There were a number of years where I dreaded opening my email inbox.

I just never knew who was going to have a problem that was my fault.

The fear went away — but the emails demanding my attention didn’t. There is almost always someone upset with me now, and I’ve learned to live with it.

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I thought that I had gotten over so-called “imposter syndrome,” in which a person feels like a fraud, poorly qualified to do the things they’re doing (or want to do).

I remember when I could not — could not — create a website for my music. It felt totally phony to write a third-person bio (“Casey is a singer-songwriter who labors in obscurity…”) and when I went to write a first-person bio instead, I shut down completely. Years later, I felt grateful not to be there anymore. I could now start things and follow through on them. I could do the work that needed to be done (including writing bios) easily and without angst.

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I’ve been teaching some online songwriting classes for kids.

It’s been a lot of fun. We’re making up silly lyrics about tacos and learning to jam a little bit.

These kids have varying levels of participation. Some of them are all in, chanting rhythms and offering little bits of melody. Some will sing along when they’re on mute but refuse to turn on their mics to share what they are doing. Some will propose some lyrics or answer questions in the chat. And some won’t contribute at all — their participation is limited to observation.

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When working with a group of inexperienced singers, I use a favorite trick to instantly elicit a rich, powerful tone, no matter how weak and lackluster their voices sounded before.

It’s simple: I ask them all to try to sing as ugly as possible.

With that, the ensemble is transformed. Freed from the constraint of trying to sound pretty, every singer drops their inhibitions and actually sings. The result is immediately, undeniably superior to what they were doing before.

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“Yesterday, she sat at the piano and cried,” said Angie about her nine-year-old, “and today she’s refusing to play.”

It didn’t take much to soothe Angie, despite how dire the situation seemed. I told her that I’ve cried at the piano bench many a time. It’s normal. It doesn’t mean that her daughter has had enough and should quit piano. On the contrary, it means that she really cares about what she’s doing and a breakthrough is on its way if she sticks with it.

Do we want a child to feel this level of frustration in their first six months of piano lessons? Of course not. But Angie’s daughter had been playing for more than three years. She was an accomplished player for her age who was setting big goals for herself.

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It was the last day of school. It had been a bittersweet morning full of summer sunshine and goodbyes.

One of the last remaining students began to cry. “It’s over!” she wailed to her mother. “I don’t want it to be over!”

“It’s okay, honey,” her mom said. “You can have sleepovers with Emma and Sarah — you’ll see your friends! You’re going to camp! Remember how excited you were about that? And we’ll be back here again in just a couple of months!”

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