I know what it’s like to second guess yourself. To think: ‘This doesn’t feel good.’ Even while you’re actively teaching. To ruminate for days after a funky class, when you can’t put your finger on why it had such a weird vibe.
I also know you care. A lot. Or else none of this would ever go through your head. After 16 years of teaching, I wish I was immune. But every once in a while, it still happens.
My meditation teacher, David Harshada Wagner, offered some of the best advice I’ve ever received on teaching. “When all else fails, just love and serve.”
What is it that fails? For starters, it could be the pages and pages of notes you have in front of you that just aren’t landing. What I’ve found is that when I focus on my theme, if I choose to have one, sometimes it overrides making a connection with my students. When I don’t connect, that’s when it feels yucky. And students feel the disconnect It creates a different kind of energy. If you’re too tied to getting it all in - everything you worked tirelessly for hours to prepare - well, your students may leave feeling unsettled, like they never had time to just be. Maybe they were focused on hearing you talk while simultaneously trying not to listen.
Students want a connection with you, but they also want to disconnect from whatever it is life is serving them at the moment. And that should take precedence.
Lately I’ve begun training myself to enter class with a bare bones outline containing one idea, a short story to illustrate it, and a Rumi quote to help the idea hit home. Then, if I’m inspired, I’ll take that one idea and apply its essence to an experience within a posture, or even the experience of the breath. I’ll say as little or as much as I’d like depending on how things feel, and the vibe, tone and flow of class. No ties to notes, just free-flowing divine inspiration - if it’s there.
Another thing I remind myself every so often is: ‘It has nothing to do with me.’ Meaning, while I’d like to think of myself as the star attraction, in truth, class has absolutely nothing to do with me, and everything to do with each and every one of the students and his or her own unique experience.
I find this quite comforting actually because it reminds me to take the pressure off of myself to be great, and simply allow each student to focus more on themselves. Teaching a class is not about our experience as a teacher. It’s about a student’s experience as a student. Of course, a beautifully taught class aids in that experience, but it’s not necessarily the main ingredient.
Let’s firmly establish one thing: You are, right now, fully ready right this moment to offer a beautifully taught class. See how easy it is? To review: Talk. But not too much. Release any obligation from being the star attraction. Let your students know it’s all about them. And if all else fails, love and serve.
As a teacher, remember, you’re also a student. Indu Arora says, “I don’t know if I call myself a teacher. I would simply call myself a student of life, for my entire life. If I’m successful in being ready to learn in every moment, then maybe I can share those experiences and someone might feel a spark through the sharing.”
What can you learn while teaching? Everything. Especially teaching yin yoga. For instance, how comfortable are you with silence? Like the kind of silence where it’s so uncomfortable, you’ll say anything to relieve it. In Japan, the power of silence even has a name - haragei - or “belly talk.” One of the definitions of haragei is: The best communication is when you don’t speak at all. Rumi says, “This silence. This moment. If it’s genuinely inside you, brings you what you need.” We can trust in the power silence, and the power of the practice, and that’s enough. For instance, the experience a student may have in relative silence absorbed in the energy of Shoelace pose far outweighs anything we - or even Rumi - can say.
And see? There’s your class. Right there in the paragraph above.