If you would've told me back in February when I started my training that I'd already be teaching by early June, I probably wouldn't have believed you. I remember being utterly and positively exhausted after that first yoga-heavy weekend, and feeling farther from the practice than ever, despite practicing for some 12 years now.
I wasn't too confident I had something worth offering, maybe. Or that my body knew how to move nice enough or bendy enough. I thought so many awkward, useless things about myself, but then again, it was the midst of winter, and my soul needed to shed its warm little coat, step outta the snug for me to get to who I am.
Throughout the course, everyone kept telling us to start teaching as soon as possible, or else we'd get stage-fright. Of course, everyone's reaction was hysterical laughing, as with each hour, we seemed to dive deeper into this general unpreparedness. But then something happened about the 4th weekend in, the mood shifted. I've always been an "you're either full in, or you're out" kinda person. I lack the patience for half-measure, and since I was already more than half through, figured might as well.
I'm technically not supposed to be teaching yet. I have my exam this weekend, so am not yet accredited, though frankly, having already taught a class (quite successfully, I thought) to friend and stranger alike, I'm pretty sure teaching to a roomful of friends is going to be a fucking blast.
How do you decide what you've got worth saying?
That's actually a question that I've been struggling with for a few years now. It never used to occur to me, I could (and often did) say anything. But the older I get, the more relevant it is to me that it's actually very malleable and precious, this thing we model our discourse on. I can talk, but that includes talking empty, and before I lose my words, what is there that's mine alone to say?
I had a hard time choosing a traditional yogi style, as I don't fully resonate with any one school. I'm still, philosophically, at a crossroads (and that's my biggest concern for the exam, as well). I don't want to lean too much into spirituality, but I don't like rigour, either. Tell me I must stay in a perfect position, and I'll slip out and break into wiggles just to spite you. It's how I'm made, and it's particularly troublesome at times.
I don't wanna be the teacher who insists on the perfect position.
And I don't got the serenity and the kumbaya just yet. Maybe someday, but now I just transmit too much energy, too much inner tremor and wanderlust.
I drop the F-word when I shouldn't.
So I learned to integrate. I came up with this style of playful yoga, and targeted my class as a sort of playground for your inner child. I play constantly, or try to. I make jokes to make people light up and relax in a difficult pose. It just comes naturally. Besides, it's a killer for dealing with my own nerves.
So I now teach a class that's about 80% yoga, 10% dance and the rest 10% a mixture of improvisational theatre, jazz, and somatic embodiment. More than being a class structure, it's a natural continuation and coming-together of different aspects of my self and my life which I've loved doing and continue to.
Yet as much as I loved the concept, I was still...doubtful. Throughout my class yesterday, I kept thinking how trite it might sound, my repeated invitation to play and intuitive movement.
Personally, I think the body knows how it needs to move in order to heal and build, we just don't let it. So I kept encouraging attendees to try and let it.
And I kept second-guessing. Thinking "sure, but what does that mean", "maybe you're not explaining it well".
At the end, this girl started to cry. It just blew me out of orbit. It was not something I had anticipated - even though I held longer poses (traditionally more emotional), I didn't target the hip or shoulder area that much or play with emotional hotspots.
She kept telling me how hard the class was. I thought she meant the physical intensity. The guy who owns the studio did warn me my idea of physical difficulty might differ.
Except, no.
She meant it was difficult because she didn't know how to move her body intuitively... the right way. That just floored me. She kept saying maybe I knew, but forgot, and nobody taught me, and nobody told me, and how can I do this?
I like to think I reacted fairly well, and I was lucky to have a friend there who talked her through this whole outburst (instructional, since he's training to be an instructor as well). Obviously, for me, it was a good sign that with my jokey, playful, seemingly half-baked class, I managed to lead someone to genuine release and emotion.
I couldn't be more flattered. It also served as a sign that maybe I'm not off here. That intuitive movement and tuning into gut instinct in general is desperately needed in our modern world.
And that it was worth trying to help others do it.
I had such tremendous fun teaching.
But really, the truth is, it was just an act of guidance. It was opening myself with these questions and fears that burn most vulnerable in my own soul, and finding that yes, they are reflected after all in others as well. And I can't imagine anything more rewarding.
