When you recognize that someone is “being real,” what lets you know?
Where do you feel that recognition in yourself?
This work is an invitation to notice and cultivate that capacity... not as an idea, but as a lived experience.
It is a practice-based, experiential approach to working with sound, music, and attention.
The work unfolds over time, through direct engagement rather than explanation or performance.
I don’t work by fixing, optimizing, or diagnosing people.
I invite you into a sustained relationship...
moment by moment.
This page is here to help you decide, without pressure, whether you can meet the conditions of this work.
This work at Tune U unfolds over time.
It is not designed to be sampled, optimized, or completed quickly.
The work moves through a short, mostly daily, 10‑minute practice.
Not because consistency is a virtue, but because when you’re not playing...
... well, it’s not working.
Periods of enthusiasm, resistance, inconsistency, or stepping away are part of the territory here.
What matters is whether you can remain in relationship with the work over a longer arc, including returning when you’ve lost contact.
A meaningful engagement with this work typically involves:
a willingness to make time for regular engagement with the practice
an openness to encountering discomfort, uncertainty, or frustration without immediately trying to resolve them
the capacity to notice your own patterns of effort, avoidance, and desire as part of the practice itself
This is not a performance‑based environment.
Progress is not measured by output, consistency, or mastery.
I don’t work by fixing, optimizing, or diagnosing people.
I work by supporting a sustained, honest relationship with sound, with your own experience, and with the choices you make moment by moment.
The structure of the work reflects this orientation.
It asks for a long‑term commitment, not because constant effort is required, but because meaningful change unfolds over time.
This section is here to help you sense whether this way of working — including its rhythm, demands, and uncertainties — is something you’re willing to enter.
Some people arrive here not because they’re seeking a better technique or a new explanation, but because their days have begun to feel oddly distant from themselves.
This work tends to resonate with people who are functioning, capable, and often outwardly “fine,” yet sense a growing gap between what they’re doing and what they’re actually living.
You may recognize yourself here if:
you spend a lot of time thinking about what should help, but feel less and less helped by thinking
you move between numbness and intensity without feeling truly settled in either
you’re competent at managing life, but no longer feel at home inside it
you sense that effort alone isn’t restoring balance, even when you’re doing the “right” things
Many people come to this work during transitions — obvious ones like loss, role changes, or mid‑life shifts, or quieter ones where nothing is clearly wrong, yet something essential feels absent.
What matters here is not how dramatic your situation looks, or how you explain it, but whether you’re willing to engage directly with your experience, as it is, and stay in relationship with it over time.
Most of us come to this kind of work when something in our experience no longer feels connected, even though life may be moving along just fine on the outside.
We might notice that understanding what’s happening hasn’t really changed how it feels to live inside it. We’ve thought things through, tried different approaches, maybe even done a lot of good work — and yet something essential still feels distant or muted.
This work often meets us in places like:
feeling a bit cut off from ourselves or from what gives our days meaning
moving between feeling flat and feeling overwhelmed, without much sense of ground in between
showing up, doing what’s needed, but not quite feeling present in our own lives
knowing what’s going on, but not feeling helped by knowing
Rather than trying to fix any of this, the work stays close to experience as it is. It uses sound and attention to help us come back into contact — not with an answer, but with ourselves.
These moments often show up during transitions. Sometimes they’re tied to clear changes. Sometimes they arrive quietly, when nothing is obviously wrong, but something we relied on no longer carries us.
What matters most here isn’t having the right language for what’s happening, but being willing to stay with experience and return to it again and again.
It’s just as important to be clear about what this work doesn’t try to offer.
It isn’t a way to feel better quickly, get clear answers, or settle uncertainty once and for all. It doesn’t provide techniques for managing symptoms or solving specific problems.
This isn’t the right approach if what we need is:
immediate relief or stabilization
crisis support or acute care
clear guidance, reassurance, or a defined path forward
help with performance, productivity, or self‑improvement
This work with Tune U doesn’t move discomfort out of the way, and it doesn’t promise particular outcomes. It can feel slow at times, and progress isn’t always obvious.
What it asks instead is a willingness to return, to listen, and to stay present — even when it feels quiet, unclear, or uneventful.
If that’s not what we’re looking for right now, there’s nothing wrong with that. Different moments call for different kinds of support.
This simply names what this work is shaped to do, and what it leaves to other forms of help.
And it is not about performing — for me, for others, or for yourself.
There is no ideal way to sound here, and no standard you are expected to meet.
The work is concerned with contact, not correctness.
With listening, not evaluation.
With feeling, not control.
And not practicing...
Playing.
This work happens over time. It isn’t something we drop into once or twice and then move on from. The changes it supports tend to unfold slowly, through repeated contact rather than sudden insight.
That means it asks for a level of regularity. Not intensity, and not constant effort — just a willingness to return.
In practical terms, this usually looks like:
meeting on a consistent schedule
setting aside a small, protected amount of time between sessions
approaching the work with curiosity rather than expectation
Because this work isn’t goal‑driven, it can be tempting to treat it casually. In practice, it works best when it’s given a clear place in our lives — one that doesn’t need to be justified or optimized.
It also asks for honesty. Not performance, not progress reports — just a willingness to notice what’s actually happening and to bring that into the work.
On a practical level, this means:
committing to a defined period of time
being clear about availability and boundaries
treating the work as something we show up for, even when it feels quiet or uncertain
This isn’t about discipline or self‑improvement. It’s about creating enough continuity for something real to take shape.
If that level of commitment feels supportive rather than burdensome, then the conditions are likely in place for the work to do what it does.
Often, what brings us to a page like this isn’t a problem to solve, but a quiet recognition.
Something in us is listening.
That listening doesn’t ask for certainty or a plan. It asks to be met — with attention, with curiosity, with some form of response.
There are many ways to respond. This work is one possibility among them.
If, as you read, you felt a subtle sense of resonance or relief, it may be worth staying with that feeling rather than rushing past it. Sometimes the most meaningful movement begins not with knowing what to do, but with choosing not to ignore what we’re already sensing.
Whether you take a next step here or elsewhere, what matters is that the noticing leads somewhere — into sound, into conversation, into a form of contact that feels alive to you.
You don’t need to decide anything now.
You only need to listen well enough to let the response take shape.