When Old School Meets New School

I've been practicing yoga on and off since 1986. I can't  believe it's been that long. I recently wondered when my first yoga class was; many people seem to remember when theirs was, a kind of rite of passage. So I looked back at my college transcripts and found that my first 'hatha yoga' class was at San Francisco State, as a PE requirement. I don't remember very much about it, or the impression it made upon me. It was years until I took up the practice again. 

Fast forward to 15 or so years ago, when I was working in the gym world. I somehow stumbled upon the 'mind/body' aspect to wellness, and that was it for me. So many years, classes, studios. Many stories, ups and downs. Disillusionment, as well as glorious heart opening experiences, both on and off the mat; friendships made and lost. I always say the mat is like a microcosm of life-- tears, joy, pain, goofiness, loss, self-discovery, surrender, and release. It's taught me more-- as a teacher, a student, and a human-- than any other thing in my life, other than being a parent. 

I have been on a self-imposed hiatus from teaching/training since last November. I was teaching up to 20 classes a week, which is altogether too much, in terms of quality, balance, and passion. Somewhere along the line, my own practice went away completely; that is where the wheels fell off for me creatively. 

Since January, I have been practicing again, almost everyday, sometimes days off, sometimes twice a day. I've met some young, inspiring teachers. I am reminded of what my passion for this art felt like when I began my own journey down this road. It's rather like taking your own small children to Disneyland, and seeing it again for the first time, through their eyes. I can see what this practice means to these newer teachers. Their curiosity, their enthusiasm, their passion for learning and sharing this gift. I remember that feeling, as jaded and 'old' as I am, in this profession. 

In the wellness industry, youth is everything. Older instructors and trainers are largely put out to pasture; they lose their relevance somehow, as age is not valued in our culture. And this is true in the yoga community as well, although I do think there is a place for teachers of my stature, age and experience. I may not be able to throw down to the degree physically that I did 10 or 15 years ago, but I bring something else to the table that newer teachers may not: wisdom, grace, and insight. I know my limitations, and this informs my teaching and my personal practice in a way that being young, aggressive and fearless never did. It's a depth that only comes with time and an understanding of nuance, of subtle body energy. 

What I'm realizing is that it's all important and relevant. In my attempt to stay humble in a world fraught with egos and rockstar mentalities, I want to remain in awe of this ancient art (as Americanized as it is, here), and be inspired by those younger than myself, while at the same time, valuing the history and legacy of yoga in its purest form-- observation, listening and feeling. I am inspired by, and learning from those less experienced than me; hopefully, I can bring some wisdom, respect and inspiration to those who are coming up behind me. In many vocations or art forms, the idea of the 'student/mentor/teacher' paradigm is a thing of intangible value. Books may be one way to pass along knowledge, but in yoga (or tattooing, for example), learning the trade from those older and more experienced than you, is still how things are transmitted. 

The market is saturated. Everyone wants a piece of the action, their 15 minutes of fame. The dark undercurrent of that is a reality. Where we each fall into the spectrum of talent or ability is nebulous at best. Teacher Training programs are churning out 'wannabe' teachers at an alarming rate; where do all these potential teachers end up? Teaching poses is one thing; talent is another thing altogether. The 'It' factor is as important and elusive in yoga as it is in theater or music, or any of the creative arts. 'Guiding' a class with skill, heart, and authenticity is not something that is easily learned.

My own teacher taught me this, and the idea is counter-intuitive. She said, 'We teach for ourselves, we practice for our students.' I had to wrestle with this concept initially. But she is right; if I am not practicing, I have nothing to offer my own students. And if I am not teaching, then the reciprocity of giving and receiving is absent; therein lies the delicate dance of both. I hope to be teaching again soon, in a more balanced way. I have gifts and I need to use them, in whatever capacity I may. And that includes being inspired by others, humbly and with an open heart, both on and off the mat. 

Shanti