Tune U
Play your way home
A tuning practice through improvisational sound
Living out of tune
Can be so painful.
But you don't have to know.
You can play a different note
and listen for your song.
Learning to listen earlier, and respond more honestly, is gentler than waiting.
For people who are tired of trying to think their way back into balance.
You’ve scoured your brain, YouTube, even ChatGPT,,, for how to do better.
Sometimes it’s about your partner.
Sometimes it’s the kids, or the jerk at work, or the clock, or your decisions, or just the mess, and no matter how much time and effort you put in, you keep coming up short.
You go back-and-forth between feeling nothing and crying (or getting pissed) at nothing.
When you really think about it, you can’t tell if you’re normal or crazy.
And you’re terrified of both.
Every time you do the stuff you hear is the smart thing to do, like therapy or the latest best seller or life hack, you feel some relief and some hope, for a while.
But then you come down again, only a bit lower now because that thing didn’t save you either.
The ride is getting exhausting. And discouraging. Worse than that, more deeply, it’s getting concerning.
Like you’re mired in a very unfunny version of Groundhog Day.
Because even when you’re on a high, you never really feel whole.
Something vital has gone missing.
This often happens during transitions:
mid‑life, changing roles, loss, shifts in purpose, or the quiet realization that effort alone isn’t restoring balance.
If this feels familiar, it isn’t because you’ve failed.
It’s because something in you has been speaking in a language you weren’t taught how to hear.
And what matters isn’t how dramatic these things feel, but what happens when experiences like this continue to go unheard.
When something essential goes unlistened to, it doesn’t disappear.
It repeats.
Sometimes louder.
Sometimes stranger.
Listening earlier tends to change the whole conversation.
And responding - even from the fog - can reorient you with essence.
A different assumption:
This work starts from a simple premise:
Experiences like the ones you’re having are not evidence that something is wrong with you.
They are signals -- about what matters, who you are right now, and what may need to change.
Often subtle at first.
Easy to override.
Easy to explain away.
Over time, something essential gets pushed aside — a sensation, an impulse, a grief, a capacity — and the system adapts as best it can.
In a culture that prizes effort, insight, and coping, the obvious move is to try harder.
That can help.
But relief is not the same as restoration.
What listening means here
Listening, in this context, isn’t analysis or introspection.
It isn’t fixing yourself.
It’s developing a reliable way to notice what is actually happening, as it’s happening, without rushing to override it or turn it into a story.
Listening alone isn’t enough... but without it, feeling becomes reactive and action becomes compulsive.
When a deeper kind of listening becomes available, things often begin to reorganize.
Not dramatically.
But meaningfully.
"I was looking for a different approach to working through my emotional patterns and another resource for when I find myself struggling."
Dana Williams
Interfaces for Coherence
These conversations don't only happen through words.
Deeper listening is one part of a larger conversation between perception, feeling, and action.
Sound gives that conversation somewhere to happen.
For many experiences — especially the ones that don’t resolve easily — language arrives too late or doesn’t quite reach what’s happening.
Some people listen best through the body.
Some through movement.
Some through sound.
In the work, sound becomes an interface.
Why the piano
The primary interface used here is the piano.
Not as an instrument to master.
Not as a performance skill.
And not as emotional release.
Here, the piano functions as a stable physical reference point that responds immediately and honestly to touch.
Press a key... sound appears.
You hear what you’re doing as you’re doing it.
And you don’t just hear what’s happening, you feel yourself choosing, adjusting, and continuing.
That immediacy makes listening trainable.
Subtle shifts become noticeable:
pressure
timing
breath
attention
Things that are easy to override in daily life begin to register without effort.
The piano isn’t the point.
It’s a way in.
Pitch & Pulse
For some people, rhythm rather than pitch is the more natural doorway.
If that’s true for you, there is a parallel entry through pulse‑based work with drums.
The orientation is the same: listening, presence, choice - through a different interface.
(This page focuses on the piano.)
On The Practice
This work depends on regular contact.
Not because effort is being rewarded, but because coherence only stabilizes through repetition.
For most people, that means short sessions most days of the week.
Ten minutes is usually enough.
There’s no punishment for missing days.
But there is a limit to what can change without regular contact.
As I often say:
If you’re not playing, it’s not working!
What Tends to Change
Over time, something reliable develops — a sense that you can meet yourself honestly, make conscious choices, and hear their impact as they happen.
People often notice:
more space before reacting
greater capacity to feel without flooding
a clearer sense of when to act — and when not to
less effort spent managing inner states
emotions resolving more cleanly
Difficulty doesn’t disappear — but it’s met differently.
What develops isn’t dependence on the piano.
It’s an internalized capacity.
Listening.
Feeling.
Playing.
Not in a fixed order, but as a cycle that restores balance when one part goes missing.
The Longer Arc
The Longer Arc
This isn’t a quick fix.
Tune U is a practice that unfolds over time — not in a straight line, and not by eliminating difficulty.
What develops is familiarity: with your patterns, your responses, and your ability to listen in the middle of things.
The work doesn’t ask for urgency.
It asks for return - not to stillness or listening alone, but to a conversation you can stay inside.
“This is a massive, massive process for me as a human being.”
Meg Proffitt
“Good for anyone going through transitions or major life decisions.”
Vinci Daro
Who this tends to resonate with
This work often resonates with people who:
are in transition or uncertainty
have done inner work and feel the limits of insight alone
want something embodied, steady, and pressure‑free
value discernment over forcing outcomes
It’s especially meaningful for those who want to stay open and responsive — even when clarity doesn’t arrive on schedule.
Who it may not be for
This is not the right fit if you are looking for:
fast results without engagement
a purely intellectual framework
traditional piano training
certainty, answers, or bypassing discomfort
The practice rewards presence, patience, and curiosity.
The Front Door
Playing the Fields
Everyone begins with Playing the Fields - a one‑hour orientation at the piano.
You are not learning songs.
You are not learning theory.
You are not being evaluated.
You are developing:
physical ease
clear orientation
immediate feedback
If you can place your hands on the keys and listen, you can do this.
“Now I do it for just ten minutes a day. It starts messy, then it gets musical, then it gets deep.”
Briony Greenhill
“I am not a musician and expected a much higher learning curve — but there wasn’t one. I was almost shocked at what I was able to accomplish.”
Rob Luka
“It’s a real blessing to be able to shorten the time between something unexpected happening and being able to accept it.”
Clare Pittman
Containers for the Work
After the orientation, people choose different containers based on time and capacity — not seriousness.
Core (3 months): establish a steady foundation
Journey (6 months): stay longer with complexity and pattern
Quest (12 months): integrate the work into relational and collective contexts
All containers share the same practice.
What changes is duration, continuity, and support.
Playing the Fields
If you’re still reading, something here has already resonated.
You don’t need to decide anything yet.
The only honest question is:
How much space does your life have right now for a practice like this?
Not ideally.
Not aspirationally.
But honestly.
Begin where your life can support you.
In their words
“Whatever situation I’m in, I can always listen first.”
“I’m much more forgiving with myself.”