I realize that San Francisco is a tough city in which to thrive teaching yoga. The competition is fierce, and the pay isn’t going to make you rich. I’ve been there, and I feel for you. I try my best to practice compassion and willingness when I go to your class.
(For instance, I didn’t judge you when you played that tired old Beatles song that reminds me of my terrible childhood.)
I don’t expect you to be amazing. I don’t expect you to change my life or enlighten me. I actually, if you want the truth, don’t expect you to teach me anything at all.
Herein lies the problem. I’ve been doing yoga for a good ten years, and at this point, I just want to show up and do some yoga. I don’t need you to tell me that I should be straightening my knee in a lunge. I am lowering it to the floor on purpose. It’s called modifying, dog. I guess that’s something they didn’t teach you about at that one weeklong training you did.
Can I let you in on a little secret about yoga? It’s not about being perfect. It’s not even about being the best you can be. Cuz if I wanted to, I could straighten my leg. I just don’t feel like it. Today, I’m feeling the half-assed-knee-lower. And it’s not your job to “encourage” or otherwise chastise me into doing a better job.
I’m not there to be an example for anyone else in the class, and if I wanted your attention, I’d be giving you a different vibe. So out of the gallant old spirit of compassion, let me give you a word of advice. Get out of your moderately-trained head, and open up your heart to what I really need from you: to simply let me be.
Love,
Joslyn
