What Learning Piano Taught Me About Neuroplasticity
Written by Darren Jewell, Inspirational Speaker
Darren Scott Jewell is a NeuroResilience Coach and a brain injury thriver who helps people build calm, focus, and confidence through neuroplasticity. After discovering that one-third of his brain was non-functional from a childhood accident, he rebuilt cognitive function and now teaches others.
For much of my life, I trusted my right hand the least. It was weaker, slower, and harder to control because of a serious brain injury I had when I was just 15 months old. After I fell from a spiral staircase/balcony, doctors put me in an induced coma for about three weeks. My parents were told to expect the worst, but I survived and kept growing, learning, and building my life.
The injury's effects stayed with me. My right side was weaker, and as I grew up, I only used my right arm when I had no other choice. Like many people with a physical limitation, I adapted by depending more on the side that felt stronger and more reliable.
Half a century later, I made an unusual choice: I started learning to play the piano. At first, it was just something new to try. But over time, it became much more important. The hand I had avoided for so long now had to join in and become part of the music.
The piano does not allow one hand to hide
Playing the piano means using both hands for different movements, often at the same time. One hand might play the melody while the other handles rhythm, chords, or bass notes. Your eyes read the music, your brain makes sense of it, and your fingers have to move in the right order.
That’s already a challenge for any beginner. For me, it meant asking my weaker right hand to do things it had never done before.
My fingers didn’t always move as quickly or independently as I wanted. I knew what I needed to play, but my hand wouldn’t always cooperate right away. Sometimes, a simple line of notes felt much harder than it looked on paper.
It would have been easy to decide piano wasn’t for me. I could have blamed my age, my injury, or my coordination and just given up. Instead, I continued practising. I didn’t practise perfectly or always feel confident, but I kept at it.
Neuroplasticity happens through experience
Neuroplasticity means the brain can adapt and reorganise based on what we do. When we practise a skill over and over, the brain’s networks can get better at it.
Learning the piano brings together many skills at once: concentration, memory, listening, timing, seeing the notes, and fine motor control. It also makes both sides of your body work together.
This doesn’t mean playing piano can fix every brain injury or give everyone the same results. Every brain, body, and injury is different. My story isn’t meant as medical advice.
What my experience shows is how valuable it is to give your brain a real reason to practise something new. I did not sit at the piano thinking that every difficult note was physically transforming my brain. I concentrated on the immediate task: finding the correct key, improving the rhythm, and trying again after a mistake. That’s often how change works. We focus on what we’re doing, and our brains respond to the practice.
Progress was built from mistakes
When people watch a performance, they see the final result. They don’t see the wrong notes, the pauses, the frustration, or all the practice that came before.
I made mistakes all the time. Sometimes my hands wouldn’t work together. Other times, I could play a part well in practice but struggle with it later.
At first, mistakes can feel like proof that we can’t do something. But really, a mistake gives us information. It shows where our understanding, timing, or coordination still needs work.
The real question isn’t, “Did I make a mistake?” It’s, “What will I do after making it?” Every time I slowed down, fixed a note, and repeated a movement, I gave my brain another chance to learn. Progress didn’t come from avoiding mistakes. It came from learning from them.
This lesson goes far beyond music. Whether we’re learning technology, a language, a physical skill, or a new way of working, mistakes are often part of how we get better.
The courage to perform before I felt ready
Learning on my own was one challenge. Playing in front of others was a whole different one. At first, I didn’t want to play in public. Like many beginners, I thought I should wait until I felt totally ready. But the truth is, we rarely feel fully ready before trying something new.
People often think confidence comes first, but it usually comes after we take action. We practise, take small risks, get through the discomfort, and slowly prove to ourselves that we can handle it.
I eventually performed in four piano recitals. In the first three, I performed with my teacher sitting beside me. She played the left hand, and I played the right hand. In my fourth recital, I played a solo using both hands.
That moment meant much more than just finishing a piece. My weaker hand wasn’t being hidden or protected anymore. It was taking part.
I wasn’t playing because all my limitations were gone. I was playing because I had worked with them long enough to make progress.
Age did not disqualify me from being a beginner
Many adults stop trying new things because they don’t want to look inexperienced. We get comfortable being good at what we know and can feel embarrassed when something new shows what we can’t do yet.
Getting older can make this resistance even stronger. We might tell ourselves we missed our chance, that learning will take too long, or that new skills are just for younger people.
I began learning piano in my fifties. I wasn’t too old to start, but I did have to accept being a beginner. That meant playing slowly, asking questions, making mistakes, and sometimes struggling with things that seemed simple.
Being a beginner didn’t make me less. It helped me grow. Being willing to start over is one of the most valuable things we can keep as we get older. It keeps us curious, challenges our assumptions, and stops us from getting stuck in what we already know.
What learning piano taught me about resilience
People often think of resilience as surviving a big crisis. But it’s also built through small moments of persistence.
You find resilience when you go back to something that frustrated you yesterday. It can mean practising slowly instead of quitting when progress is slow. It can also mean accepting that your way of learning might look different from someone else's. The piano taught me that resilience isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes, it’s just sitting down with the same tough notes and trying again.
It also showed me that progress doesn’t require everything to be easy. We can admit what’s hard without letting it control every choice we make.
5 ways to challenge your brain through learning
You don’t have to learn piano to give your brain a real challenge. The best activity is one that interests you, pushes you just enough, and can be practised regularly.
Choose something meaningful: Learning is easier to sustain when the activity matters to you. Pick something that sparks your curiosity, creativity, independence, or enjoyment, not just something you think you “should” learn.
Stretch yourself without overwhelming yourself: The skill should stretch you without overwhelming you. Break the skill into smaller parts and concentrate on one part at a time. With piano, this might mean practising each hand separately before bringing them together.
Repeat with attention: Repeating something without thinking isn’t the same as practising with purpose. Slow down, notice where it gets hard, and make a small change before you try again.
Record evidence of progress: When progress is slow, it can be hard to notice. Try keeping short notes, recording yourself sometimes, or comparing what you can do now to what you could do a few weeks ago.
Allow yourself to be seen learning: You don’t have to perform in public, but sharing your progress with a teacher, friend, or supportive group can help you let go of perfectionism. Letting others see you learn can build your confidence.
Your limitation is not your entire identity
For years, my right hand meant weakness and limitation to me. Learning piano helped me see it differently. I didn’t have to pretend my hands were the same. They weren’t. I needed patience, practice, and realistic expectations. But being different didn’t mean it was impossible.
Many of us shape our lives around something we think we can’t do. That belief might come from an injury, a diagnosis, a tough experience, a past failure, or something someone once said. Some limits are real and need to be respected. Neuroplasticity doesn’t mean every condition can be reversed or that effort always leads to recovery. But we shouldn’t let a current difficulty become a permanent conclusion without seeing what might still be possible. A better question might be: “What could I practise safely, gradually, and consistently?”
When repetition became music
My journey with the piano wasn’t just about learning notes. It was about getting my brain and body to work together in a way that once seemed unlikely.
The change didn’t come as one big breakthrough. It showed up in small ways: a movement getting smoother, my hands working together a bit longer, and a tough section becoming more familiar. Over time, repetition turned into music. The hand I rarely used became part of the music.
If you’re thinking about learning something new, don’t wait until you feel talented, confident, or totally ready. Pick a manageable place to start and allow yourself to struggle.
Your first tries might not sound great. They might feel slow, awkward, and frustrating. That doesn’t mean nothing is happening.
Sometimes, the most meaningful change starts when we stop asking, “Why can’t I do this yet?” and start asking, “What could happen if I keep practising?”
Your brain might not change the way you expect, and your progress might not match someone else’s timeline. But if you stay curious, engaged, and open to learning, your story is still unfolding. The next note may be difficult. Play it anyway.
Read more from Darren Jewell
Darren Jewell, Inspirational Speaker
Darren Scott Jewell is a NeuroResilience Coach, speaker, and brain injury expert who helps people build calm, focus, and confidence through neuroplasticity and nervous system regulation. After a childhood balcony fall, he later discovered in adulthood that one-third of his brain had been non-functional. Through gentle, consistent brain training, he rebuilt cognitive function and reshaped his identity from the inside out. Today, he teaches practical tools for staying steady through stress, change, and overwhelm, without forcing or hustling. His mission is personal as well as professional, shaped by losing his mum, Elizabeth, to vascular dementia in October 2025. Darren's a message of hope: you're not broken, you are patterned, and your brain can learn again.
