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I remember my mom once gave an appointment with a psychic as a gift. The psychic told me I was destined to become a teacher. Picturing a classroom with chairs and desks, I thought her vision of my future was ridiculous.

Around twenty years later, I entered into a relationship with a woman who owned a music school in Beverly Hills. She suggested I teach at her school, and I politely declined the offer. A few weeks later, she said, “I just got a call from a parent who wants their son and daughter to take piano lessons. Why don’t you teach them?” My schedule was clear that day, so I agreed to give my first music lesson.

The girl was five years old, and the boy was eight. It was an enjoyable experience for all, and they signed up to take lessons with me on a weekly basis. The boy left town for college recently armed with an incredible repertoire and an extensive knowledge of music theory. I still teach the girl and she is now an accomplished player on both the piano and guitar.

I was soon teaching piano, guitar, ukulele, harmonica, and bass to sixty students each week. I loved teaching. It didn’t feel like I was working. It was fun to have so many different types of people of all ages and ethnicities coming to me to learn how to play music.

The relationship with the woman came to an end, but I still taught at her school. After a few months the tension of working for an “x” became rather uncomfortable. I decided to open my own music school and gave her my two-week notice. I told my students that I would be leaving to open my own school and each and every one followed me to my new school, The Music Lyceum in Santa Monica, California.

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