Beginners Mind - I'm a yoga teacher now

I taught a class the other day, on the theme of childish playfulness. 

I had a room full of yogi’s pulled funny faces at one another, walked around the room in a forward bend making ‘Beep, Beep’ noises played bumper cars, blew raspberries and gave themselves permission to fall when practicing balances.

It wasn’t typical for a class of mine. I teach Ashtanga Vinyasa, so usually it’s all about breathing big and deep and getting warm and sweaty, but I had chanced upon a playgroup earlier that day and had been utterly and profoundly inspired by a child’s ability to be completely and utterly absorbed by what it was doing.  And it made me wonder, just how wonderful it is to be that young; to find joy and delight in everything as if all of it were marvelous. To get up and keep on running, keep twirling,  keep cart wheeling, no matter how many times we fall.

So, I asked my class, putting the silliness aside, to approach their yoga practice with the same presence a child might. To look for something new and unseen in every posture, every breath and every moment, even if they’d done it a million times before, to transcend the qualities of their minds that told them their bodies wouldn’t bend that way and to leave their adult concerns behind.

It was a fun class, but for me there was also a lesson in it. For so long I was afraid of letting go of my old life and falling, for fear of failing. I was afraid I was a terrible yogi and somehow wasn’t made of the same stuff as a ‘proper’ yoga teacher.

For me Yoga teachers were always the thing of fantasy – someone else, but not me – mythical creatures, that rode around on a white Unicorn enlightening all those around her with a simple nod of the head and a quiet, humble ‘Namaste.’

My initial encounter with yoga was in a gym where, despite a boisterous kick boxing class next door and the rhythmic thud of people pounding the treadmill, I found myself in a place of utter calm and clarity.

From that first moment about 12 years ago something about yoga sparked my curiosity and I continued to practice on and off, like most folks.  It tended to wane when work got crazy, which was really when I needed it most.

Then something happened. I started to have this feeling that I was missing something. That whatever I was doing wasn’t quite right.

What I was doing was working as a Digital Project Manager within the advertising industry, building big budget web stuffs – where I was fulfilling a childhood ambition of working with big brands doing important things, while trying to look glamorous.

When I first got this – let’s call it an ‘itch’ – I quit my boyfriend. Then I quit my home town. I took off travelling to the furthest reaches of Tibet, Nepal and Thailand – and that helped for a bit – when I got back I was determined I need to ‘help’ people and decided the way I should do it was by working for a charity. This dutifully manifested itself when I first moved to London and was lucky enough to land a job (still in advertising) working with Oxfam and NSPCC… I literally thought all my Christmases had come at once. I threw myself into work and partying and making the most of everything London had to offer – I soon forgot all about yoga, unless it was outside a pub on a street corner somewhere in Soho (I’m telling you… it happened!) and I was on my second bottle red wine. To be honest, I think I was a bit of an arse. I was certainly pretty far up my own arse, I can tell you. I had a reputation as a bit of a ‘ball buster’ famed for my ability to ‘Get shit done, no matter what the cost’ (which probably means I wasn’t always very nice) and juggle at least 15 projects at once.

Then the ‘itch’ returned! Only it was worse this time. I ignored it and convinced myself I was happy and everything was fine. Then I woke up one day and couldn’t move – I mean, literally couldn’t get out of bed. It was terrifying and I soon realised I was suffering full scale burn out. I couldn’t go to work, I looked like crap and walking to the corner shop made me feel like I was going to pass out.

Remember that scene from ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ where Liz Gilbert is in a pile on her bathroom floor, praying for a way out of her own life? It wasn’t quite like that, but it was close enough that I can sympathise with the girl.

It’s a long story from that point to this, but the short version is this - during the subsequent weeks I spent either on the sofa or in bed I began to question everything, including who I really was.

Slowly but surely I began to realise I wasn’t all the things I had previously thought I was, or defined myself by, and bits of my personality and strips of my ego began to fall away – until there was just me; the me that had always been there and always would be, that could not be defined by a job, or a postcode, or a salary bracket or a boyfriend.

During this time there was a little voice inside my head urging me back to yoga and to start meditation. I figured I had two choices. I either commit myself as insane or I listen to it. Western medicine didn’t seem to be able to offer me any answers, so I listened… and thank God I did!

I began to drag my sorry, knackered ass to yoga once a week, but it soon turned into every day.

Yoga gave me the thing I felt I was missing. It helped me connect the dots somehow and made me feel more alive than anything else ever had. Ever could.

Then I began to notice my life change. The more I did yoga, the more my lifestyle choices altered to favour veggie food, quieter past times and genuine people and friendships. Meat and booze were now off the menu and my idea of a late night was being up past 10.30pm, as it interfered with my ability to rise at 5am to take a bus and two tubes to get to Mysore practice.

It wasn’t long before the ‘itch’ – this unidentified longing, this horrible, empty yearning of a missed something – was replaced by the ‘call.’ And I remember the exact moment it happened.

I came back from yoga class and for some reason I was sitting starring into my own reflection in the mirror (I’d probably been trying to squeeze a spot – I was doing a lot of detoxing around then!). I was looking at my own eyes and as my face faded away, I somehow saw beyond what I knew as my physical reality and that there was something behind my eyes that had long since known what was in store. It knew the score. 

In an instant I knew there had always been yoga and that this was somehow intended for me. That it had always been my highest intention to be drawn to yoga and to learn and experience as much as I could and then share it with others.

I always say that I didn’t find yoga, but rather it found me.  Once I recognized it, there was little I could do to ignore it. I needed to become a yoga teacher and from that point on, it was never a case of if or when, but how am I going to do this?

2 weeks later I was enrolled on a British Wheel of Yoga Foundation Course and had booked flights to Thailand, where my journey thus far would deliver me to my first Teacher Training in Ashtanga Vinyasa later, that year.

I’d like to say it was smooth sailing from there on in, but I’ll be frank the next few years were a roller coaster. I didn’t let go.

200hr Teacher Training was an awe inspiring and humbling experience. It gave me a fantastic grounding in yoga, but I knew it wasn’t the end. I became acutely aware that yoga is a subject as vast as the ocean and that if I dedicated a life time to its study, I would not even hold a cupful of knowledge, barely a drop!

When I returned to the UK I taught a little, but I got scared and had spent all my money, so I went running back to London and advertising with my tail tucked firmly between my legs, because as hard as it was to go back, it was what I knew.

It wasn’t long though before I was experiencing the same level of stress, ill health and general sense of disillusionment. I had been determined to keep up a consistent practice and teach yoga in my spare time, but the reality was I struggled to fit in my own practice let along find the time to teach others.

So I arrived back at square one as the ‘itch’ returned.  It returned at approximately 4am when I found myself sleep deprived, after a particularly testing project, trying to kip down on moth eaten sofa in the corner of a warehouse, feeling like I might have a heart attack or a nervous breakdown or both, all in the name of shifting more computer games consoles that I didn’t give a stuff about.

It was a familiar feeling by now – the ‘itch.’ And it felt like the only thing harder than leaving would be to stay. So, I dutifully packed a bag, gave notice at work and trekked off to the mother land to re-connect with yoga and the practice that was my salvation.

I still knew I wanted to teach yoga – that beneath the fear of not knowing enough or not being good enough – it was my passion and my calling.

So whilst in India I made a promise to myself to just try. To take a leap of faith, that would be required to make this work. To stop thinking and just do it! I rationalized that as much as I didn’t feel ready to unleash myself on a group of uber-third-series Ashtangis I had something to share with someone.

The beginners mind is a funny thing, but it’s important to remember that your students are your greatest teachers and that you will always be a student first and a teacher second.

I don’t think that I’m the best teacher in the world, but I’ve managed to side step my own fears and doubts and insecurities long enough to start giving it all a good go. I know what I know, because it’s what I have been taught and what I have experienced for myself. Like anything, theory and study is all very well and good, but the true way to get better and to learn is through your own experience.

Teaching yoga is something that I do now – that is my reality, rather than a dream. I find it rewarding think there’s something rather beautiful about giving something to someone that will (hopefully) make them feel good.

I’m glad I took the leap. Sometimes, in life we just have to close our eyes and jump, without knowing where we’re going to land or that there is something beneath, to catch us. It’s like those children, from whom I drew so much inspiration that day – we have to keep running and we have to let ourselves fall, but just because we fall it doesn’t mean we fail or should stop trying.

If I was to give anyone who was thinking about becoming a teacher advice – it would be simple;  

1.Listen to your heart. 

2. Find a decent course with a recognized, passionate and credible teacher. 

3. Practice, practice, practice. 

4. Always remember you are a student first and a teacher second. 

5. Begin! Don’t put off teaching, just start something! 

6. Remember what you’ve learnt, then let go.

Namaste… ;) It feels like I've come a long way! 

Now, where did I leave my Unicorn??