When I was a kid, I was involved in pretty much every activity you can think of—I was in service clubs and honor societies,I took danced and violin lessons, I played volleyball and girl scouted. All of these activities kept me busy, but it always seemed like I spent more time going door-to-door selling cookies or standing in a deserted parking lot with a water hose and a magic marker CAR WASH sign than I did actually participating in the activities themselves. Needless to say, by the time I had graduated from high school, I had perfected the art of guilt trips and puppy dog eyes. "Are you SURE you don't need a box of Tagalongs? It's only $2.50!" It was for a good cause, after all.

Any time I had to participate in a fund-raiser, I promised myself I was going to work hard in school and get a decent job so I'd never have to beg people for money again. And then I became a yoga teacher. . .

Recently, I've found myself grasping at straws to draw students out of the woodworks and into my class. I've made countless phone calls and hung flyers. I've even resorted to begging my co-workers to tell people they know about my class. None of these things have been effective and I'm beginning to feel a lot like I did when I was 10 years old, pleading with my dad to take a box of 50 candy bars to work with him so that maybe, just maybe, my class at school could win the ultimate prize—a pizza party.

Am I trying too hard? I'm beginning to think I need to approach my "business" the same way I approach my yoga classes. Maybe I shouldn't yank on my yoga strap with all my might to force my forehead to my knee whether my hamstrings likes it or not. Instead of the phone calls, flyers, and the puppy dog eyes I've become oh-so-good at, maybe I should just teach the students who show up and let itall unfold organically.

Nah. That'll never work. Maybe I should take out an ad in Yoga Journal.