Prescription against Proscription

Continuing with the theme of how we learn...what's the role of the teacher, the role of the student. I think I'd like to see those boundaries get a bit more mixed up. I don't think the person in front of the room is all-knowing nor should we expect that of him/her--teachers are human beings, just like everyone else, with a bit more experience in a specific area.

I chafe against rigid heirarchies. I think they're stupid and are designed to protect power more than anything else. They are certainly not in the best interest of people at the bottom of the heirarchy, despite what the people at the top say. But, I'm not an anarchist, either. I think plenty of things need to happen in a certain order to function well and I think some rules are very useful. Maybe it's the rigid that I have a problem with.

I think it is very brave to acknowledge ambiguity. It requires a sense of security and centered-ness that is tricky to achieve, tricky to maintain. But, once you are okay with it, the world gets a whole lot more interesting. There are a lot of nooks and crannies to discover once you can sit with uncertainty.

What does this have to do with the teacher-student relationship? Well, again, not a big fan of heirarchy. I want my teachers to be knowledgeable and have a deep understanding of the subject at hand. But I appreciate a teacher who knows there is always more to learn and encourages his/her students to go deeper on their own. Some one who knows rules are made to be broken and that the answer is often "maybe. The best discoveries are usually made by some one who doesn't know any better and doesn't accept the boundaries set by experts. Gets out of the box.

Maybe what I'm saying is that the true guru is inside you. A good teacher helps you discover that, but the realization is your own.

Learn to sit with uncertainty. Do not follow me, I may not lead. (Maybe the other true guru is 70s posters)

Calculus-gita

More on the confluence of yoga and mathematics from my calculus professor:

"My image of you (all) is infinitely good...it doesn't matter what you subtract, it is still good. Since it is infinite, you can subtract 10,000, or whatever, from it and it is still infinitely good. That is what infinite means."

How's that for ego-less teaching?

How I Spent my Vacation...

Spring Break. So I broke a little, but E and A made sure I didn't take it too easy. Ah, the life of a non-traditional student.

One thing I did do, was work on my Education project: a 10-hr. observation of an educational setting. I am fascinated by project-based learning and how it is used to create an entire curriculum in a classroom where the students make most of the choices about what they learn. It's not as loosey-goosey as it sounds, and there's a whole rubric set up to help students select projects and define the way they are investigated. There's a charter school in Beloit, that is part of the public school system but is entirely project-based and I spent Monday seeing how it all works.

It was so interesting to watch the kids and think about my own prejudices about how school should run. What was remarkable was how engaged the students were and how sophisticated their projects--and their descriptions of these projects--were. Everyone one I sat down with could pull up research they'd used (not just wikipedia) and could describe how they were turning this research into a final project--short story, 1/4" scale model, song, concert. For the quantifiers in the audience, the test scores are the same or a bit higher than the kids in the regular middle and high school (partially due to all the reading) and almost all graduates go on to college. So why not let the kids call the shots--within reason?

There seem to be some weak areas (math, science), but on the whole I couldn't really see how this form of learning would be less effective than a teacher-centered, lecture-based approach. And I could see how it would be a lot more appealing.

So, re. yoga. It seems like we're stuck in a very teacher-based form of instruction, and I'm not sure that such a good thing either. Very traditional. Very susceptible to ego trips and misinformation.

Of course, you have to learn how and probably some why at first. A sensible framework to organize the information is good, too. But the endless celebration of this guru and that superstar, and this brand and that patented technique gets awfully far from the whole point of this practice, which is to unite within oneself. Isn't it?

One thing an advisor (not "teacher") at the charter school told me, was that kids who want to be told what to do and simply perform to get a grade never last very long at the school. They can't handle the freedom and the responsibility. Which is fine, some people can't. But I wonder if that's the case with so much of the yoga teaching in the West--people want some one to boss them around and grade their asana. Anyone who finds that model confining and paternalistic is seen as suspect--all this "us vs them" that seems to be such a desired dichotomy to establish.

Carol H. keeps writing about Yoga 2.0 and I think it has potential to move us away from this more traditional way of thinking about instruction. I don't really mean that a yoga class will become project-based, but maybe in terms of the discipline becoming less dependent on master teachers and all that. Stop grading (or *sigh* awarding olympic medals) and start investigating.

I dunno, is that too radical?

...surf's up!

Alone/Together in the classroom

I've been thinking about classroom community. Do we learn better when we know who we are learning with? Is a solitary pursuit more focused? Is it better to feel a part of a group or to be an individual in a bunch of individuals?

I have it all ways this semester. In my Ed class, we spent a whole day learning each others' names and interests. In Bio we work in pairs, so I know the students to my left and right. In Calc we all sit facing forwards and just casually converse before class...if even. In my once-a-month yoga class I don't know anybody and just come and go with a few words to my teacher.

And it's all good. I hate a forced community--I'd just as soon keep to myself. However, when I know everyone's name and the class includes a lot of discussion, I do feel more invested in the group. Is one better than the other--I think it depends, on what the subject is, how you are learning it, what the desired outcome is (is that an expectation?).

As a teacher, I try to learn everyone's name as soon as possible. I don't call on people in yoga classes, but if I can murmur an instruction using the person's name, I think its effect is more immediate. And whether there is talking or not, I want people to feel like I am keeping track of them--whether for adjustment purposes, safety, or inclusion. What's the point of taking a yoga class from a teacher if s/he isn't aware of each student (we've discussed this before, teaching vs demonstrating, remember)?

For me, I like a mix of alone and together in my yoga. I like the energy of a room full of people and the post-class vibe of everyone calm, relaxed, and happy. I hate partner work and I don't want to touch other students (when I'm a student, myself). I'm not really interested in conversation. It's a completely different experience than practicing at home, but it is still very solitary.

Alone or together. Where do you stand (sit, invert, twist)?

Bumpy ride

The landscape continues to to change. Last week Linda Sama shuttered her Yoga Journey, joining another well-respected, provocative blog favorite it's all yoga, baby in the gone-but-not-forgotten category. It's getting lonely here in Old Timer Land. Both authors have very logical reasons for moving on...but I'm sad to see them go, and have missed their opinions during the discussions of 2011 (which, so far, sound a lot like the discussions of 2010/2009/2008/etc).

The departure of these dear friends and thoughtful minds from the conversation (at least in blog world), made me think about my own motives for continuing on with GTTSB. It certainly isn't a cash cow and does take up valuable time; the main reason, more than anything other, is that it has become a familiar habit that I can't imagine breaking. For me, this is like a yoga practice--I use it to smooth the lumps and bumps of daily living. Focus the mind and settle the thoughts.

In a sense, it is almost a journal, but one written for an audience. So, I must to use proper grammar and spelling and need to make sense in my ramblings. This is my written pranayama; if I am thinking hysterical thoughts--angry and unfocused--I have to center myself and become rational and reasonable. Not necessarily right, but at least I have to make sense. It's an exercise in making connections between all the varied elements of my life (yoking, doncha know) and forming a world view that is thoughtful and fair.

I'm flattered and a bit incredulous that I actually have an audience. In a way, blogging is very self-indulgent, so I am ever so grateful for all the connections I have made along the way and the voices I keep in my mind as I write (who might chuckle, who will recognize this picture, who will see themselves in my example).

I do feel there is starting to be a shift in focus and topic among the yoga bloggers, so it is fun to watch the scenery unfold: curvy yoga, recovering (from) yoga, saucy yoga, yoga intellectuals. I guess that's the privilege of senior status (so to speak), having been around for awhile I get to see how the new crowd reads the tea leaves.

You all rock. Blog archives rock. I'm glad to be one of you. Keep your seat belts on...

Why do we do?

I'm still stuck on expectations. I really like my calculus' teachers declaration that, "I have no expectations. If I have expectations, I cannot teach you." It seems very wise that, as a teacher, you practice non-attachment to results. If the teaching is driven by wanting to see a desired result from your students, the whole enterprise moves away from learning to just getting something. That, to me, isn't good motivation.

But is there good motivation? As students and teachers (and parents and mentors) is that something we want to cultivate in certain situations, or should that be something that comes from within? Should the desire to learn be the individual's alone, or are there external influences that are good and healthy?

Probably, a little of both. I think the learning that is held the deepest comes from within. You may start to do something for external reasons, but the reason it sticks with you--and you with it--is because that something resonates and the activity moves from chore to pleasure (or habit?). But maybe the push or encouragement or rule some one else imposes is what you need to get started.

I think about sending my boys to school; while they're young, they'd just as soon hang out with a roomful of 6-yr-olds than stay home with me, but if it was framed as something they have to do, it might give them pause. But, that doesn't matter, they don't really have a choice, because of their age. Internal or external? Maybe by the time they're teenagers, the acquisition of knowledge and experience will have its own attraction and going to school is just part of the routine. (I don't doubt for a minute that there won't be plenty of groaning and foot-dragging, but that's all part of the teenage performance)

And maybe that's the way it is with yoga, too. Some one suggests it will improve your flexibility or strength, or maybe you have to do something low impact until an injury heals. I hope it isn't just to get rid of bra fat. But, whatever gets them in the room, I can tell when new students get hooked. The first few classes, they are usually a bit tentative--looking at everyone else, overdoing a pose, confusing right and left. But, the ones who stay move out of that place of insecurity pretty quickly. You can see their expressions shift and how quickly they come to stillness during the opening meditation. It's just a matter of days before they come up after class and ask where is the best place to get their own mats. I love that and I don't really think that has a whole lot to do with me as a teacher, but how they absorb the subject and make it their own. Internal or external?

You can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make him drink. If you build it, they will come. Never try to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and it annoys the pig. This topic isn't new, but it's what I've been thinking about.

Would you like to think about it, too?

The Periphery of Comprehension

For much of my life, I was a person who pursued things that I was already good at. All my education and career choices utilized skills that I had a natural talent for...if I wasn't good at it, it wasn't worth my consideration. I suspect this isn't a particularly remarkable trait...we usually like the things we are good at and are good at the things we like.

[Are you flexible because you do yoga, or do you do yoga because your are flexible?]

However, this latest batch of schooling (teaching certification in biology) does not draw as heavily my strengths. Or at least my strengths, as I've defined them. So it's very interesting to hover in this place between understanding and confusion, ease of effort and hard work. I kinda like it.

This whole project is very meta (one "t") in that I keep switching back and forth from being a student of the subject to imagining teaching it, so when I do get stuck, my mind vacillates between getting annoyed at the difficulty and appreciating the learning value of having to concentrate on something. In a way, it feels very akin to yoga and its work on quieting the fluctuations of the mind.

I suspect,(and I've said it before) if you can handle the insecurity of not knowing for sure (which is really all life is about, anyway, right?), it's a good place to be. Having to think, but not being validated with the right answer.

And then, when you do figure out the answer, or at least come to terms with the question, that can be its own reward.

But what do I know, anyway....

The Noblest Profession...IMHO

In all the latest folderol surrounding yoga rebels, management teams, talent agency synergy, and bra fat, I wonder...

Are we still talking about teaching yoga?

To me, teaching is a very intimate experience. Two people come together over a period of time with the understanding that information will be shared, understood, processed and applied. One half of the pair will facilitate the learning and the other will absorb. Both are affected by the interaction and both emerge with a deeper sense of the material. The key to this definition--in my mind--is over a period of time.

Learning does not happen in an afternoon or a weekend. It may start in a day, but it is an ongoing process. It's important for students to have the continued support and attention of their teachers as this process unfolds. Not constant attention, but students should feel like help is available and that their teachers can guide them on their way.

Think back to your most valuable learning experiences. How much contact time did you get with that teacher? Were you just a body in a sea of freshman during a huge Psychology lecture? Was it during a weekend team-building exercise for work? I doubt it. What we remember as our education highlights involves a close connection to the teacher who helped make it happen--coaching during the school play by the drama teacher, yearbook work nights with the journalism teacher, dissertation advice from a major professor, career guidance from a mentor at work.

So how does this relate to the aforementioned dust-up? I get so weary hearing about expensive yoga retreats, massive yoga workshops, yoga stars jetting back and forth to this or that studio, because I wonder just how much teaching is going on. Inspiring, informing, showing and demonstrating, yes...but a week after the workshop, when you can finally follow the sequence but don't understand the logic behind it, who do you turn to? Or if you remember the pose wrong, but keep doing it and hurt yourself? Is there anyway to assess what is actually learned?

Maybe we need a second category for these kinds of learning experiences--yoga demonstrations, yoga performances, yoga lectures? Some one is showing and some one is watching or doing, but the close connection never happens and there is no follow-up. These experiences are valuable--obviously we value them more, performers make a whole lot more money than teachers--but I don't think a lot of teaching, as I've defined it, happens.

So there it is. What bothers me is equating success with how many demonstrations you do a year, or how many people you "reach" through books and endorsements. Yoga instruction as a revenue generator. All of that has its place (well, I'm not sure about the endorsements), but I wish we did more than just pay lip service to the teaching end.

Not everyone can teach. Not everyone can energize a ballroom full of people. There is a place for both, but they are not the same thing, nor should they be. Being able to do one, does not guarantee being able to do the other. They are separate and distinct experiences.

...In My Humble Opinion.

Y!

I was bidden by one of my biology prof.s (and yoga student) to watch my calculus professor closely; students always rave about him, but aren't able to say why he is such a good teacher. She wants me to tell her what it is about his methodology that is so compelling, what are his secrets.

I'm not sure I would have made the connection as quickly, if he didn't look so much like a younger version of Krishnamacharya with a handlebar moustache. However, this fellow teaches calculus as if it were yoga--more raja than asana--but still, the association was revelatory. The class was perfectly silent, as we listened in rapt, albeit nervous, attention. I heard most of the yamas and niyamas in his introductory lecture--ahimsa, satya, svadhyaya, aparigraha, santosa, tapas--without them being named as such.

The simile is not so far-fetched, when you think about it. Both yoga and calculus are non-verbal languages, with rules about how to practice and not practice. Both require you to clear your mind, focus on the present and avoid distracting thoughts to get the greatest benefit. Both require non-attachment, so that you don't cling to expectations or obsessions and just let the pre-existing truths reveal themselves as you do the work.

He is old-school. He requested we not bring calculators to class, but just pencils, paper and our books. No fancy props required for him.

I put a big star next to one comment he made, because it still kind of blows my mind in its application to teaching yoga: "I have no expectations of you. If I have expectations, I can't teach you."

(Can you imagine the implications of that comment to all the yoga teachers out there with agendas and products to sell?)

At the end of the first day, he looked serenely around the room and said, "I look at all of you and I don't see one person I don't like. Whether you understand mathematics or not, I still like you. Whether you like mathematics or not, I still like you. But, I hope you like mathematics, because you are taking this class. See you next time."

...sounded like Namaste, to me.

Re-conceived notion

Joseph Cornell , Untitled (The Hotel Eden), c. 1945, Construction

Nothing thrills me more than a creative re-interpretation of something. M aybe it's just the greenie in me, but re-cycled, re-presented, re-purposed anything--done with intelligence and wit--makes me swoon. I love to see the mind at play, especially as manifested in an object. I never ceased to be amazed by what people will come up with, and how a creative person will rise to the challenge of making something brand new from stuff that already exists. Collages, mash-ups, assemblages, ready-mades...oh, be still my heart.
So I was really intrigued by a reference in last week's Home section in the NYTimes. A Berlin artist has turned an old factory into a living space/gallery (also an interesting re-use of a building), and often hosts art events at her home. Including--get this--an artist whose medium IS YOGA! I spent quite a lot of time searching for said artist to see what s/he had come up with...but without any luck (anyone know who this artist might be?).

An artist whose medium is yoga. Not an artist who uses yoga as subject matter, but whose form of expression is yoga itself. How does that come about? What do see when you look at this art? Surely it's more than just some sort of dance using poses, right? Maybe it's a piece that doesn't even reference asana. What could it be--I'm so curious.

And so energized. How exciting to use this thing that we've all come to see as a privileged practice, intended for good mental and spiritual health, as a source . Like I said, I love a good re-interpretation, and using yoga like a paintbrush or pencil or sculpting medium kind of blows my mind.

Something to incorporate into Yoga 2.0? Something that could inform our usual practice or teaching methods? I wish I knew what the piece or performance actually was--but it's an interesting exercise to try and imagine it...

Uni-tasking

In one week, it all starts again. School--calculus, statistics, Education for a Democratic Society--a full load for the newly christened full-time student. Good Lord.

But I have a strategy, that I was able to implement on a gradual basis in the fall. I call it, "Two Trips, Bren," after my father's admonition when I was younger and would try to carry every dish off the table to the kitchen at once. So you loose a dish every once and awhile, fair trade for getting done quicker. Except you're out a dish and some one is glaring disapprovingly. Two trips, Bren, two trips.

Perhaps the metaphor can carry into daily life. There is a time for multi-tasking and there is time to uni-task. And, actually, I think it's when you are the busiest that it's best to uni-task. Better do something carefully, with full attention and presence, than to be half-assed about it. The glass that shatters could be something really important.

I practice it with my physical pursuits--running, biking, swimming (as if you could do anything else...the beauty of the sport), asana. Mentally, it's my biggest challenge. Trying to stay focused on a single thing, or merely two things, is not my strong suit...that monkey-mind, you know. I work on it during yoga class and with pranayama, but the day-to-day implementation needs work.

So, let's add "two trips" to "never say never." It will be a year (semester?) of being present and open to opportunities. A time for math and a time for Legos, a time for making dinner and a time for reading. Keeping all plates whole and and considering new crockery.

I hope.

Never say Never

From From the Mouths of Babes File: the 6-yr-old and I sat assembling an Egyptian temple (oh, the complexity of today's Legos), while the 3-yr-old amused himself with the little figures that came with the set. I missed the rest of the conversation, but I caught one Egyptologist's sage advice for his companion, "Never say never."

Where do you suppose he picked that up? I don't think there's any kids' version of 007 floating around (altho there might be some money to be made on that), so it's a mystery to me. We had a good laugh at this pint-size philosopher's wisdom and continued constructing Anubis.

New Year's Eve rolled around with its requisite bubbly and Latvian bacon dumplings (in my parents' house, that is), and the conversation turned to resolutions and upcoming events. Taking heed of Dr. Legoman's words, I resolved to make 2011 the year of Never Say Never. I was being glib (those last 10 lbs. have resolved to stick with me anyway), but, on closer consideration, I think it's a pretty good choice.

For starters, we puny mortals don't have the power to declare Never. Who knows what's going to happen next and it might just be something grand. Or, at least, an opportunity that's worth consideration, even if one isn't predisposed to it. I can think of a few bridges I thought I was over, but find myself crossing again...math and off-site yoga, anyone?

Maybe it comes with age, but I think declaring Never seems like a particularly difficult attitude to uphold--making my resolution an easy one to keep. There's no point in deciding about what might or might not happen; you have to wait and see what does develop, and then deal with that. Aparigraha, for you yoga types. Best to be open to the unexpected and prepare to be surprised (if that isn't too much of an oxymoron).

Here's to 2011 in all its shiny newness. I hope yours is full of delightful surprises and manageable challenges...you *never* know what will happen!

Beating a Dead Horse...

...cuz I'm nerdly that way, I wanted to draw your attention to a study released earlier this month. A group of marketing prof.s writing in the Journal for Consumer Research, observed that looking at an advertisement of a beauty or fashion product caused female undergraduates to have a negative view of themselves afterwards. However, looking at a picture of makeup or high-heeled shoes outside of the context of an ad did not affect the viewers' self-esteem. They suggest that the fact that the item is featured in an ad may be a message in itself--this picture is to remind you that you should buy this product because of your lack of smooth skin, thick lashes, etc.

This study didn't consider ads featuring the human body, but it isn't much of a stretch to consider the implications when looking at an image of an impossibly thin and flexible body doing, say, a difficult arm balance. Especially in the context of selling something. Those that argue that this kind of imagery is empowering and uplifting may want to think again.

I'm just sayin'...

The Man with the Child in his Eyes

My Goodness, it's almost been a month since last I wrote. I guess that's what happens when many final projects and final finals converge. Still, the last thing got handed in yesterday, so here I am. Whew.

Last week, I decided to mix it up a bit in class. Usually we work our way up to a pose, moving through a variety of preparations, so the final asana comes easily and with grace (for the most part). On Thursday night, I switched the order, so we moved from Sun Salutes into standing poses right away, and then came to the floor for forward bends, etc. It was a nice change, and we were so chill by the time savasana rolled around, the room was completely silent for 10 minutes. No rustling, adjusting or shifting...just release.

When we finally came up and opened our eyes from namaste I was struck, in particular, by how much one of my students looked like his 5-yr-old daughter. Startlingly so . And I got to thinking, I wonder if we all have a moment at the end of class when a shadow of our young selves passes across our faces . Brows soft, jaws released, cheeks plump from lying down, awareness in the present moment. Yoga as Time Machine.

And there might be something to that. A NYT article a couple weeks back describe the achievements of a 91-yr-old Canadian, Olga Kotelko, who holds 23 Masters Records in track-and-field events. Exercise physiologists are studying her closely to see what it is about her body that allows her to continue to exercise with such intensity. More and more evidence demonstrates that regular exercise into one's 70s and 80s can have a significant effect on cellular health (the mitochondria, to be specific)(Question #3 on the Human Bio exam) and slow the inevitable deterioration of the muscles and joints. These are all studies on aerobic exercise, but I wouldn't be surprised if the same thing was learned about yoga.

See what you see after your next class. Watch your face, and others' when you finish. Then go home and look at your baby book or or class pictures. Freaky.

*cue Dr. Who theme music*

Yoga 2.0

The revolution may be blog-ivized. Each month brings a new set of revelations/discussions/confrontations on the interwebs about the state of yoga, and it is fascinating. Commodification, teacher training, and, now, what the ancients were really saying (or not). Carole H. has given the matter a lot of thought (Fakirs and Oprah-fication); Susan M. converses with various scholars (Mark Singleton and David Gordon White) about yogis, Pantanjali, the sutras, and the scene in India B.C.E; Jill Miller weighs in on gaiam.com. The gals at Recovering Yogi have no patience for any of it. Good stuff. Check it out, report back.

I remember reading an article in Yoga Journal awhile back about the history of yoga, which pointed out that most of the poses we do are only about 150 yrs. old. Still being a bit new to the literature, I found that rather surprising, but also very comforting. Okay, my reluctance to chant and expound on the niyamas wasn't completely out of line...most of my practice was fairly removed from the more mystical elements of yoga. And definitely my teaching (as I've said).

I felt unsure about my mastery of the texts, how I didn't really understand a lot of them and didn't have the proper framework to consider their relationship to what I thought was yoga. Scholars spend their whole careers studying this information, how could I possibly measure up. Now, the scholars are providing useful explanations and maybe it's the gurus who are a bit confused.

Remember, yoga is not a religion (and if you forget, reread Charlotte Bell's post). The ancient texts were very organic and definitely not set in stone. Much of the tradition was oral. No one has a direct line on Pantanjali's purpose for writing the sutras or how it relates to our practice of yoga today. There is no Truth that only adherents are privy to. As with much of human endeavor, it's all a part of the messy political and social agendas of the times--then and now.

Of course I'm not saying yoga is just asana. Or that anyone is off the hook for knowing the eight limbs or having a meditation practice. Or that anything can be yoga. But I love that it feels like (post) modern yoga about to be the next, big wiki-project. What do we keep? What no longer makes sense? Who are the false prophets, the sacred cows who no longer enthrall? Who is going to represent?

This latest round of discussion seems more thoughtful and erudite (only one commenter suggested Jill needed to do more yoga)--or maybe we've just lost the crowd who googles "naked yoga."

Anyway, there's a lot to consider, and I'm sure we're only just starting. But still, I kind of feel like we're at the cusp of something new, don't you?

The revolution will not make you look five pounds thinner...

Knowing and/or Not Knowing

I am not a religious person. At least not in the sense that I attend a service regularly, or follow any specific texts, or can verbalize how my world is controlled by something greater than me. I have strong beliefs about a variety of things and my own explanation for how "it" all works, but I keep that to myself. I think religion and spirituality are such intensely personal systems, that I don't want to talk about them or, frankly, hear about them. I'm glad people believe--I probably don't believe the same thing--but if it makes them act in a kind and considerate manner, I'm all for it.

Charlotte Bell wrote a beautiful post (and had lovely responses to the comments) at elephant journal last week about yoga evangelism, that I found very inspiring--both in how I think about yoga, but also how I teach it. It sort of fits in with my analogy of yoga as a language--many different dialects, same grammar. One isn't better than the other (I exclude goofy hybrids that seem to be mostly about monetizing the practice); certain types resonate more than others, depending on the practitioner. But, as Bell notes, once you've been bitten by the yoga bug (drunk the kool-aid?), it's very hard not to proselytize. To be Born Again and want everyone else to be saved as well.

I certainly can relate to the urge to convert. And I wish most people would at least try yoga once, willingly, but I keep that to myself.

Since I don't want to be preached at, I find myself drawn to low-key classes, without a lot of extraneous discussion. More action and contemplation, and less talk. I can chose to study with a Master, or read a text, but when I go to my usual class I just want Hatha. Maybe Pranayama, but I don't really need to hear about the other limbs. I almost feel like those are my own responsibility to deal with, by myself, at a time when I'm not distracted by other people or activities. It can all come back to inform my practice, but just quietly in my head, not my ears.

So, that's how I teach. I may touch on other topics, but very little and rarely. I don't really feel qualified to teach yoga philosophy, and I think those are things best explored alone or, at least, in a different atmosphere than a hatha class. I think the physical work brings you to a place where you are more open to the philosophy and it makes sense, but I think the student needs to take it from there. I can give suggestions, but I'm not ready to lead. And I'm not sure I want to--back to the whole intensely personal thing.

Am I still teaching yoga? I think so. I see my students start to change and hear them talk about ways of thinking, that indicate something else is going on beyond increased flexibility. Maybe they don't have the vocabulary to describe it yogically, but I'm pretty sure they Know.

So when I say Namaste, I mean it, but I'm not going to elaborate, either...

But can it validate my parking ticket?

Not too long ago, I was trying to cheer up a friend about a professional set back he'd experienced. I jokingly suggested he take an "external validation" class--and then realized my Freudian slip; I'd meant to say Education class. But I wasn't really wrong. I've noticed marked differences in the way the class is run and how performance is evaluated in both my Ed. and Science classes, and it's very interesting.

The Ed. class tends to be more nurturing: we discuss and respond a lot and, when mistakes are pointed out, it's usually as part of a larger, positive comment. The Science class is a refreshing change from those back in the dark ages of lecture, lecture, lecture (now it's lots of doing, not much sitting), but there is regular assessment and you know exactly where you stand point-wise (i.e. exams, quizzes, assignments). So it can be externally validating, if you are doing well, but not so much if you forgot to do the reading.

The education class is an advanced class, so naturally there is more synthesis and discussion going on than the Intro class. But I think both approaches have their benefits; however, like everything (say, yoga snark, for example), it takes a light hand. I think it's important for students to feel safe to be wrong; I think it's important that students--eventually--get their information correct. I think different viewpoints are a crucial part of seeing the big picture; I think that some people confuse opinion with fact, or want their opinion to be considered fact, despite proof to the contrary.

Both approaches work for me. It seems like they should be contradictory, but I find the combination kind of soothing. I can enjoy the energy of debate (albeit very gentle and supportive) in one; I enjoy feeling like I'm laying groundwork in the other. I don't mind loosey-goosey part of the time, but the Type A/Big Sister/Striver in me likes to have a number in hand.

And, as we continue to talk about how to train yoga teachers, I see the need for both in a YTT syllabus (obviously, we don't need a lot of facts and hard assessment in a regular yoga class for practitioners). You have to understand (maybe there is a better word) yoga from both a personal and a physical perspective. These are the metaphysical benefits and this is the muscle that needs to be open for a Down Dog to happen. This is the way you might feel during pranayama and this is a Sanskrit name for Extended Triangle. One type of information is easy to present, one isn't.

With a really well-crafted YTT program, both would happen at the same time. As with any good class, a teacher can encourage and allow students room to experiment, but also correct mistakes and get the misdirected back on the right path. You should have a good feeling about what (how) you are learning, but you need structure. How to insure that? Probably a system of assessment that includes both written elements and observation by peer teachers. A guarantee that the teacher trainers have been trained to teach (for public school education, you are trained by education professors, not your colleagues). A set of standards that should be met--altho they can always be expanded on.

And, I suppose, if you're really paying attention to your yoga practice, you can eventually dispense with the need for external validation, all together. But for most of us mere mortals, that's an assignment we're still working on...

AAUGH...

...Group Projects! *yelled with a frustrated roar, like Charlie Brown**

I can't stand group projects. I'll bet this animosity can be used as a pop "psychological test" to assess my self-esteem/ my impatience/ my competitiveness/ my ability to work well with others. I hated them as an undergraduate and, now back in school, I am completely reminded of why they drive me nuts. They're right up there with partner work in yoga class (there's the yoga tie-in).

I can totally see the pedagogical value of both: students learn to cooperate, they can to do more work than they would alone, the teacher can see them in both leader and follower mode, there aren't as many final projects to grade (or asana to oversee). Check with me in a couple of years, and maybe I'll be won over.

But, for now, they make me feel at the mercy of other people's work habits. And hog-tied to their issues with deadlines. I get it, this is what working with young people is like, but my old brain cells don't bounce back from a lack of sleep like theirs do. I can't think about pig dissection at 6am when trying to proofread a final draft before printing. And I certainly don't have patience for paper jams at that hour.

I like working with other people. I like sharing ideas and debating. But then I like to hole up with my books, paper, and computer and digest all of it by myself. I like the energy of a group class and seeing a teacher's take on a pose or series. But then I just want to do it alone, in my own space on my mat.

Selfish? Individualistic? Just a grump? There are plenty of group projects in my future (why, there's a lab report next week), so I'm taking any attitude-adjustment you folks can pass out.

How do you get through a project or partner work with a smile...or at least a sense of well-being? What am I missing?

Art. Teaching. Nature. Nurture.

Back in the old days, we used to argue, my costume design colleagues and I. Can you teach creativity? Can you teach some one to be artistic? We were learning all sorts of skills in grad school--draping, millinery, drawing, conducting fittings, sweet-talking actors; but it seemed some talents that makes one a Master of Fine Arts were to be picked up by osmosis--taste, a sense of proportion, successful color combining, communicating character through clothing.

Some of us "got it" (or, maybe we already had it) and some of us didn't, but I'm not sure the fault was with our education. Maybe there are some things that can't be taught...

I wonder if this isn't the same thing with teaching, itself. I often think of the teachers that have most inspired me and the qualities they possess--it seems to boil down to their "energy," whatever that is. Are they engaged with their students? In the present moment? Not married to the lesson plan? Can roll with the energy of the room? Passionate? Funny?

Of course you can learn subject matter and classroom management. You can learn how to structure class time and explain the important information. But can you learn how to convey a sense of calm authority and compassion, of dedication and deep interest? Some of it just comes with experience but, I think, some of it is innate. Either you have it or you don't.

Presumably, most people who go into teaching do it because they love it (it certainly can't be for the money). Of course, it's a way to support a more esoteric area of interest--probably the case with a lot of college professors and artists--but, to stick with it, you have to find something compelling about the profession.

So, if some one thinks, "I want to teach," is that enough? Can they really learn to be effective? Affective? To inspire students? To transcend the subject matter? What qualities do you need to truly wear the mantle of "teacher" and can some one else give you that information? Or are you born with it...

I have my opinions, but I'd love to hear yours--all you teachers and students out there.

I Can Stand the Rain (but Ann Peebles is still awesome)...

Ah, perspective. We can always use more, right? The Big Picture. Don't Sweat the Small Stuff. Yoga for Cynics had a couple of lovely posts last week from the thin air above the tree line about how geology clears the mind, and they inspired me this week. Yoga, mountains, ocean, parenthood, death--the Big Things help you deal with the little things. I'd like to add to the list: Weather.

A couple of times this month, I've had to grin and bear it in less-than-ideal conditions. It's been very freeing. I participated in a triathlon three weeks ago in the rain (partially pouring, partially misting), which is not my first choice for two hours of heavy exertion. But that's sort of the beauty of an outdoor race--you do your thing no matter what is coming down on your head (except, of course, lightening). Once you accept that you are just one small person being pounded by water from the heavens, rather than running for shelter or warmth, it's sort of interesting.

It's the same for snow or heat or wind. When you stop fretting about discomfort or inconvenience, it's kind of fun. And obviously you can't do anything about it, so there's no point in getting worked up about it. It gives you perspective.

Which is why I love yoga outside. We did it last weekend by the river. The wind topples your Vrksasana; the ground is too bumpy for a graceful Parsvakonasana; you have to squint while you salute the sun. You are forced out of your patterns and have to adapt--as a result, you get to see a lot things in a new light. And you get fall color. Of course, I'm not advocating anything crazy or dangerous, but, in past Februaries, I've had a lovely, blissful 15 minutes doing Supta Baddha Konasana in the snow.

As the Midwest marches resolutely towards winter, this attitude change is invaluable. When the going gets rough, take yourself outside: get rained on, blown at, soak up the sun. Don't let the little people get you down...but do Bundle Up!

[GTTSB Redux: Nicole, at All Things Healing, has asked to republish some old posts on their site. I figured, why not, let some dear friends see the light again...)