Confession: since coming back from Bali I’ve been outrageously cranky. Out of sorts. Not terribly pleased.
It’s been suggested by one of my lovely friends that my holiday was simply too short, although I didn’t feel that way at the time. I really, really enjoyed my wee break to Bali.
Perhaps, I thought, it was because I’d had a taste of what I want for my future life. Yoga, yoga and more yoga in a beautiful tropical part of the world. I could see myself living there, teaching yoga.
Or, maybe it was a cultural thing? In Bali people are mindful, even if they’re harassing you to buy something or hire them as a taxi. Everything is done with a sense of politeness and respect.
Back in Melbourne, not so much. Road rage, people who bash into you with their bag or their person, and a general numbness and lack of care shown by the general population towards each other. Perhaps it was that, I thought.
Then there’s looking inwards. Any rage or unhappiness I feel is of course, emanating from within. No one causes my reactions except for me. I own it all, baby. But why now? What arked up all of this personal dissent?
It hasn’t helped that my home has been infested with tradies working on the two apartments above mine. Like cockroaches, they’re hard to get rid of. My request to not start work so very, very early in the morning (by law they can start at 7am!) with their banging and hammering and drilling… were pretty much ignored.
More – they’ve taken to openly taunting me and harassing me. Several large burly men outside where I sleep and live in the early morning. The police have been called but are useless unless something “actually happens”.
I’ve recently expressed to the body corporate, the landlord and the real estate agent that I will move out unless something can be done to manage these horribly aggressive men. We’re working on it…
This has been going on for a couple of months now, and unfortunately it’s not so great for my stress levels. And stress isn’t great for my health.
So, perhaps it was this, too. Probably. Maybe it’s an “all of the above” situation, perhaps?
Then last night happened.
The yoga school I teach at re-opened this week and I was back on for my regular Tuesday night teaching gig. Hooray!
For January we’re on a reduced timetable, so where there would usually be two classes running on Tuesdays, for the next few weeks there’s just my class.
Usually I teach in the smaller room at the back, which holds twelve students at the most. Last night for the first time, I taught around thirty people in the main room. Some of whom usually do the intermediate class.
Whoah. The pressure. Haha.
At least I thought it’d be a little scary but I simply taught what I know, the way I usually teach. Of course I had to project my voice and look around a heck of a lot more. But it was cool.
The dynamics of large classes are different – less time to deal with people’s individual issues, not as much explanation time and wow, but the class flew!
For sure it was less intimate and although I think I prefer teaching smaller groups, it was lots of fun.
Afterwards I felt just really, really happy. Teaching yoga brings me happiness. Then I realised that the last class I taught was exactly four weeks ago. Wow. That long?
So. That’s what I’d been missing, huh?
Come February, I’ll have been teaching yoga on a weekly basis for twelve months. Before that I taught more sporadically. So teaching has become a part of my routine and my favourite part of the week. But I don’t think it’s just the routine I was missing.
It’s this: even though I know I’ve got a long way to go in my yoga teaching career, and a WHOLE BUNCH to learn… it feels like I’m doing something right.
So often in the last year I’ve questioned my teaching: I’m not a perfect yogi; I haven’t mastered every pose; my body isn’t the right shape or size; there’s heaps of poses I can’t do yet; my knowledge of A&P isn’t as deep as I’d like… so why am I teaching again?
Surely I should just leave it up to the REAL yoga teachers?
Another confession: at Nadine’s yoga teacher Christmas party in December, I very much felt like an imposter. There I was surrounded by all of these REAL teachers, hoping no one would figure out that I’m just faking it til I make it. I don’t have the same level of knowledge or experience as everyone else. WHAT AM I DOING HERE?!!
Only it seems that this teaching thing is a part of my purpose in this life. I felt it last night as I walked to the yoga school, as I began the class and all the way through. And especially afterwards. I humbly accepted compliments on the class and headed home feeling ecstatic.
And lo, all of the antsy cobwebs and crankiness of the last few weeks have vanished like magic.
Almost as if this time out and then coming back was a reminder that yeah, I AM doing the right thing. I AM in the right place, as a yoga teacher who will forever be also be a student who never feels like she’s learned everything she needs to know.
I’m not perfect, and perhaps I’m not a real yoga teacher yet. But I’m on the way, baby.