Growing up in a musical family, you’d think I’d have a leg up when it came to picking up an instrument, especially the drums. But the truth is, as a kid, I struggled with sticking to any skill for long. My dad, sister and aunt all played piano, and while I was surrounded by music, I couldn’t care less. In fact, listening to my sister practice scales used to drive me nuts. No one pushed me to play anything - not even drums. Instead, I was drawn to the excitement of what the older kids were doing: BMX bikes and racing. Riding with them built up my leg strength, and before long, I was winning races and even scored a sponsorship from a local bike shop.
After my parents divorced, though, things changed. We moved frequently, and racing drifted away. I was a carefree, aimless kid, far more interested in hanging out with friends than in hitting the books. I became the class clown, often ending up in the principal's office or feigning a stomach ache to lounge in the nurse’s office.
Drumming wasn’t on my radar until I heard a neighbor kid taking lessons. I remember walking into his garage one day, hearing him play along to a song, and something clicked. I wanted to learn that beat. We had an old drum set stored at my grandmother's house, and when I asked my dad if I could have it, he let me bring it home. I learned that one beat, and I played it over and over - it was all I knew.
Then, one night, my life changed in an instant. While camping in our backyard, I was caught in a fire. I woke up in a burn unit, fighting for my life and enduring months of intense, unimaginable pain. During that time, I escaped into daydreams, losing myself in visions of drumming. My dad promised that when I recovered, he’d get me a drum set.
Finally, the day came. I was back home, sitting behind a new set of drums, playing that same beat that had sparked so much joy before. I started taking lessons and slowly progressed as a drummer. Not long after high school, I made the choice to study jazz in college, a decision that opened my eyes to just how hard I’d need to work to become the musician I wanted to be. I threw myself into practice, determined to push beyond my limits and become the drummer I imagined.
Today, at 55, I’m still pushing, practicing and striving to reach that next level of skill - the one I hear in my mind. Somewhere along the way, I realized what drives me isn’t reaching an end goal; it’s the challenge itself. The road can be grueling, and there are days I feel like throwing in the towel. But I remind myself that perfection isn’t the goal, and satisfaction may never come, and that’s perfectly fine.
What matters now is the journey, staying creative and embracing the process. I’ve come to see that life isn’t shaped by circumstances but by my attitude toward them. Happiness built on external validation is fragile, and true fulfillment comes from within. It’s my internal landscape that shapes what I bring to the world and how I perceive it.
Looking back, this musical journey feels like a gift - an ongoing adventure that keeps pushing me to grow in ways I never expected.
