I perform for a small audience at Garden of Palms assisted living in 2023. I began volunteering in 2021 and expanded Rhythms for Residents to other student musicians in 2024. (Photo courtesy of Santtu Seppala)

If you’ve ever spent time in an assisted living home, you’re likely familiar with the quiet clinking of forks on plates, the soft hum of wheelchairs rolling down carpeted hallways and the soft dialogue from televisions. For most of my life, I mistook that quiet for emptiness. Until, that is, I started volunteering there. 

If you pay more attention, you begin to notice a world that is far more alive and curious than you’d ever expect. If you stay a little longer, sit in the softly worn furniture and start a conversation, you begin to notice something else: a world that is far more alive, curious and emotionally rich than most people expect.

When I founded Rhythms for Residents in 2021, with my dad as my roadie, my goal was really simple: gain performance practice for the piano and give back to my community. I would arrive, set up, play a short set and leave as quickly as possible with my stage fright, among other responsibilities, practically pushing me out the door.

In one routine performance, I met a woman named Mimi. After my set, she introduced herself, thanked me and asked when I’d be back. The next time I came, she remembered me. She brought me newspaper clippings from her childhood and small watercolor paintings she made with her aide. She also shared that the music gave her a reason to come downstairs, that it made her and the other residents feel seen by the outside world, like they mattered. In many ways, she gave me that same feeling. 

Gradually, I began leaving my phone in the car, removing the constant pull of notifications and deadlines. Conversations moved from United States-Canada policy to the meditative nature of knitting to the dramatic ups and downs of one grandson’s Little League team. 

A few days ago, I saw a trend online where people shared their “why,” which was the reason they do what they do. At first, I thought mine was music or maybe service. But my “why” didn’t reveal itself in one realization. When I would observe someone tapping their hand gently against a table or share a smile across the room, I found my “why.” In those moments, time seemed to slow, and though the performance was important, the connection between me and the residents, fostered by the music, became more important. In my work as an usher at the Hollywood Bowl, as a volunteer and as someone growing up in a time of isolation, I’ve seen firsthand how music can transform a space. 

People make assumptions about teenagers and older adults alike. Teenagers are often seen as distracted, self-absorbed or constantly rushing toward the next thing. Older adults are often seen as slowing down or disconnected, and they are frequently forgotten by the outside world. Both stages of life can be deeply isolating in their own ways. 

What I found in that assisted living community challenged those assumptions. The residents I met were thoughtful, curious, funny and eager to engage. They weren’t defined by their age, just as I wasn’t defined by mine. At the same time, they taught me something I didn’t realize I needed: how to slow down. In a phase of life where everything feels urgent — grades, deadlines and plans for the future — they offered a different pace. They showed me that there is value in being fully present.

In writing this, I want to encourage you to find community in whatever ways you can. It doesn’t have to look like a formal act of service, and it doesn’t have to happen in the places you expect. In fact, the most unexpected avenues of connection are often the most interesting and fulfilling. Start the conversation you wouldn’t otherwise, do the thing that feels small and unnoticeable and watch how quickly it changes you.