I taught my best class ever this week! What made this one so great? I'm not really sure.

It certainly wasn't my inspired sequencing. I didn't even plan the class until 30 minutes before it started. It was a basic class, where we worked up to Ardha Adho Mukha Vrksasana (Half Handstand) at the wall (pictured on the right). Nothing fancy. I just taught what I do in my own home practice a lot, but on a beginner level.

Although, after I taught my Half Handstand, I asked them to do a few kicks up to the wall to help them prepare for Full Handstand and one of my students kicked right up and for the rest of the class her face was bright with excitement and a sense of accomplishment. (If you're a yoga teacher, you know that this particular expression on a students' face is like crack—so delightful I could easily form an addiction.)

I wasn't particularly uplifting, either, I don't think. I'm not exactly the most "spiritually evolved" teacher yet, so I don't guide my students through long meditations or chanting sessions. I just said what felt naturally—which, for me, is a lot of silly, playful joking.

This leads me to the conclusion that this week's class must've been the best class ever because I was able to let go of my preconceived ideas of what a good yoga teacher should be doing, and just act like myself. I shared my own practice with my students with authenticity and compassion, and it was the most rewarding experience ever.

Now, I can't wait for my next fix . . .

Posted by Erica Rodefer at 10:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

In the entire time I've been teaching (what has it been now, like, four months?) I haven't—not even once—taught an original sequence of asanas. I know what you're thinking: "There are no original sequences, you silly, novice teacher! Are you really so self-absorbed that you believe yourself capable of inventing something that all the yogis in the thousands of years people have been doing yoga haven't thought of? Ha!"

OK. Maybe that's not what you were thinking at all. But it's kind of how I've approached my teaching. To be honest, that line of reasoning has served as a really good excuse not spend a lot of time thinking about sequencing. I realize that my teachers, and their teachers, the teachers before them, are far wiser than I could ever be. So instead of sitting down to prepare for a class and thinking about what I have to offer my students, I sit down and try to remember what my teachers have offered me.

This way I can teach the same sequence of poses, pointing out the same essential actions my teachers point out. It's served me fairly well so far. I have to think very little. I'm a master copy cat. You know that annoying game kids play where they repeat your every word, every movement, every breath, for, um, ever? I'm like the most annoying kid you've ever met. And up until recently I took pride in that.

Have you ever heard teachers talk about teaching a class and having the strange, almost out-of-body, experience of hearing their teacher's voice come out of them instead of their own? That happened to me. Only, one of my favorite teachers to mimic is a lovely woman from Brazil, whose second language is English. When her voice came from my mouth, it said, "straight your arm" instead of "straighten your arm." This is perfectly charming when she says it in her thick Brazilian accent, but it sounds completely ridiculous coming from a native English speaker from Tennessee. Later on, I told a joke I've heard my male, 50-something teacher tell many times about how many yoga teachers it takes to screw in a light bulb (which is only a little funny when he tells it, but not at all coming from me.) My thirteen-year-old student looked at me blankly, her brow furrowed. In this moment, a different voice came to me. Thank God, this one was my own internal voice. "Erica, what are you DOING!?," the voice screamed, exasperated. This was my epiphany.

So that's it. From now on, I'm going to draw from my own experiences, my own practice, to guide me when I prepare for class. That's not to say that I'm going to stop being influenced by older, wiser, smarter teachers. I'm just going to use my own voice—and my own brain—more often.

Here's to authenticity!

Posted by Erica Rodefer at 05:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

I recently started taking sewing classes, and aside from learning how to properly cut a piece of fabric and sew a seam, I'm learning to look at bodies in a whole new way. As my sewing teacher went around the room asking each of us pupils to show her the pattern we'd chosen for our first project, I was first. I proudly pulled my pattern out my bag and held it up for the class to see. It's a simple, summery blouse. But then something caught me off-guard.

"What size are you making?" my teacher implored.

I felt my cheeks flush. My heart pounded. I did NOT want to announce to the class my measurements. That's personal! Besides, for some reason I have to make four sizes bigger than I would buy in a store, and I had not come to terms with it.

"I think . . . a twelve," I said meekly.

A conversation about modifying pattern pieces to fit different areas of our imperfect bodies followed. I noticed my classmates have the same awkward reaction when they were asked to announce their measurements, and where they'd need to modify their patterns to accommodate for high waists, small chests, and, yes, big booties.

"They just don't make these patterns to fit real people," quipped my teacher.

It wasn't until after I had gone home for the night that I realize I had a similar experience the first time I took a yoga class, and a teacher announced that I needed to use a prop to accommodate for a less than perfect pose. There are actually a lot of similarities. I try to teach my students to approach all the poses in a way that is appropriate for their bodies. I stress that it doesn't matter if they can touch their toes or not because there's no room for judgment in yoga.

That's precisely the same concept I've come across in my sewing class. And even if I never learn how to construct a garment of clothing (or super-stylish yoga mat bag) I wont forget to be more discrete when I help my students modify their poses to suit their bodies.

And the next time I realize I've embarrassed a student by pointing out his or her imperfect pose. I know exactly what I'll say:

"They just don't make those poses to fit most people."

Posted by Erica Rodefer at 10:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Hanumanasana (Monkey Pose) is one of those poses I've avoided teaching in my classes. My teaching philosophy to this point has been to introduce the teenagers in my class to poses that are within their reach (so they have a sense of accomplishment and empowerment) and just beyond (so they'll have something to work toward). So part of the reason I've yet to teach this pose is that I wasn't sure if it was time to challenge my students in that way. I hate to admit it, but I think another part of me has been hesitant because I haven't quite mastered it myself and what teacher wants to undermine her yoga expertise by demonstrating a pose that isn't quite right.

After much consideration, I've decided that it doesn't matter much whether I can get into the full pose, just so long as my understanding of the mechanics and intention behind it are clear. (Besides, I've never doubted my own teachers when they weren't able to demonstrate a full pose, so why should my students? For that matter, if I limited my classes to only poses I've "mastered," my students would be hanging out in Child's Pose the entire class.)

Today is the day I will introduce the great Hanumanasana. Let's hope it's a success!

Posted by Erica Rodefer at 09:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)