The Roots of my Radical Teaching

In a recent conversation about my teaching methods, I was surprised when the word “radical” popped out of my mouth.

That’s a pretty strong word. But then again, it takes an intense word to set my current approach apart from my previous teaching and to most of the teaching I’ve experienced in my 50+ years as a student.

My new radical paradigm ditches the traditional student/teacher roles and focuses on inviting others to explore alongside me. I’m less likely these days to “download” information into my students. Instead, I’m setting up an environment in which we can both follow our curiosity to new discoveries.

The learning that happens in this format—for me as well as for whoever signs on to explore with me—seems to go deep, last well beyond the lesson, and focus in on exactly what is meaningful for both of us.

It’s taken me over 5 decades to get to the point of teaching radically. Let’s return to the beginning of my journey: the year 1975, when I was still in grade school. The scene opens in the backyard of my childhood home in Hawaii, where my dad, a major in the Army, was stationed. My mom enters, a tray of cookies in her hands:

“Thanks, Mom, but we don’t want a snack right now. We’re busy.”  

11-year-old me rolled my eyes at the cluelessness of parents and returned my attention to the operation I’d organized behind our house. I’d set up stations, at each of which one of my unpaid laborers was engrossed in a specific task involving the husks of coconuts we’d harvested for our project. Under my direction, my younger sisters and half a dozen neighborhood kids were soaking the husks in buckets, laying them out to dry, cutting them into pieces of the appropriate length in order to…?

Well, we didn’t actually know why we were performing this complex series of activities. It never occurred to us that our process needed a goal. We only knew that working with the coconut husks was fascinating to us. And that was enough to keep us occupied all day and into the evening when we no longer had enough light to work by and when our mothers started insisting that we wash up for supper.

I didn’t realize back then that in my play I was honing useful skills and amassing knowledge about the world and I wouldn’t have cared anyway. I was just captivated by the process: organizing, creating systems, managing people, figuring things out. I was already an explorer.

Even as a child, I have always enjoyed interacting with Creation simply to understand better how things work. How I work. My explorations have been inspired over the years by books. I love to read. When I was young, I pretty much always had my head buried in a book. Every week, at my local library, I’d head first to the mystery shelf in the children’s section (Encyclopedia Brown or Nancy Drew, I wasn’t picky). Then I’d hit the adult non-fiction section. I would choose at least a dozen books on a variety of topics, predominantly language and science. And, of course, music. And then I’d head home to spend the whole rest of the day curled up in a big chair, surrounded by my latest stack of books. Heaven. At least until Mom insisted I wash up for supper. 

I spent so much time reading that my parents started to worry that I was missing out on real-life experiences. They didn’t understand that the books were my portal into a deeper understanding of the real world and of myself.

By high school, my pursuit of musical virtuosity on piano and clarinet competed for my attention with my learning—in class but mostly through independent reading—about all the aspects of the world that fascinated me: grammar, astronomy, math, genetics, zoology, languages, psychology, and human potential. Even though I had a strong yearning to become a professional musician, my other interests continued to consume me equally. I felt torn between two career paths that seemed irreconcilable: music and science. This inner struggle became the topic of my college application essay, which helped me get into Princeton.

I figured that my path would become clear to me while I was at university. Wanting to keep all options open, I did a double major in Music and Pre-Med. After graduation, I joined the Army. (This is a story unto itself, in fact, a whole cabaret show I wrote and performed.) Being in the Army momentarily diverted my professional path from both music and science, but I continued to feed my dual interests, checking out my habitual huge stacks of books every week from my local library and signing up for my first voice lessons. 

Singing grabbed me even more strongly than playing instruments ever had and, as soon as I was discharged from the Army, I intensified my vocal studies and began to get hired as a baritone soloist. And of course, I was still reading. My subjects of greatest interest had shifted a bit over the years; now I was devouring books on anatomy, physiology, mind, philosophy, human potential. Eventually, my reading bubbled over into actual experience, as I began to study and eventually become certified in the Alexander Technique and several forms of hands-on healing work. 

About 15 years ago, I finally figured out how to merge all of my musical and scientific interests into a satisfying career in which I could continue to nurture my inner explorer every day.

Now, as a voice teacher, I get to explore in multiple realms not only on my own, but with each of my students. Having spent decades in what amounts to thousands of hours of research and experimentation, I have become a good judge of what is worth exploring. And I know how to take ideas off the page and put them to practical use. When you work with me, you benefit from my ability to analyze what you need and what would help. And what you needn’t bother with.

My students are explorers too. Like me, they want to go beyond the traditional modes of thinking and one-size-fits-all approaches. They want to discover what works best specifically for them.

To honor each person’s individuality and ability to think for themselves, I don’t teach so much as coach people in awaking their own curiosity, which ultimately leads to discovery.

When you work with me, you will get expert at figuring things out for yourself.

And you’ll benefit from my continuing exploration, in which I am still relentlessly seeking out new ideas and putting them to the test.

Unlike in my childhood coconut husk factory, in my FreeBody FreeVoice studio I have a goal: giving people access to their full potential as singers and as human beings. But my way of working hasn’t changed much over the years: it starts with curiosity, which leads to experimenting until a deeper level of understanding has been reached. This is still enough to keep me occupied all day until it’s time to wash up for supper.