"We as musicians get presented with this constant game of comparison because, in an audition setting, all you’re doing is being compared to a big number of other people. I found myself struggling with using that method of comparison as my motivation in the form of having to be better than someone, rather than just trying to be the best that I could be. I just find that it’s a very negative form of motivation, to compare myself against others. Even though motivation is a positive word, there is such a thing as negative motivation and I just found that I could also be as easily negatively motivated. It was nasty. I’m a competitive person, and I can be a sore loser, but I accept loss and I can better control my competitiveness and have it stay within parameters. But, overall, I had to learn to do something because I wanted to be good at it, not because I wanted to be better than someone."

"Sensitivity in our culture has a stigma, in my opinion, in that being overly sensitive is weak. But, the problem is that people aren’t using the right language, and the words are misdefined. Sensitivity is a strength. It makes you more aware of yourself, other people, what’s going on around you, and you are, no pun intended, more intune with your surroundings. A fragile person is someone who is easily broken by their surroundings or by other people; fragility is a negative thing. To describe someone as sensitive is a huge compliment. Vulnerability is also a strength and it is an act of courage. It is sharing yourself in an environment where there is a mutual understanding in sharing and connecting with others. To connect is to be creative. You can be vulnerable with yourself too by telling yourself the truth, because that ultimately leads you to be open with other people. To be open and connect with people is what it means to be an artist, and that’s what we do as musicians. So, the more that we tell ourselves the truth, and the more that we can embody qualities of a sensitive person, I think the better performers we can be."

"The first year being at USC was rough. It’s frustrating knowing what you are capable of, but you can’t do it at the moment. I didn’t really realize it that the time, but I was going through a massive embouchure change and every time I put the trumpet to my face nothing spoke. I would get so nervous that I couldn’t get my lips to stop shaking. But, there were 3 things that helped me get past it though. 1) Boyd [Hood] was so relaxed and comfortable and confident in what he was saying that I trusted it. I didn’t question what I was being told and I committed to it. 2) I had the right mix of personalities in my quintet my first year. Maybe it was just because they heard me at my worst, but everyone in that group that year was so relaxed and supportive, to the point where I feel like I made really good friends that year. That was something that hadn’t happened in a long time, because teaching is really lonely. You know a lot of people, but there is a different relationship between a teacher and a student. But the most important, 3) I found that in my darkest times is when I’m making the most progress. I used to think that that was just some motivational BS, but when I struggle the most on trumpet, within a couple of weeks I always have some huge breakthrough. It was hard for me to accept that that was true, because I’m very cynical in that sense, but yeah. Those three things."

"Life has certainly been a struggle. Coming back to music in an academic environment, after taking time off is a VERY big struggle. You are behind the curve in so many ways. In my case, returning the 3rd time, I was 28 or 29, and dealing with a studio full of Texas 18 and 19 year olds who were playing the fire out of the horn, and I hadn’t played for literally 6 years. That was frustrating, in remembering what I could do versus what I could do then, and dealing with being a mentor and a subordinate to those students in terms of life experience and playing experience. It was constantly a struggle to find hope and inspiration that someday I would return to a level of playing that was familiar. I don’t know that I have ever reached a comfort level that I had prior to leaving music, but I think I get better day by day, which is all we can ask for. I was also working full time around 40-50 hours a week and taking a 20 hour course load to get through school, and being in ensembles and coaching ensembles and doing all of that. So, the struggle of just balancing time and making time for myself and staying committed to it and staying passionate about it at this time in my life so that it didn’t get away from me again is probably the biggest musical struggle that I’ve faced...

On Christmas day, my father – who had been paralyzed for 3 three years - passed away. That night, I realized 1) life would never be the same, 2) my mom was alone in raising her sons, and 3) conquering personal demons and family circumstances wasn't optional if I hoped to stay sane - let alone eventually be successful at anything. A few weeks later, the weight of the situation hit like a brick one late night.. I woke to the sound of my mom crying in her room. Having received a kidney transplant only 4 months before my dad died, she was coping with the physical and mental stress of two traumatic events. After knocking on her door and being told to go back to sleep, I went to my bed only to sit restlessly for hours.

Not knowing where else to turn, I turned on my Dvorak 9 CD. Before that night, I had only listened to the 4th movement to prepare for my youth orchestra concert. Since I knew that movement would be too loud and bother someone at that hour, I decided to (finally) listen to the 2nd movement. I didn’t know what an english horn was then; I definitely couldn't distinguish it from an oboe if asked to. All I knew was listening to that track was the first experience following my dad's death that put me at ease. It cleared my mind and gave me peace. I couldn’t articulate why at the time, but I knew I never wanted to be without music. I listened to that CD for hours every day for nearly one year. I eventually wore out the CD and had to get another one. I became so partial to that recording for all the emotions I had associated to it that I couldn’t listen to any other recording for over a decade. After some years away from it and formal training in orchestral repertoire, I realized it was absolutely terrible performance... I finally found a recording that I liked. Symbolically the original recording (which I won't identify here..) means the world to me; it just frustrates me musically haha. Regardless, those nightly listenings of Dvorak 9 triggered a feeling in me that has never left and that I hope to bring to others forever. That's basically what set me off down this crazy career path.