It’s that time of year—people are people again, not just coats with shoes. The city comes alive for a few beautiful days, despite the allergies, before the heat takes over.

And right on cue, the quiet hum of “I want to quit” charges the air. Sports are spared. It’s the brainy stuff that gets dragged to the chopping block. Music always stirs the biggest fights.

“I want to quit piano” can escalate fast—into a full-blown war cry. With my own parents, my battle reached scorched-earth levels. But parents hang on, trusting that music matters. “You’ll regret quitting” becomes the rallying cry—but it rarely lands.
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These moments—that resistance—are exactly when music teaches its most important lesson: the value of discomfort.