Shana Pistilli

I attribute my success to a mix of lessons learned from my mentor and colleague, Jodi Jianniney, stubborn determination, and an unwavering belief that every child deserves access to music. I’m not someone who had everything figured out from day one — I learned by doing, by failing, by trying again, and by asking for help when I needed it. My program and my business grew because I refused to accept “that’s just how it’s done” as an answer. If the traditional path didn’t work for my students, I built a new one.

My community has also been a huge part of my success. The families who trust me with their children, the teachers and colleagues who inspire me, and the grants and partnerships that helped me get my ideas off the ground — none of this happens in a day. And honestly, my students are the biggest motivation. Seeing their joy, their progress, and the way music opens doors for them has pushed me to keep growing, learning, and showing up even on the hard days.

So if I had to put it simply, my success comes from passion, persistence, and the people who believe in the work I’m doing.

The best career advice I’ve ever received was simply: “Just do it.” It sounds almost too straightforward, but it’s exactly what I needed. I used to overthink everything — waiting for the perfect plan, the perfect timing, or the perfect confidence level. But the truth is, none of those things ever show up on their own.

“Just do it” pushed me to stop second-guessing myself and start taking action, even if it felt messy or uncertain. It taught me that progress comes from movement, not perfection. Every program I’ve built, every risk I’ve taken, and every opportunity I’ve said yes to happened because I stopped talking myself out of it and just went for it.

It’s simple advice, but it’s become the backbone of how I make decisions: trust your vision, take the step, and figure the rest out along the way.

I’d tell them to trust their voice early—even when it shakes. In music education, people will sometimes assume you’re “too young,” “too soft,” or that you don’t know enough yet. Show up anyway. Your ideas matter, and your perspective is needed.

I’d also say: don’t wait for permission to build something amazing. Some of my biggest wins came from taking small risks—applying for grants, reaching out to partners, trying new approaches with my students—long before I felt fully ready. You grow into the things you try.

Find women who lift you up. The right mentors and colleagues will make you feel less alone and remind you that you belong in every room you step into. And be that person for someone else when you can.

Lastly, take care of yourself. Passion is powerful, but burnout is real. You’re allowed to rest, you’re allowed to ask for help, and you’re allowed to set boundaries.

You’re capable. You’re needed. And the industry is better with you in it.

One of the biggest challenges in my field right now is access. So many families want high-quality music education, but programs are often underfunded, understaffed, or not designed with diverse learners in mind. For students in Title I schools or for neurodivergent learners, the gap can feel even wider. Music is supposed to be universal, yet too often it’s only accessible to the few who can afford it or fit a very traditional learning mold.

But that challenge is also the biggest opportunity. There’s a huge wave of interest in inclusive teaching, adaptive notation, and programs that meet students where they are instead of expecting every child to learn the same way. Technology, grant funding, and community partnerships are opening doors that never existed before. I’m seeing more conversations about sensory-friendly instruction, alternative pathways to musicianship, and equitable access to instruments and materials.

For me, the opportunity lies in building programs that reflect the real world — diverse, creative, flexible, and welcoming. Whether it’s reimagining how we teach music literacy or creating programs powered by grants and community support, the field is shifting toward innovation. And honestly, that’s exciting. We’re not just teaching music anymore; we’re designing spaces where every type of learner can discover their voice.

The values most important to me in both my work and personal life are inclusion, creativity, and connection. I strive to create environments where everyone feels welcomed and supported, whether in my music programs or daily interactions. Outside of work, I enjoy decompressing by having game nights with friends and doing puzzles, which allow me to relax, have fun, and nurture relationships that are important to me.