Meeting Students Where They Are...

People in education love to say this. “I meet students where they are.” It sounds compassionate, progressive, and thoughtful. But let’s be real—most of the time, it’s just lip service.

Soundcheck with 29:11

Meeting students where they are isn’t about having the right slogan. It’s about actually changing

what we do. It means adjusting our teaching, our programming, even our assumptions, to meet the needs of the students in front of us—socially, culturally, emotionally, musically. That’s real work. It requires flexibility, humility, and a willingness to let go of control.

Too often, though, the phrase becomes a shield. It gets used to sound like we’re listening and adapting, without ever requiring us to actually shift. “Meeting them where they are” turns into:

• I’ll acknowledge you, but I won’t change my approach.

• I’ll nod at your background, but keep the program the same.

• I’ll say the right words, but my practice won’t look any different.

That’s not meeting students where they are. That’s branding. It’s a nice-sounding excuse to avoid making meaningful adjustments.

So why do we cling to the phrase? Probably because it feels safer to say it than to actually do it. It lets us believe we’re inclusive without asking us to redesign the structures we teach within. It gives the appearance of responsiveness, while leaving the system—and our comfort zones—unchallenged.

But if we’re serious, the real question isn’t whether we say it. It’s whether we execute it.

Executing it means asking harder questions, like:

• Do our programs actually look and feel like the students who walk through the door?

• Are we building experiences around their joy, their culture, their curiosity—or just around our expertise?

• Are we willing to let their voices shape the process, even if it means leaving our script behind?

This is uncomfortable territory for many educators, because it requires shifting power. When we truly meet students where they are, we stop being the only authority in the room. We become co-creators. We let their culture, their music, their stories matter as much as our curriculum.

And here’s the thing: when we actually do this, it works. Students engage differently. They bring more of themselves. The learning sticks. Music stops being something owned only by experts and starts being something that belongs to everyone in the room.

So maybe the real issue isn’t whether we believe in meeting students where they are. Most of us do. The issue is whether we’re willing to move beyond the lip service and actually live it.

Because until we do, that phrase doesn’t mean much.

With 29:11, the music became less about the notes on the page and more about what happens when people bring their whole selves into the room.