Being a student changes you
Last week, this writer/ student had a week off to spend time with family. My aunt periodically comes to visit me, and it’s always a blast. One of the coolest things about the visits is that my aunt is an avid practitioner of yoga. She always requests that I teach a few yoga classes while she’s here, and since I love and miss teaching, I always say yes.
As much as I love stepping into the teacher role, I’m always reminded of how teaching is secondary to learning. I came out of my 200-hour training with a bunch of absolutes in my head, and I entered teaching with even more insecurities bolstered by an understanding that I had so much to learn.
Being a solitary yogi who occasionally teaches private in-person classes has forever changed how I view this practice. I started out thinking that yoga is all about The physical body. Then I figured it was what’s happening inside you. The Yoga Sutras state, “Yogas citta vritti nirodhah.” (“Yoga is the experience we have when all the vritti, the movement arising in our consciousness, is stilled.”) (YS 1.2, transl. Finger and Newton). I thought that was the end in itself, and maybe it is for some practitioners. Now I understand that we can take that yoga outside too. What starts with a stilling of the consciousness can become a stabilizing force in the world around us.
It's okay to not know
The effect of watching yoga and mindfulness pervade more aspects of my life has been profound. I am perfectly at peace with sitting in the role of student. I am not bothered by my lack of knowledge. It’s natural and fun to have plenty of things to learn. This change has helped me chill out... a ton.
Being fine with not knowing isn’t a cop-out, however. Yoga has also given me the courage to learn. Because I have lost the fear of not being the expert in the room, I am free to ask all the questions without judgment.
This practice starts in the body. For example, you might go into a standing half-moon pose and wonder, “Why does my hip feel weird in that pose?” A beginner might be convinced that they’re doing it all wrong and that they’re failing as a practitioner. (Note: As long as you show up, you cannot fail.) You tweak the alignment, and it still doesn’t feel right. You try the textbooks and the experts, but they can’t bail you out. You get curious. What’s the range of motion that this hip has? Is it the same on both sides? What can I do to make this movement feel good in my body?
At some point, you’ll lose the sense that your hip is bad/wrong/ inadequate, and you’ll settle on, “This is a part of me, and I will nurture and care for it.” Not knowing doesn’t mean that you quit. You do your best and adapt the rest.
This stuff is everywhere
I was walking the dog yesterday, and I got totally bamboozled by the sky. I looked up, and I saw blue and white marble. I wondered how something that could look like it was heaved up from the earth could be floating overhead. When something like that happens, I believe what they sat about everything being connected to everything else. It’s a remarkable balm for aloneness, and noticing is the great preventer of boredom and fear. Mostly, practicing mindfulness has given me wonder, and wonder is crucial to being a student.
This knowledge came from the breath. While I was learning more about pranayama, I found out that there are four parts to the breath. The shapes of these things vary, but they’re something you can always observe. There’s an in-breath (puraka), a pause full (abhyantra kumbhaka), an out breath (rechaka), and a pause empty (bahya kumbhaka).
You see these four parts reflected in all manners of living things. We have daybreak, high noon, sunset, and the full darkness of night. A seedling stretches up from the ground, grows into fullness, flowers and fruits, and then it recedes. The plant’s death is the start of new life in the soil beneath it, where the pattern continues. We can’t forget the seasons either, the earth’s own puraka, abhyantra kumbhaka, rechaka, and bahya kumbhaka. I can observe all of this as a student and because I am a student.
What is essential remains
Since I’ve moved, the shape of my practice, and the way I live have changed dramatically. I still roll out my mat, but now I’m mostly alone when I do this. If I had better connectivity, I know I’d be joining in with all of you virtually a whole lot more, and I’d probably be teaching too. Practice remains an essential part of my life even as the extraneous trappings of what I perceived the practice to be fall away.
I’ve also found that the way I communicate is different. This practice has helped me see the value of time. When someone gives time, it is their most precious gift. When I care for others, I share my time. Too often we don’t recognize this until someone gets a terminal diagnosis or something takes our reality and knocks it completely off its axis.
Rex has been my friend for years, but I talk to him more now than I did when we lived in the same city. One of my dearest friends is one of my former high school teachers. We set up weekly phone calls, and we write each other letters. When my grandparents call me, I drop what I’m doing and answer. When my spouse comes home from work, I stop what I’m doing and have a moment of gratitude as I greet him. He’s made it home safely. We get to have dinner together. We get to be in the same room.
None of these interactions should be profound, but I’m embarrassed to say that it is a change for me. I took too much for granted. Yoga made me care more. It helped me see that none of this is permanent. The only certainty is flux, and you can choose how much awareness you have as this current moves around you and as you are a part of it.
Now it's your turn
If you've stuck with me this long, chances are, you're also navigating studenthood. What has yoga taught you? How has the practice made you a better student? Take some time to reflect. Feel free to share if you'd like!
I wish you good health and happiness, my friends!