It’...

I just have to say it again:

Thank you, Stephen.

This is truly the best gift I could have given myself.

Reconnecting with the piano has brought so much joy back into my life — more than I expected, and more than I even thought was possible at this stage.

When I was a child, I learned piano through the classical method. I stayed with it for about five years… but eventually, I became frustrated and quit.

But here’s the truth:

I never really stopped playing.

No matter where I lived, I always had a piano nearby. I would sit down and play — not perfectly, not technically, but enough to express something inside me.

I always loved music.
Especially jazz.

But I didn’t understand it.

I didn’t know about chords, chord progressions, or jazz theory — the things that actually allow you to play freely. Those were things I was never taught in the classical approach.

Everything changed when life took an unexpected turn.

Someone left a vibraphone at our place, and I started experimenting wi...

Stephen,

Well… here I am.

At the end of my Masterclass with you.

And I just want to say: thank you.

When I first started this course, I wasn’t starting from zero — but it certainly felt like it. I had studied piano as a child for about five years and could play a few pieces back then. But by the time I came to this course, I couldn’t remember almost any of it.

I had forgotten how to read music.
I didn’t understand scales.
And I definitely didn’t understand why I needed to learn theory before jumping straight into songs.

At first, that part was difficult for me.

But now, at the end of the course… I understand completely.

As the lessons progressed, I began trying very simple beginner pieces. I wasn’t very good — but I kept going. Step by step, something started to build.

And then… it all came together.

A few lessons back, something just clicked.

I decided I wanted to challenge myself, so I chose a piece that meant something special to me — Moonlight Sonata. My brother used to ...

I recently attended a live session exclusively for Ridley Academy students, and I came in with a lot of questions.

But if I’m honest… I also came in with a certain mindset.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I didn’t really believe my questions would be answered. I think I hadn’t fully allowed myself to imagine that someone could have built something so complete — something designed in a way that, if followed properly, would naturally answer the very questions I was asking.

I found myself asking things like, “I don’t understand how the dictionary terms work yet…” — without realizing that maybe I wasn’t meant to understand everything all at once.

And that maybe the course wasn’t lacking…
maybe my perspective just needed to shift.

I even caught myself thinking I was asking “bad questions.” Not because the questions themselves were wrong, but because the mindset I was bringing into the process wasn’t fully open yet.

And that realization changed something for me.

Because the truth is...

Today I had a moment of understanding after our mentorship class.

It was one of those small but meaningful realizations that suddenly makes everything connect.

I spend a great deal of time thinking about how I can help each one of my students in their music journey. Because for me, this mentorship program has become something deeper than simply learning piano.

It has become two journeys happening at the same time.

On one hand, I am learning for myself — developing my own understanding of music, improving my playing, and expanding my perspective.

But on the other hand, I am also learning something equally valuable: how to teach music.

And that is a gift I didn’t fully expect when I started.

Every mentorship class gives me takeaways that I can bring not only into my own playing, but also into the way I support others in their musical growth. It helps me think differently about how music is learned, how it is shared, and how we can encourage others along the way.

Because of that, ...

I just wanted to write: thank you.

Not for anything small — but for something that touched a very deep place in me.

I recently went through the challenge course “How to Write a Cover Song,” where Stephen explains how he covered What a Wonderful World. I originally joined because I wanted ideas for the current challenge of covering Would You Mind. But what I found was something I didn’t even know I needed.

When Stephen shared the story of his mother, her work, and the themes of babies being born and lost, it reached into a memory I had almost forgotten. Years ago, when I had a miscarriage, I remember being pushed through the hospital corridor on a bed — and What a Wonderful World was playing on the hospital radio. The contrast of that song with the pain of the moment stayed with me.

Hearing this song again, in this context, felt like comfort arriving after many, many years. It also felt like hope — especially in a world that feels so heavy right now, with wars, hatred, and so much m...

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...