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.
