Life's little lessons

Why on earth would I care whether or not my students waited for my count before moving into upward dog from chaturanga?  

I ponder this question in the fallout of the collision between the "yoga class world" and the "real world".  

You see, substitute teaching is the worst, regardless of what subject you teach.  When I explain my distaste to a doe-eyed and bushy-tailed potential sympathizer, I am always met with confusion.  I know, I know, it's just yoga.  How bad can it be?  You tell people what to do, they listen because they want to learn what you are teaching and then we all have a nice savasana and herbal tea at the end.  I admit, some days are like this.  And some days, they really aren't.

Without exhausting the subject, let's just say that substitute teaching a led ashtanga class can be a nightmare.  The worst scenario?  A one-hour lunch hour class through navasana (half primary).  Why?  The class is scheduled at this time to cater to people who work, meaning that people are in "go mode" and you can expect random drop-ins from people with little to no experience with yoga, and definitely not ashtanga.

But it is a "led" class so isn't that better than the self-led "Mysore"?  Wouldn't that be good for beginners to hear what to do?  Maybe in a perfect world.  But this is a class I'm subbing which means that regulars will expect to be led through navasana and the newbies will have no extraneous explanations of what they are supposed to do.  Good luck.

Now remember again that I am subbing, so already the students are suspicious.  Add onto that the fact that I don't fuck around.  Chatvari means chatvari.  And now we are back to the original question of why do I care and why does it matter?

This got me thinking of my Japanese sculpture teacher back in art school.  He walked up to Eric, nodded his head in approval, then raised his hand and proceeded to beat the clay bust with a mallet.  He encouraged us all to do the same with our "masterpieces".  "You want to fire this piece of shit?" He asked the girl he fondly referred to as "Miss Piggy".  Yes, he was mean.  Yes, he was right.  

Beginners are the best students.  They are totally receptive to what you have to say.  You can instantly see the changes in body and mind as they come in quick bursts of intelligence.  They are humble.  They still can laugh.

Advanced students are the best students.  They are totally receptive to what you have to say.  You can see them as they work to integrate the verbal and physical cues into their practice with the intelligence that comes with experience.  They are humble.  They remember to laugh.

It is everyone in between who is hit or miss.  They are like rebellious teenagers who know everything and will never die.  They refuse to slow down for the beginners, they insist on spying and trying what the advanced students are up to, and they firmly believe that everyone in class should have the exact same pace as their breath.

As a teacher, this means a whole lot of pulling the breaks, holding back, curfews, and the moment where you have to decide if it is worth it.  

Option 1:  Just don't look.  Convenient, less exhausting, but hard to do if you care.

Option 2:  Calling them on it.  But you have to be willing to stand your ground.  Stand your ground?  In a yoga class?  Yep.  Sometimes it means saying to a student that if they aren't here to take the class I'm teaching, they need to leave.

This sucks, feels horrible, turns my face pink, makes my ears steam, and generally is not fun.  But--it is these students who usually come back.  Afterwards, I'm exhausted and upset, they are coming up to me saying "great class!"  

Sometimes when I go in to teach class, it feels like we have stepped into an alternate universe and there are no longer people, just samskaras flying around.  Ultimately this is my practice too and the most difficult students and classes are the best teachers. 

A Day in the Life/Running on empty

Seinfeld:  The Dealership

[Setting: Dealership car]

RICK: (Trying to look at the gas gauge) Where is it now?

KRAMER: There’s still some overlap between the needle and the slash below the "E".

RICK: How low are you gonna go?

KRAMER: Oh, I’ve been in the slash many times. This is nothing. You’ll get used to it. Just, (Makes a popping sound) put it out of your mind.

RICK: Have you ever been completely below the slash?

KRAMER: Well, I almost did once, and I blacked out. When I came to, the car was in a ditch, and the tank was full. I don’t know who did it, and I never got to thank them..

RICK: (As the car slowly drifts off the road) Mr. Kramer, the road!

(Kramer swerves around, trying to get back in place)

KRAMER: Whoop! Whoop!

It is 4:27am the alarm is going off.  I feel as broken and bruised as any poor soul with a full day of work ahead and three days of illness behind.  The trick?  No thinking.  Shower.  Clothing.  Keys.  Walk.  Subway.  Stand. Switch.  Stand.  Switch.  Stand.  Walk.  Elevator.  First class of the day.

"Are you doing mula bandha?"  Rachel asks me.

"Huh?"  Did I hear her right?  We are sipping water next to "assisting towels", boxes of tissue, while we sit on the radiator.

"Right now, are you doing mula bandha?"  She repeats.

"Why?  Do I look like a tight ass?"  We both chuckle as much as you can with rings under your eyes.  But its easy to forget the hunger, the sickness, the fatigue, the fight, the drama, when there's a handful of students in front of you, each with his or her own practice, each with his or her little universe unfolding one piece at a time.  

Setting: Dealership car]

(The needle is now below "E". Rick is looking at it)

RICK: Is it just the angle I’m looking from?

KRAMER: No, Sir. We are down there.

RICK: Oh, this is amazing! Oh, I’ve never felt so alive!

KRAMER: All right, I’m satisfied. We better get some gas.

RICK: What? Well, we can’t stop now.

KRAMER: What do you mean?

RICK: We have to keep going - all the way back to the dealership. That was the plan.

KRAMER: There was no plan.

RICK: Well, let’s make it the plan! Let’s just… go for it! Like Thelma and Louise.

KRAMER: What, they drove to a dealership?

RICK: No, they drove off a cliff.

(Kramer eyes Rick, frightened)

KRAMER: You are one sick mama… I like it.

RICK: Mr. Kramer, the road!

(Kramer swerves around again)

KRAMER: Yup! Yup! 

It's my turn now.  Down the stairs.  Walk through the park (I love New York).  Subway.  Sit.  Switch.  Subway.  Sit.  Walk.  Down the stairs.  Kick off Havaianas.  Grab mat.  Practice.  

Still stuffy.  Why do I feel like I need to say it like I have to justify my practice?  Who really cares anyway besides my ego?  (My ego does set some pretty high and often unattainable standards...)  It is day two of amazingly sweaty.  By the end of the Surya Namaskars I'm drenched in sweat.  (This is an event for me because I'm the non-sweater.)  One of the perks of being sick and coming off of it is what it does to the breath.  It has the deep, sultry, thick, hum that I find soothing.  I'm starting to notice the effects of the chest expanding preps I've been working on.

1.  In all day-to-day activities, listening to my Mom and standing up straight with shoulders back.

2.  Making a point of alternating shoulder use for shoulder bag.

3.  "Sucking up" forearms in downward dog.  This is a hard one to explain.  Ask an Iyengar teacher.

4.  Emphasizing all things with expansive qualities such as the "ekam" part of the wide legs standing poses.

5.  Elbows up, fingers send spine forward in parsvottanasana.

6.  Pressing bottom tips of shoulder blades toward heart in heart openers of second series.

7.  Drop backs.  From standing with arms straight up to the sky and dropping straight back from there.

8.  Opening chest in uttana padasana.

9.  Lengthening the inhales (which makes them even to the exhales for me).  

10.  Better leave this blank in case I forgot something.

The results:

1.  Better posture.

2.  Better breathing.

3.  Spacious upward dog.

4.  Kapotasana feels more like a circle and less like a triangle.  Going straight to grabbing heels and now ankles, even on a sick day.  Feeling like there are options in the "b" part of the pose.

5.  Holding knees today in ankle grabbing with almost straight legs, parallel feet, and happy feelings.

6.  All those warm fuzzy emotions that come when you're opening your heart.

[Setting: Gas station]

(Kramer pulls the car into a gas station and gets out)

KRAMER: Cars can go on empty, but not us humans, huh, fella? I’ll get us a couple of Twix bars.

RICK: No, no coconut for me.

KRAMER: All right, I’ll get ya a Mounds bar. Keep the engine running.

(Rick sits back in the car a second, then hurriedly jumps out and reaches for the gas pump. Kramer pops up from behind the pump and scares him)

RICK: Ahh!

KRAMER: No, man! Not the gas!

RICK: But it needs it, Kramer! It needs it bad!

KRAMER: Do you think that this’ll make you happy? ‘Cause it won’t!

RICK: (Walking away) Ah, you can just go on without me.

(Kramer grabs him by the collar)

KRAMER: Listen to me. When that car rolls into that dealership, and that tank is bone dry, I want you to be there with me when everyone says, "Kramer and that other guy, oh, they went further to the left of the slash than anyone ever dreamed!"

(The car makes puttering noises)

RICK: Maybe we better get moving.

KRAMER: It’s good to have you back, Stan.

(Both hop into the car)

RICK: It’s Rick, by the way.

KRAMER: No time! 

I've got pants on and I'm digging through my bag.  Yes, my chest is open.  So open that I'm standing here topless without bra.  

"Here--this is new."  "A" hands me a size "x small" American Apparel see-through triangle bikini top bra.  Its better than nothing.  We all have a good laugh at just how open my chest is.  

Time for breakfast.  Walk.  Bird poops on scarf.  Subway.  Sit.  Walk.  Bus.  Walk.  Stairs.  Home.  Eggs on a pan.  Whole grain freshly baked bread.  Two minutes of The View.  Grab keys.  Back down the stairs.  Walk.  Bus.  Walk.  Blast of AC as I step into the health club.

[Setting: Dealership car] 

(Rick and Kramer are driving back to the dealership)

RICK: (Seeing the turn-off up ahead) There’s the dealer!

KRAMER: Hey!

RICK: We did! We pulled it off! I can’t believe it! Where’s the needle?

KRAMER: Oh, it broke off, baby! Woo, hoo, hoo!

RICK: Oh, Mr. Kramer, I gotta thank you. I - I learned a lot. Things are gonna be different for me now.

KRAMER: Well, that’s a weird thing to say…

RICK: I wonder how much longer we could have lasted.

KRAMER: Yeah, yeah. I wonder… hmm.

(They both eye each other, then lock hands. Kramer slams on the gas, and they both cheer and scream as they drive on) 

20 minutes of reflection and endless list making. Gulps of water.  Teaching class.  "Stay in chaturanga--don't hurry..."  Exit AC.  Walk.  Car skids to a stop a few feet in front of me.  It continues for two blocks going in reverse on a one way.  Teaching class.  "Don't hurry!"  Laughing.  Sweating.  Raining.  Smiling.  Celebrating.  Long walk home.  Bus.  Food.  Cushy couch.  Blog.  Gulps of water.

[Scene cuts to Kramer and Rick. Still yelling, they slowly come to a stop]

KRAMER: Ya-hoo! Ya-hoo! (Rick is silent) Whew! Well, I think we stopped.

RICK: You - you can probably let go of my hand now.

KRAMER: Yeah, yeah. (Getting out of the car) Well, I’ll think about it..

RICK: Do you have my card? 

This is an amazing ride.

The work

So what is "the work"? I think it depends a bit on the perspective. In the previous post, I was referring to certain incidents that made my role as a teacher particularly challenging. I'm thinking about:

-teaching a class at a certain level that it is advertised as and the students aren't willing to practice at that level. Let's say it was a basics class, but the students who came were more advanced and refused to listen to instructions for a basic level class. In a basics class, much of the learning is visual, so a beginner will look to someone who looks like they know what they are doing and will copy them, no matter if it corresponds with the verbal instructions given by the instructor. This isn't specifically what happened, but it was similar, and anyway, this has happened before.

The point isn't to control the class and have a power trip. It is that the lesson that is trying to be conveyed will not be clear and will be of less benefit to all of the students. In this case, doing the work would mean humbling oneself and taking the class that is being taught or being honest with oneself and choosing to attend a more appropriate class rather than disrupting other students and disrespecting the instructor.

Now I realize that this is not the intention of the student. I know. I've been that student. You're at class and you want to get your practice in. You remember something you learned in another class, last week, or something that might feel good and you do it because it is your time to do yoga. And then up comes the teacher (maybe) and you're like "what a jerk!". I know, I've totally been there!

-Failing to inform instructor beforehand of injuries and concerns. Might not seem like a big deal, but can be really difficult as a teacher. The work here would be being honest about physical limitations (letting go of ego), but also trusting the instructor to do their job. Oh, and listening to the teacher's advice on how to approach practice with these in consideration.

Okay, so upon further thought, I think that most other things I could mention fall into these main categories of "doing the work":

1. Listening to your teacher

this means that you have an open dialogue with your instructor about what is going on with you and trusting them to give you well-informed feedback. They have seen so many bodies over the course of their careers that it is probable that they know what they are talking about. Both of the above example fall under this category.

2. Practicing like you mean it

example: if you saw my back bending video, you saw me fidgeting around, thinking about how I felt tight, how it was cold, how I was hungry, how I was tired, etc. Did I need to to that? No. I let myself do it. I gave myself permission to give up. So doing the work here is pushing your edge. It also means practicing wholeheartedly and consistently. That's when you really see results.

Hey, none of us are perfect, that's why they call it practice! We all have to work at doing the work.

I think everything falls into those two categories, but I'll have to think about it. This is such an overwhelming topic. It deserves much more than what I've worked through here. Any thoughts?

Live to practice or practice to live

I missed and missed practice at the shala this morning. It wasn't my fault, but was probably for the best. Spent half an hour waiting on a train platform to get there and when it was clear that the train was either not coming or I was going to be way too late, I walked home.

I haven't had coffee in years. I hadn't had a deuce since Monday. I decided that instead of farting up the shala, I'd get a coffee and take matters into my own hands. It worked. And now I get a nice practice at home with music in the background. And why not? Was today the day I'd get karandavasana? Maybe. Should that matter? Nope. Do I live to practice or practice to live?

Teaching yoga. Oh, teaching yoga. So great, so fun, so rewarding. So hard, so challenging, so annoying. Yesterday, I taught way too much, was way too tired, had a hard emotional weekend, was angrily constipated and snapped at a student. I felt and still feel horrible.

Teaching yoga is hard and it isn't just "teaching" yoga. What is it that students want and what on earth are they coming for? To sweat? To lose weight? For spiritual peace? To stretch? To do crazy shit? It could be none or all of those reasons and more and somehow as the teacher you're supposed to cater to all of this or none of this. It shouldn't matter, you should be able to teach what you feel is best for the students. But that isn't always the case. Numbers count and you've got to pay your rent. I've found that most people want a cushy, nice teacher, who will help boost their ego in a not so obvious way. Hey, I'm probably that student too to some extent, or at least have been at one point or another. Very few really want to do the real work. This isn't to say that people don't come to class with good intentions, they do. It is that it is hard to develop and things that are hard aren't always fun.

In a recent post, Steve Dwelley talks about fundamentalists in yoga and Guy responds:

"A lot of times we are confronted in life with our likes and dislikes, laziness, apathy, greed etc…. in yoga practice too! If every time as a practitioner we say: “today I dont feel like doing any forward bends, only backbends, or today I feel like breathing through my mouth” and the teacher says: “fine, whatever”, then the student will never develop a true and healthy practice.

Part of going into yoga is over coming our subjective likes and dislikes and going through a process of dissolving the ego. For this strong and consistent discipline is required. If the practice is changing daily it cannot act as a reference point for Self knowledge, if the teacher also changes his or her tune daily, he or she can also not act as such a reference point."

Some days the classes are small and the students give me angry little faces. It takes it all out of me. Other days, everything clicks and we are all better for it. I try to detach myself from these ups and downs and try to stay true to the fact that I am giving my best and always doing all I can to look out for the students. I'm human like everyone else and get attached to these fluctuations. It is hard. Its a practice.