On cello, cantonese, and learning from scratch

The case for self-directed learning and discoveries as an adult beginner

I briefly played the cello when I was young, but had to give it up. I've had this nagging feeling ever since that it would be a shame to never pick it up again.

Learning the cello comes with a big upfront commitment: at minimum you need to rent a cello and bow, and since it's unadvisable to self-teach given the complexity of the instrument and the chance of developing bad habits, you need a teacher.

Two years ago, I decided to go for it.

To make my life even more interesting, I started learning Cantonese a few months after picking up cello. I'd never spoken a word of it before, but my husband's family is Cantonese, and I wanted to learn to speak with them with the hope of eventually sharing the language with our future child.

It's been a journey learning both of these skills over the past two years, juggling them as a busy, working adult. But also incredibly humbling and rewarding in so many ways.

Being an adult beginner in cello and Cantonese has given me insight into what it's like to learn from the ground up.

It's become an introspective experience on what it's like to not know, to struggle, and to reflect on the way I approach learning. These insights might even help us better understand what it's like to learn as a child, especially when we consider the power of personalized learning and less traditional approaches to education.

Here's what becoming a beginner again taught me.

When learning is your choice, the process becomes your own

I picked up the cello again because I kept thinking the longer I waited, the more I’d regret not trying. Unlike most things, I had no big lofty goal I was striving for. No plans to go to Juilliard and nothing that would pad my resume or get me a promotion.

My decision to pick up cello was one I made for myself. I wanted to let go of the idea that there’s an expiry date on what and when I can learn. Or that there’s anything wrong with learning something purely for the sake of enjoyment.

Cantonese was the same. No one asked me to learn it. In fact, when I first mentioned the idea to my husband he was skeptical it would be a productive use of time.

His experience at Chinese school as a kid had clouded his view on learning the language, soured by memories of mandatory Saturday attendance with no say in the matter.

Conversely, learning on my own terms has allowed me to have agency over the entire process start to finish.

With this agency I have full ownership over my “why”, what I can handle, and when. I’m still hard on myself, but in lieu of any external pressure I can embrace the messy, slow process of motivation and progress.

Why this matters: Self-directed learners don’t just engage more deeply, they take direct ownership over the process, which most traditional systems fail to support.

How we learn matters as much as what we learn

Starting to learn Cantonese with a blank slate was daunting at first. I started with apps, watched my fair share of YouTube videos, and quickly realized learning isolated vocabulary was not sufficient in developing true ability to comprehend or retain the language.

Three things became apparent:

1. The delivery of instruction, and who or what you learn, from matters a lot.

2. Learning in real-life contexts dramatically accelerates learning.

3. There is no shortcut to learning hard things, like a language :)

I went through a number of tutors in the beginning, but didn’t feel like I was retaining much from any of these lessons. After a few months of this I landed on my current teacher who runs group sessions for adults.

His approach to language learning—humour, occasional profanities, and an emphasis on practical words and phrases—was my cup of tea. A few weeks in these group classes, where I also learned through my peers on the same journey, was enough to see immediate progress and a resurgence of motivation to keep going.

Outside of lessons, some of the phrases I’ve retained and use most come from cooking with my father-in-law and listening to him and my husband speak Cantonese.

Ascribing meaning to learning is also motivating—to join in on these conversations, or at the very least understand is fulfilling. Even more fulfilling is strolling down the streets of Chinatown with the newfound ability to understand passing conversations.

With language and music, skills that take years to master especially as an adult, there really is no shortcut or app to bypass these slow, tedious parts of learning.

Over time I’ve come to find that really beautiful about this process.

Why this matters: Learning environments that fail to account for individual fit risk losing learners not because they can’t learn, but because the method isn’t curated for them.

Progress rarely looks the way we expect it to

I’ve always been self-disciplined in how I approach learning. However, I’ve come to see firsthand as a beginner how consistent practice ≠ consistent progress.

There was a period this year where I was stuck on the same cello piece for weeks. I was practicing twice the amount I normally would, but crumbled every time I performed in front of my teacher.

You can’t be tense while playing the cello. Tension affects the sound quality. The more upset I got at myself for messing up, the more tense I became and the worse I played.

Instead of doubling down on practice, I decided to take a few days off and step away from it. I came back with a fresh approach and clear mind, and things magically clicked again.

These moments of plateauing and even regression were initially a sign of frustration, but now I welcome them as a part of the process—processing and consolidating in order to move forward.

Why this matters: Personalized learning allows for the plateaus and breaks that traditional systems treat as failure.

Returning to the beginning

In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert’s there are few
― Shunryu Suzuki

By the time we become adults, we forget what it's really like to be thrown in the deep end and learn something entirely new. The frustration when I get something wrong or hit roadblocks with cello and Cantonese has given me deeper empathy for young learners—especially when we expect them to master complex skills without enough space or support.

My experience as an adult beginner has furthered my conviction in the power of personalized, self-directed learning. When the pace, format, and purpose align with the learner, the entire process becomes more sustainable.

This personal experience has added new meaning to why I advocate for models like Montessori, microschools, and other student-centred approaches. The traditional classroom with its rigid pacing and set curriculum often conflicts with how humans naturally learn.

The future of education depends on expanding access to diverse models that reflect how people actually learn. School choice and personalized learning are central to building systems that treat individual learning needs as fundamental design principles rather than afterthoughts.