Mathis

London • 14 August 2026

I’ve now completed a full restructuring of the literature review. The biggest change in my thinking is that I no longer see self-discipline as something a teacher gives a student, or something a student simply has or lacks. It develops through the gradual transfer of responsibility for organising learning.

The movement I am now exploring is from teacher-organised, to jointly organised, to increasingly learner-organised practice. The teacher does not simply disappear as independence grows. The more interesting question is how their support changes so that structure becomes something the learner can eventually understand, adapt and sustain for themselves.

London • 19 June 2026

I was recently asked whether I felt nervous about what learners might say during the interviews and focus groups for this research.

I realised that I do not.

I am curious.

Everybody has something to say, and I am not entering the research hoping that participants will confirm what I already believe. Their experiences may support my thinking, complicate it or contradict it.

That is part of what makes the research worthwhile.

Perhaps this also reflects how I tend to approach reading. I rarely begin by trying to defeat an author’s argument. I am usually more interested in asking what it can contribute, where it fits, and what it allows me to see differently.

I want to approach my participants in much the same way.

Not: Are they going to prove me right?

But: What can they show me that I have not yet seen?

London • 3 June 2026

One thing I keep noticing in my teaching is how willing some students are to learn. They show up having practised, bring something new to the lesson, ask for more work, and sometimes message afterwards with questions or videos of what they have been practising.

That genuinely excites me. There is something quite powerful about seeing a student care that much about improving, and I do not want to become so detached as a teacher that I stop appreciating it.

At the same time, it makes me think more carefully about my responsibility. When a student wants more, my instinct is to give them more and push further. But teaching self-discipline cannot simply mean encouraging endless work. I also have to recognise when to step back, check how they are experiencing the workload, and make sure that enthusiasm does not turn into burnout.

I find myself regularly asking whether they are enjoying the process, whether the amount of work feels manageable, and whether they still want what we are working towards. Their voice has to remain part of the process.

The question I am left with is where this willingness to practise actually comes from. Is it the relationship with the teacher? Clear goals? Visible progress? Enjoyment? A sense of responsibility? Or some combination of these?

Perhaps part of teaching self-discipline is not creating more effort, but learning how to protect, direct and gradually hand ownership of that effort back to the student.

London • 18 Mai 2026

If a twelve-year-old asked me, “What is the point of self-discipline?”, my instinct would almost be to say that they should never have needed to ask the question in the first place.

Not because self-discipline does not matter.

Because understanding the academic concept of self-discipline is my job, not theirs.

The learner does not need to know the terminology. They do not need to understand my theoretical framework, distinguish self-regulation from self-control, or explain how autonomy develops.

Their job is to experience the process.

If I am teaching well, the structures of the lesson should gradually help them plan, practise, make decisions, respond to difficulty, recognise progress and take greater ownership of what they are doing.

Eventually, those behaviours may become theirs without the learner ever needing to call them “self-discipline”.

This creates an important distinction for me between teaching about self-discipline and teaching for self-discipline.

I am interested in the second.

Perhaps the student should experience the outcome while the teacher carries the responsibility of understanding the mechanism.

London • 7 April 2026

Recently, I have been thinking about Angela Duckworth’s equation:

Talent × effort = skill
Skill × effort = achievement

There is something in that model that I find very useful: effort appears twice. Achievement is not simply the consequence of what someone starts with. It depends on what they do with it, repeatedly, over time.

But I keep getting stuck on the word talent.

I am not sure talent is a particularly useful thing for me to measure as a teacher. I cannot quantify someone’s potential, and I am not interested in deciding in advance how far a student might eventually be capable of going.

I would rather think in terms of a starting ability.

So, for my own teaching, I am beginning to imagine the equation slightly differently:

Starting ability × effort = skill
Skill × effort = achievement

Perhaps there is even a “starting line” that needs to sit alongside ability: previous experience, access to instruments, confidence, knowledge, support, and everything a learner arrives with before we begin working together.

That distinction matters to me because I care about teaching the student who is actually in front of me. My job is not to identify who has the most potential. I assume everybody has potential.

What I can observe is where someone is starting from.

From there, I can teach.

So perhaps the principle I am arriving at is:

I do not teach to talent. I teach to the starting line.

That feels both more measurable and, importantly, fairer.

London • 10 January 2026

As I have taught more students, one distinction has become increasingly clear to me: having the capacity to reach a high level is not the same as wanting to reach it.

I still believe that people are capable of learning far more than we often assume. What has changed is my understanding of what that possibility means.

After teaching around fifty students, I have seen substantial differences not only in ability, but in ambition, priorities, commitment and what people actually want from learning. Two students may have comparable starting points and completely different relationships with the destination.

Potential therefore becomes a difficult idea for me. I do not want to judge somebody according to an imagined ceiling, but neither do I want to assume that everybody should pursue the same version of excellence.

The question is becoming less:

How far could this learner go?

and more:

Where does this learner actually want to go, and what will that journey require?

Perhaps good teaching is not about maximising every learner according to one definition of achievement. It is about understanding their direction well enough to help them move towards it.

London • 05 September 2025

I see discipline as a spectrum, like a rainbow of tools. Discipline isn’t using every tool every day. It’s knowing which tool to use, when, and why.

Sometimes discipline looks like action. Sometimes it looks like choosing rest without guilt. If you can’t allow yourself deliberate pauses, you’re missing one of the most powerful tools. Real discipline includes the wisdom of timing.

London • 1 September 2025

To my former self, I’d say this: life unfolds less through the ticking of the clock than through readiness. Stages aren’t only about age. They’re about whether you’ve built what you need to hold the next step.

So instead of asking “why am I not there yet?”, ask “have I laid the groundwork for what I’m trying to carry?” Time isn’t just days passing. Time is preparation. And when you’re ready, you move forward with clarity instead of force.

London • 03 October 2025

My relationship to discipline has evolved recently. I used to struggle with it because I thought discipline meant doing something all the time. Now I see it differently. Discipline is doing what matters when you don’t feel like it, and thinking long-term instead of chasing the feeling of “achieving” every day.

That shift changes how I teach. It moves discipline away from pressure and toward purpose.

London • 22 Oct 2025

In the last two years, I’ve been working with two students on what started as an idea: could I shape a two-year program that fosters self-discipline and autonomy in their learning? What makes me proud today is that it’s proven possible. Through their determination and motivation, I’ve seen how building routines and habits, alongside a clear pedagogy, creates steady progress.

Now that I see it working, the real question is how exactly does it work? That’s what I’ll unpack next: how structure, agency, and long-term vision combine to shape disciplined, independent learners.

London • 29 Oct 2025

One of the biggest challenges I face is timing, especially because students develop at different stages. Some learners are not ready to hear certain pedagogical ideas yet, even if the strategy itself is “good”. So part of teaching becomes sensing readiness and choosing when to introduce what.

I also have to watch my own intention. There’s a difference between suggesting strategies to support a student’s growth and suggesting strategies to control them. The point is not order or control. It’s offering tools and possibilities so the student can choose what serves them and flourish.

London • 06 Nov 2025

One key strategy I’m refining is using self-reflection to build self-awareness. It’s not just about making a student feel safe in the learning environment. It’s also about helping them understand where they are in their learning, without making them overthink.

When a student can reflect clearly on their progress, they enter something close to self-regulated learning. That moment becomes a pivot point. I can respond more accurately as a teacher, offering the next strategy based on whether they feel motivated, stuck, or slightly down.

London • 13 Nov 2025

When students feel truly understood, something shifts. They don’t return the next week feeling evaluated. They return feeling safe to try again, safe to learn, safe to be seen without being judged.

That sense of being understood breaks the ice and deepens trust. My guidance becomes a resource rather than something imposed. It helps them stay on track, because they know their learning is supported, not controlled.

London • 20 Nov 2025

I’ve had multiple students surprise me with self-directed steps. One printed a 400-day calendar and started tracking small wins every day. Another started a journal and wrote just one sentence to stay connected to progress. Others began reading and writing independently, without needing my permission. One student who lacked confidence started sending me videos for feedback.

These moments make me proud because they show that self-discipline isn’t only about drumming. It’s about ownership, confidence, and learning how to move forward without being pushed.

London • 07 December 2025

Lately I’ve been thinking about flexibility in the “two-year program” idea (Snare Drum Program). Two years works, but depending on age, readiness, and what the learner wants, it could also be 10 months, a year and a half, or something more tailored.

That would allow me to introduce certain strategies earlier and more efficiently, especially weekly self-reflection and weekly planning. Not to control the learner, but to strengthen determination by turning it into more structure.