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?

Here’s something I’ve been reflecting on today. When we sit down to practise, do we actually hear what’s happening… or do we hear what happened last week? One mistake… and suddenly the mind says, “I always do that.” “I’m terrible at this.” “I’ve never been good at rhythm.” But is that really what’s happening? Or is the mind replaying old recordings? Music only exists in the present moment. Every note is new. Every phrase is an opportunity to begin again. Yet many of us practise with yesterday sitting beside us, quietly commenting on everything we do. Maybe that’s why learning sometimes feels so heavy. We’re not only learning today’s music. We’re carrying years of old stories with us. What would happen if, just for one practice session, you allowed yourself to forget who you think you are as a musician? What if every note was completely new? I’m beginning to think one of the greatest skills in music isn’t playing perfectly… It’s seeing each moment without yesterday getting in the way. Discussion 🎵 Have you ever caught yourself saying, “I always do this”? 🎵 Was it actually true… or simply an old story replaying? 🎵 What changes when you approach today’s practice with fresh eyes instead of old expectations? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Music really is Medicine.