When you enter a traditional university music program, you are handed a very specific map. It is a path paved with centuries of tradition, rigid technical milestones, and the expectation that success looks like fitting perfectly into a highly specific, classical mold.
For a long time, I tried to fit into that mold. But as a multi-genre artist whose heart pulls toward classical, pop, jazz, cinematic orchestration, and direct community advocacy, I often felt like a square peg trying to navigate a very round hole.
The institutional friction started relatively early. In my second year at the University of Ottawa, I was dropped from the performance stream. I pushed forward, determined to keep growing, but by my final year, the divide between my multi-genre aspirations and the department's expectations widened further, and my formal university piano lessons came to an end.
In the immediate aftermath, it felt like doors slamming shut. In the traditional academic ecosystem, losing your placement in those spaces can feel like a verdict on your potential as a musician. You are left wondering if a system built on rigid standardization has any room for an artist who wants to color outside the lines.
But looking back on my life and career today, those closed doors were the best thing that ever happened to my music.
The moment I stepped out of the classroom and into the real world, the claustrophobia disappeared, replaced by an immense amount of creative agency. I realized I didn’t need an institution’s stamp of approval to sit at a piano, write a melody, or connect with an audience. Traditional music programs serve a wonderful, vital purpose for those who want to walk a purely classical path—and I remain deeply respectful of that lineage. But I realized that my music shouldn't just live inside soundproof practice rooms graded by a panel. It belongs where it can serve real people.
Those academic setbacks became the exact catalyst I needed to launch the Something for Everyone concert series. If I had been allowed a graduating recital in fourth year, I would not have had the time to organize a year long charity event for a local foodbank. The closed doors at my university opened up the possibility to think outside of the rectangular prism. The rejection became a redirection that pushed me into my true artistic path.
Instead of playing complex repertoire for a letter grade, my daily life now consists of taking music directly to the streets and local venues. By stepping outside the box, I was able to partner with incredible local businesses, arts philanthropists, and community members to tackle food insecurity head-on, eventually raising over $13,364 for the Lanark County Food Bank.
Even better, building my own platform gave me the freedom to live out my values every day. It allowed me to collaborate as a musical ally for the displaced Ukrainian community, accompany the Ukrainian Children's Choir at the Senate of Canada, and intentionally elevate brilliant young people with neurodiversities—like FASD, Down syndrome, and Autism—into leadership and public speaking roles at our events.
To any student or artist currently feeling suffocated by a rigid system, or dealing with the sting of an institutional rejection: please know that the boundary of your classroom is not the boundary of your career.
Sometimes, being pushed out of the box is exactly what you need to realize just how big the rest of the world is. My university setbacks didn't end my journey as a pianist and composer—they simply forced me to build a bigger, more meaningful stage. And on this stage, there truly is something for everyone