When I was a child, the loudest thing in our home was the music no one could hear.
My fingers moved across a keyboard my parents had drawn on paper, and in my mind every note rang out.
Today, the story I could only play in silence is finally out loud, and in your hands.
Today is also Election Day. Where I was born, there were ballots but no choice. Whatever you decide today, I hope you decide it freely and without fear. That is a gift my grandparents never had.
The day has finally arrived.
Beneath the Silence is officially available today.
These pages carry the stories of my family, the names that were nearly forgotten, and the music that carried me through it all.
I hope you will read it, share it, and help these stories reach beyond the pages of this book.
I’ll be in Washington, D.C., from November 4 to 7, celebrating the launch with story, piano, and conversation. If you are nearby, I would love to see you.
With a foreword by Ambassador Aldona Z. Woś Post Hill Press · Simon & Schuster
The keys were paper. The music was real.
On November 3
My book arrives on the same day Americans go to the polls.
I find meaning in that. Where I was born, there were elections but no choice, and the most dangerous thing a person could do was say what they believed.
I know what happens when a government can determine what people may own, say, believe, and remember.
On November 3, millions of Americans will do what my grandparents never could: choose freely, and without fear. Whatever their choices, that is something I will never take for granted.
Bring Beneath the Silence to Your City
In the months ahead, I will travel with Beneath the Silence: An Evening of Story and Sound, an evening of live piano and spoken memoir, followed by conversation and a book signing.
Dallas, Texas · October 28 to November 1 Washington, D.C. · November 3 to 7 Boston, Massachusetts · Harvard University · December 1 to 4 Miami, Florida · December 18 to 22 New York, New York · January 15 to 18 Denver, Colorado · February 12 to 16 Boston, Massachusetts · Harvard University · March 28 to April 1 West Branch, Iowa · Herbert Hoover Presidential Library and area universities · April, TBD Dallas, Texas · Home · Flexible dates throughout the season
The calendar is still taking shape. If your museum, library, university, school, or community would like to welcome an evening in one of these cities, or in your own, we would be honored to review the dates that come our way.
If your city is not yet on the list, we would be glad to plan a new evening together, in any city or state, with enough time to prepare it well.
Over the coming weeks, I will share the family photographs, stories behind the pages, interviews, and conversations that brought this memoir into the world. I would be honored to have you join me.
Why the life you’ve seen is not the life you’re limited to
Most people don’t stay small because they lack ability.
They stay small because that’s what they were shown.
Because “more” didn’t seem possible. Because no one around them had built it before. Because every example they saw reinforced the same quiet message: this is as far as life goes.
And when that’s all you’ve seen, it doesn’t just shape your circumstances. It shapes your imagination.
You begin to measure your future by your past. You begin to confuse familiarity with truth.
But it isn’t truth.
It’s exposure.
I know this reality intimately.
I was born into a system where limitation wasn’t just cultural, it was enforced. Where freedom, opportunity, and even expression were restricted by forces far beyond individual control.
In that environment, you don’t grow up asking, “What’s possible?” You grow up learning what is allowed.
And those are not the same thing.
Because what is allowed can be small. But what is possible… is limitless.
This is where most people get stuck.
Not in their talent. Not in their intelligence. But in their belief system.
They inherit invisible ceilings.
They carry forward limitations that were never consciously chosen, only observed, absorbed, and accepted.
And over time, those limitations begin to feel like identity.
But here is the truth that changes everything:
You are allowed to create a life that looks completely different from anything you’ve ever known.
Completely different.
Not slightly improved. Not marginally better. But fundamentally transformed.
You are allowed to become someone no one around you has ever been.
That kind of life does not begin with permission.
It begins with courage.
The courage to question what you were taught. The courage to outgrow environments that once defined you. The courage to believe in a future that has no evidence yet, except your willingness to pursue it.
Because at some point, you have to decide:
Will I repeat what I’ve seen? Or will I create what I’ve never seen before?
There is a cost to choosing expansion.
You will feel misunderstood. You will outgrow conversations, environments, even identities that once felt permanent.
But there is also a greater cost to staying the same.
A quieter cost. A slower one.
The cost of knowing you were meant for more and never stepping into it.
You don’t need approval.
You don’t need validation.
And you certainly don’t need to wait until someone else proves it’s possible.
History is not made by those who follow examples. It is made by those who become them.
Your past may explain you.
But it does not define you.
And it certainly does not limit you.
Your future is not a continuation of what has been.
It is a decision.
So, decide boldly.
Decide beyond what you’ve seen. Decide beyond what feels comfortable. Decide beyond what others expect of you.
Because the moment you do…
You stop living within the boundaries of your past.
And you begin creating a life that expands far beyond it.
Why the answers you’re searching for only appear when you create space to hear them
There is a misconception that clarity comes from doing more, asking more, or searching endlessly outside ourselves. But often, the opposite is true. Clarity finds you when you create space for it. In stillness, distractions lose their grip. The noise quiets. And what truly matters begins to surface, not as a force, but as a quiet knowing. The challenge is not finding clarity. It’s allowing yourself to be still enough to hear it.
I began the day at the Senate, a place where the architecture itself reflects the weight of decision-making and history.
By the evening, I found myself in a different kind of room, one shaped not by policy, but by memory. The Victims of Communism Museum, in collaboration with Mercury One, brought together voices committed to ensuring that the past is not forgotten, and more importantly, not repeated.
An impromptu interview created a moment to speak candidly. Speaking without preparation has a way of revealing what truly matters.
Days like this reinforce something simple but essential: having a voice is one thing. Using it well is what carries responsibility.
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