I'm not going to lie. I have a few students who I love so much I wish I could go back to high school just so we can be best friends. They wear the cool clothes. They listen to the cool music. They have the coolest Myspace pages. And, well, they're my yoga students, which pretty much makes them the coolest teenagers ever to walk the face of the earth.

But there also have been students who have not made me feel so warm and fuzzy. You know the type. These students stop class to make comments that start out with, "But what if," every five minutes. ("But what if you can't get your balance?" "But what if your arms don't do that?" "But what if your legs are too long?" "But what if it's too hard?") I realize that these comments give me the opportunity to offer more modifications and individualized instruction, and thus are a blessing in disguise, but that doesn't make it less annoying. Then, there are the silent protesters—the girls who sit as far away from me as they possibly can and roll their eyes when I stop to explain the importance of not over-arching the lower back in Bhujangasana (Cobra Pose).

For weeks, maybe even months, I have been feeling extremely guilty that I am not completely in love with all of my students equally. After all, shouldn't I be able to see and understand that this resistance is just a natural reaction to being a little out of their comfort zones? And if I do recognize that, I should like all of my students the same, right? Unfortunately, I'm just human, and this class is a learning experience for me as much as it is for my students.

Recently, though, I've seen a shift in one of my students. In the past, this particular student had objected to nearly everything. I could tell that she struggled physically with some of the poses, and despite my attempts to help her, she was agitated. For a while, I wondered why she kept coming back because she didn't seem to enjoy it at all. Lately, though, she's been different. She hasn't struggled as much. She is beginning to learn to soften in the poses—even the hard ones. Even her demeanor seems to have softened a bit. She smiles. She doesn't interrupt class as much. I'm realizing that I really really like her!

Posted by Erica Rodefer at 11:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Lately, my students have been asking to use a prop I've never used—it is, in fact, a prop that I don't even know the proper name for. I'll try to describe it. You know those thing-a-ma-jigs that hang down from the wall that look like a cross between a trapeze and and pulley? It's got handles and Velcro . . . I think it's used for inversions for students that don't have the strength to hold themselves.

Anyway, its become a question in class that I have to admit I dread: "Can we use the wall this week?"

"Why, yes, of course we can," I reply. "But not that wall—not today."

I'm not pretending I know something I don't—I've admitted this freely. But I understand their curiosity, and I even share in it. So I've asked a senior teacher to give me a demo—and if I really get it, I might include it in a future class. Maybe.

Posted by Erica Rodefer at 11:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

It was a Wednesday morning when Ashtanga yoga teacher and My Yoga Mentor Panelist David Swenson asked for his class to raise our hands if we were going to be at the Yoga Journal Conference for a full week. When I raised my hand, he looked me square in the eye and said with a knowing smile, "When it's all done, you're going to wake up the next morning with a Yoga Hangover."

No offense to David, who was my favorite teacher the whole conference, but I think he got that one wrong. If anything, I came back with an even stronger "Yoga Addiction." I couldn't wait for my next yoga fix. (I'm just thankful that this isn't the kind of addiction that requires rehab.) Luckily, I got my fix the next day as I was welcomed back to a class of shining, excited guinea pigs—I mean, students—on which I could try the new adjustments I'd spent the week perfecting.

In my class, I tried to be the Cheshire Cat like Chuck Miller. "You want to adjust so that you can gradually disappear, leaving only your smile as the visible sign of your happiness that your students are doing it on their own," he says. As I learned from Jivamukti teacher Alana Kaivalya, I used my "Barbie hands" to avoid the poking my students with the tips of my fingers. (In case your wondering, this means you keep your four fingers together and straight, and your thumb stays by itself a few inches underneath.

However, the things you learn in a workshop never translate exactly perfectly in a classroom setting. I quickly remembered why I don't do that many physical adjustments with my class. At most, I got to adjust three or four times. But I do think I was more efficient and this will only improve with experience.

BTW, my students liked my sub last week, but none of them requested that she become their regular teacher. (And the two new students who came for the first time last week, were back again this week!)

Posted by Erica Rodefer at 06:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)