The Day the Music Stopped
Life has a way of throwing us unexpected curveballs, moments that redefine who we are and where we’re headed. For me, that moment came at the age of 12. A hit-and-run accident left me waking from a coma to hear the devastating news: I might never walk again, and I would certainly never use my left hand as I once did.
Before the accident, music was my world. I played the saxophone and clarinet with joy and passion, dreaming of a future where melodies would shape my life. In one instant, those dreams felt shattered. For years, I lived with the void of what was taken from me—an unspoken grief for the music I thought I’d lost forever.
But life also has a way of showing us new paths, often in the most surprising ways. That path came to me in the form of a ukulele, a small instrument I could hold and experiment with despite my physical limitations. At first, it seemed impossible—how could I, with only one functioning hand, play an instrument? But impossible isn’t a word I accept easily.
With relentless determination, I trained my pinky finger to do what once seemed unimaginable. It became my strumming hand, a defiant reminder that even when life takes something away, it can also offer us tools to rebuild.
Relearning music wasn’t just about the notes or the rhythm. It was about reclaiming joy, proving to myself and others that setbacks don’t have to be the end of our story. They can be the beginning of something entirely new.
Reflections
This blog is the first in a series I’m calling The Strings of Resilience, where I’ll share my journey of rediscovering music, teaching others, and building a community that celebrates inclusivity and creativity. For anyone who’s faced a challenge that felt insurmountable, I hope my story reminds you of the power of perseverance and adaptation.
Have you ever had to rebuild something you thought was lost? I’d love to hear your story in the comments. Let’s inspire each other to keep moving forward, one step—or one strum—at a time.