March 2020 hit like a punch to the gut. There I was, a brand-new band teacher, watching everything I'd worked for seemingly disappear overnight. I'd landed my dream job in July 2019, fresh out of college, buzzing with excitement about building a music program from the ground up. And now? Suddenly, the entire world had changed.
The first weeks of lockdown were surreal. My classroom—usually buzzing with the sounds of instruments, laughter, and music—sat empty. Silent. The band room, with its carefully organized sheet music, gleaming instruments, and the subtle smell of valve oil and wooden clarinet cases, felt like a time capsule of a world that had just disappeared.
I'd wake up each morning with this knot in my stomach, wondering if I'd even have a job when all this was over. Would the school keep me? Would the band program survive? I was the newest hire, which made me feel especially vulnerable. In education, "last in, first out" isn't just a saying—it's a reality many young teachers know all too well.
Turns out, uncertainty is a hell of a motivator.
I've always been someone who can't sit still when things get tough. My grandmother—a teacher herself—always said I had an "itch to learn" that couldn't be scratched by just sitting around. So instead of spiraling into anxiety, I started looking for ways to make this unexpected downtime productive.
Coding wasn't completely out of left field. I'd always been somewhat of a tech enthusiast, the guy who could troubleshoot everyone's computer problems at family gatherings. But this was different. This was about building something, not just fixing things.
No bootcamps, no fancy courses—just me, my laptop, and a ton of online tutorials. Next.js caught my eye early on. It wasn't just about learning to code; I was fascinated by how technology could be a lifeline for small businesses struggling to stay afloat during the pandemic. Each local restaurant, music store, and small service business was fighting to survive, and I saw technology as a potential bridge to keeping them connected with their customers.
Music and coding aren't as different as you might think. Both require discipline, creativity, and the ability to break down complex problems into manageable pieces. As a band director, I was used to taking complex musical arrangements and breaking them down for students who were just learning their instruments. Coding felt remarkably similar—each line of code a note, each function a musical phrase, each completed project a full composition.
Every line of code I wrote felt like a small victory—a way to take control when everything else seemed completely unpredictable. I started with simple projects. A responsive website for a local coffee shop. A booking system for a small music store. Each project taught me something new, each challenge made me more confident.
As the months wore on and the pandemic continued, something interesting started happening. The side hustle wasn't just a hobby anymore. With inflation climbing and living costs going through the roof, my coding skills became a critical financial safety net. Some nights, I'd switch from conducting the school band to debugging a website, my brain shifting between musical phrases and lines of code.
Teaching has never been a path to wealth. We all know that. But now, I could breathe a little easier. Unexpected bills? Rising rent? Those challenges that used to keep me up at night became manageable. More than that, I was helping other small businesses navigate the digital transformation forced by the pandemic.
The extra income was a game-changer, but it was never just about the money. I discovered a passion for solving real-world problems through technology. Each project was like composing a new piece of music—finding the right rhythm, the perfect structure, creating something that could help someone's dream take flight.
Next.js became more than just a technology for me. It was a gateway to understanding how digital solutions could transform small businesses. I wasn't just building websites; I was helping entrepreneurs adapt, survive, and sometimes even thrive during one of the most challenging economic periods in recent history.
My colleagues in the school would joke about my "side gig." Some were curious, others skeptical. But in the teacher's lounge, conversations about side hustles became more common. The pandemic had forced many of us to get creative about our income and skills.
There were challenges, of course. Learning to balance a full-time teaching job with developing software projects wasn't easy. Some nights, I'd be grading music assignments until late, then spend a few more hours coding. Weekends became a blend of lesson planning and project development.
Today, I'm still that band teacher. Still that developer. The pandemic taught me that professional growth isn't a straight line—it's more like an improvised jazz solo. Unexpected. Challenging. Beautiful in its own unpredictable way.
To anyone feeling stuck or scared, here's what I've learned: Your skills are more versatile than you think. An opportunity might be hiding in the last place you'd expect—for me, it was between lines of code and musical notes. The world is changing faster than ever, and the most valuable skill you can develop is the ability to adapt, to learn, to see possibility where others see only challenge.
My story isn't about becoming a millionaire or making a dramatic career switch. It's about resilience. About finding unexpected paths. About turning a moment of profound uncertainty into an opportunity for growth.
And honestly? I wouldn't change a thing.