Recently, I met a new class of drummers at one of the places I teach. Like many groups I’ve worked with, this one included a wide range of personalities, behaviors, and learning preferences. Some students jumped in eagerly, while others observed quietly. One student in particular stood out during our first session—not because they were the most advanced player, but because they struggled to stay seated, frequently interrupted activities with questions, and couldn’t seem to begin with the group when prompted.

At first glance, it might have seemed like they weren’t getting much from the lesson. But at the beginning of our second class, something surprising happened. While the rest of the class was settling in, I noticed this same student casually noodling with a rhythm we had learned the week before. It wasn’t perfect, but it was clearly recognizable. Something had stuck.

That moment sparked an idea. I decided to build an entire group activity around that rhythm. We’d all play it together three times, then take turns improvising solos while the group kept the beat. We called it The Universal Break. As we went around the circle, I watched the students begin to connect—with the rhythm, with themselves, and with each other.

One student threw themselves into the activity with full physical engagement, clearly enjoying the motion and freedom the framework allowed. Another seemed uncertain about how to improvise, needing a bit more structure to get started. A third struggled to maintain the tempo during their solo, needing encouragement to stay in sync with the group. Each of these moments offered a glimpse into where each student was in their musical journey.

Rather than pausing the activity to correct or explain, I looked for ways to guide in the moment. When my own turn came to solo, I used it as a teaching tool—introducing new rhythms through call and response, modeling dynamic shifts, and offering ideas that helped expand each student’s concept of what a solo could be. By doing so, I was able to shape the learning experience without breaking the flow.

What unfolded was more than just an exercise—it became a moment of connection. Everyone in the room was involved: listening, moving, reacting, and supporting each other. We created a space that allowed for risk-taking, discovery, and joy. I didn’t check my watch until much later, and when I did, I was stunned to see that 35 minutes had passed in what felt like an instant.

Ultimately, teaching music is rarely about perfect execution. It’s about engagement, creativity, and connection. A student who seems distracted may still be deeply absorbing the material. A single rhythm can spark an entire lesson plan almost instantaneously. When students are given space to explore and contribute, the classroom becomes a new living, breathing thing. That is what keeps me coming back, ready to listen, ready to teach, and ready to help the next group of musicians grow.