One of the biggest breakthroughs in music comes when we realise we don’t always hear what is actually happening. We hear what we expect to hear. A wrong note appears and the mind instantly says, “I’m hopeless.” A teacher offers feedback and the mind says, “I’m being judged.” But is that what really happened? Or is it simply an old story being replayed? Music has taught me that every practice session is an opportunity to listen with fresh ears. Instead of asking, “How did I mess that up?” Try asking: “What am I actually hearing?” That small shift changes everything. When we become curious instead of certain, we stop reacting to the stories in our mind and start responding to the music itself. The more we practise listening without judgment, the more clearly we hear—not just our music, but ourselves. 🎵 Reflection: During your next practice session, notice how quickly your mind labels what you’re playing. Then gently ask yourself: “Am I hearing what’s actually there, or am I hearing an old story?” You might be surprised by the answer.

One of the most fascinating things music has taught me is that we rarely respond to what is actually happening. We respond to what happened before. You play a wrong note and instantly remember every mistake you’ve ever made. You walk into a lesson and remember the teacher who criticised you years ago. You perform for an audience and your mind drifts back to the last performance where something went wrong. Yet none of those moments are happening now. They’re memories. The present performance is being filtered through the past. This is why two musicians can experience exactly the same lesson in completely different ways. One hears encouragement. The other hears criticism. The notes are identical. The teacher’s words are identical. The only difference is the collection of memories each student brings into the room. Music constantly reminds us that every note only exists now. The note you played a second ago has vanished. The mistake from last week has vanished. The compliment from ten years ago has vanished too. The only note you can ever truly play is the one beneath your fingers in this moment. When our mind is full of old rehearsals, old fears, old embarrassments and old successes, we’re no longer listening to the music in front of us. We’re listening to an echo. One of the greatest breakthroughs in music comes when you stop trying to protect yourself from yesterday and begin listening to today. The present is where rhythm lives. The present is where creativity appears. The present is where learning happens. The past can teach us valuable lessons, but it cannot play today’s music for us. Practice Before you begin practising today, close your eyes for a minute. Notice whatever thoughts appear. You might find yourself thinking: - “I hope I don’t make the same mistake.” - “Last lesson didn’t go very well.” - “My teacher will probably notice my weak spots.” - “I’m still annoyed about yesterday’s practice.” - “I used to be better than this.” Simply notice each thought without trying to change it.

Here’s something I’ve been reflecting on this morning. Imagine two musicians make exactly the same mistake. One laughs, learns from it and keeps playing. The other feels embarrassed and wants to give up. The mistake was identical. So what changed? The meaning. It’s easy to think we’re upset because of the wrong note, the difficult piece, the teacher’s feedback or the upcoming performance. But perhaps those things aren’t the real cause. Perhaps what disturbs us is the story we quietly tell ourselves afterwards. “I’ll never be good enough.” “I always mess this up.” “Everyone must think I’m terrible.” Those stories feel true in the moment, but they’re interpretations—not facts. Music has taught me that mistakes are simply information. It’s the meaning we attach to them that creates our suffering. Discussion 🎵 Can you remember a time when the story in your mind was harder than the music itself? 🎵 Has there been a moment when changing your perspective completely changed how you felt about practising? 🎵 What story do you most often tell yourself after making a mistake? I’d love to hear your experiences. I have a feeling we’ll recognise a little of ourselves in each other’s answers.

Here’s something I’ve been reflecting on today. Imagine you play one wrong note. Nothing more. Just one note. A moment later your mind says: “Everyone noticed.” “My teacher must be disappointed.” “I’m terrible at this.” But… did any of that actually happen? Or did the mind quietly fill in the blanks? One of the biggest lessons music has taught me is that we often react, not to what happened, but to the story we’ve created about what happened. The note wasn’t painful. The story was. The next time something doesn’t go to plan, try asking yourself: 🎵 What do I actually know? 🎵 What story have I added? That simple question can change everything. Sometimes the greatest breakthrough isn’t improving your playing… it’s learning to recognise when your mind is showing you something that isn’t really there. I’d love to hear your thoughts. Discussion 🎵 Have you ever assumed someone was judging your playing, only to discover they weren’t? 🎵 What’s one story your mind likes to tell you when you make a mistake? 🎵 How might your practice change if you questioned those stories a little more often?

Imagine you’re learning a new song. While you’re practising, lots of thoughts might pop into your head. “I’m too slow.” “This is easy.” “I’ll never remember this.” “My friend is better than me.” Here’s something interesting… Those thoughts aren’t the music. They’re just thoughts. The only thing that’s really happening is that you’re learning. The more you can notice your thoughts without believing every one of them, the easier it becomes to enjoy making music. Musicians improve fastest when they listen more to the music than to the voice in their head.