I used to think confidence was something you either had or you didn’t—and wow, did I ever want to have it. In high school, I felt bold, capable, and full of big dreams. I was one of the strongest flutists in my school, and I truly believed the path ahead would unfold smoothly. But when I got to university, something shifted. The pressure, the competition, the silent rules of the classical world—it all started chipping away at me.

In the end, I stepped away from my master’s degree before completing it. My advisor and I were on completely different pages, and the environment around me didn’t feel like it left room for the kind of artist I was becoming. Between the politics and the constant hustle to prove myself, I hit a wall. I felt like a failure. Like everything I’d worked for was unraveling. I put my flute away for six months. I needed space. I needed to find out if music—and I—could still belong together.

Then something beautiful happened. One of my professors—who had given me an A in his class—reached out when he heard I wasn’t coming back. He told me not to give up and suggested I try studying with a different flute teacher: someone nurturing, playful, and open to genre-blending. That small nudge changed the trajectory of my life.

A few months later, I was jamming with any band or songwriter who would have me on that stage. I didn’t want to be behind a music stand anymore—I wanted to shine as a soloist. I wanted to create something original, something alive. And I did.

As I transitioned from classically trained flutist to one-woman flute looping songwriter, I learned that confidence isn’t something handed to you. It’s built. Step by step. Moment by moment.

Like the time I asked indie rock legends Yo La Tengo if I could play flute with them. I almost didn’t ask. I was terrified. But I did it anyway—and they said yes. That moment changed something in me. I realized that every time I put myself out there—even when I got more no’s than yeses—I was growing my confidence muscle.

Confidence doesn’t come from applause or credentials. It comes from doing the brave thing when it would be easier to stay small.

If you’ve ever felt like you don’t quite fit the mold—or like everyone else has it all figured out and you’re out here making it up as you go—you’re not alone.

Truth is, I’ve spent most of my creative life forging a path that didn’t exist yet—and there were so many moments where it felt disorienting and lonely, like I was moving forward with no roadmap and a lot of doubt trailing behind me.

And what I’ve learned is this:

Your path isn’t something you find. It’s something you create.

Here are a few things I’ve learned (usually the hard way) that keep me rooted when I start questioning everything.

“You can achieve anything you want in life if you’re willing to receive a thousand no’s.” – Byron Katie

As a musician, rejection is a big part of the gig. 

No matter how much heart I pour into my work, how many hours I spend practicing, or how much talent I bring - rejection is inevitable. But instead of letting it crush my spirit, I’ve learned to embrace it as a powerful tool for growth, redirection, and reinvention. Rejection has become one of the most valuable teachers of my career.