People often ask why I hold a horse stance for ten minutes in a public place—or why, at my age, I continue practicing the kind of physical discipline most people abandoned decades ago. It may look like a quirk or even a stunt. But for me, it has never been about intensity or ego.
It is about presence. It is about developing a body and mind that continue growing stronger, year after year. Most of all, it is about being fully alive and open to the people around me.
The Philosophy of Consistency
My commitment to fitness began nearly forty-eight years ago, when my piano teacher suggested that I care for my body as seriously as I cared for my music. That conversation changed my life.
I gradually learned that consistency is more important than intensity. I do not train to exhaustion, and I do not continually make my workouts longer. I concentrate on the quality of every movement.
Whether I am completing 60–80 pull-ups during the week, practicing my daily core exercises, or holding a ten-minute horse stance, consistency is the foundation. It gives me the strength and clarity to pursue everything else that matters to me—including the concentration required to study and perform a difficult Chopin composition.
The Sacrifice That Gave Me a Life in Music
My parents did not have a great deal of money, but they understood hard work, sacrifice, and the importance of giving their children an opportunity.
My father would find houses so dilapidated that they were almost ready to be torn down. He would buy them, repair them, and give them another life. Perhaps that is one reason I still feel so strongly about recognizing the hidden value in something other people have overlooked—whether it is a neglected house, an unwanted piano, or even an unrealized ability within a student.
Saving money came naturally to me from childhood. When I was about eleven, I once asked my father to keep my allowance for an entire year. By the time I was nineteen, I had saved enough that my parents came to me and asked whether I could lend my father $1,000 to purchase another house. Of course I lent it to him.
The following year, after studying Europe and dreaming about experiencing it for myself, I told my parents that I wanted to go. Although the trip would cost roughly ten percent of their entire annual income, they made another extraordinary sacrifice and paid for me to go.
They could not possibly have known that they were helping to determine the direction of my entire life.
The Conversation in Florence
When I traveled to Europe, I did what I have done almost everywhere throughout my life: I found a piano and began to play.
While I was in Florence, Italy, one of our chaperones heard me. She had studied at a conservatory in New York City. After listening, she said, “Ronald, you are talented. You should continue studying piano in college.”
That single conversation changed everything.
When I returned home, I found an extraordinary teacher, Dr. Gerson Yessin. His musical tradition included Rosina Lhévinne, the celebrated Juilliard teacher whose students included Van Cliburn and John Williams. Another branch of his teaching lineage extended through generations to Franz Liszt.
My parents’ sacrifice had carried me to Europe. Europe brought me to a piano in Florence. That piano brought a stranger into my life, and her words led me to the teacher who helped me devote my life to music.
More than forty years and hundreds of students later, I am still living the consequences of that journey.
Passing On the Gift
My love of pianos comes from the same place. When I was thirteen, my parents bought me a Baldwin Hamilton piano. That purchase also cost approximately ten percent of their yearly income.
The piano gave me far more than an instrument. It gave me lessons, recitals, teachers, friendships, a profession, and a purpose.
That is why my dream of finding and selling pianos in Portugal is not simply a business idea. It is an opportunity to pass along the gift my parents gave me. Somewhere, there may be another child—or perhaps an adult who has carried a musical dream for years—waiting for the instrument that could change a life.
A neglected piano can still contain generations of music. It simply needs someone to recognize its value and give it another home.
The Stories That Connect Us
People also ask why I am so excited about moving to Portugal, and why I practice things like the horse stance in public. The answer is simple: I am in it for the conversation.
We live in a world where people have nearly forgotten how to speak to strangers. My horse stance and squats become visual icebreakers. They invite curiosity and give people a reason to walk over and say something. That first question can lead to a story, a friendship, or even a life-changing encounter.
I have come to understand that I do not travel merely to see places. I travel to meet people.
The buildings, museums, coastlines, and concert halls are magnificent. But the conversations are the real reason for the journey. I know that because one conversation in Florence changed the course of my life.
Looking Forward
I am not chasing the fountain of youth. I am pursuing a life of depth—the ability to remain present, curious, disciplined, and open to others, whether I am sitting at the piano, exercising, teaching a student, or exchanging stories with someone I have just met.
As I begin this next chapter in Portugal, I intend to continue growing intellectually, spiritually, musically, and physically for the rest of my life.
And if you ever see me in Portugal holding a horse stance for ten minutes, please do not hesitate to say hello.
I would love to tell you a story.