Have you ever noticed that yoga teachers really LOVE it when students ask them questions they know an answer for? I haven't quite figured out if we just get questions we don't have answers for so often that we get a little too excited when we actually have a response that might be useful to someone or if it's just an ego thing, but I've been in way too many classes where teachers have just gone on and on (and on) answering one student's question while everyone else sat silently, staring at their toes.
"Oh! You have SI issues! Allow me to tell you (and everyone else waiting for class to begin) EVERYTHING i know about the SI Joint! ... You see, I was reading my anatomy book last week when my SI joint flared up and I found out that sometimes it has to do with a tight psoas. Then I talked to my physical therapist about it .... Let's have you march in place for a minute, so I can show you (and, again, everyone else in the room) what I know."
At this point, all of the other students are waiting politely and genuinely trying to get something out of the demonstration (even though it has nothing to do with them at all), and the poor student who asked the question wants to crawl under a rock. I know this because I ask a lot of questions.
Sometimes the lessons you learn from other teachers aren't particularly positive. Sometimes you learn what NOT to do. As a teacher, I intend to answer only the question that was asked of me, and in a succinct fashion. There is such a thing as too much information.
What things have you learned NOT to do from your teachers?
P.S. Here's an article from Yoga Journal's My Yoga Mentor email newsletter about incorporating silence into your teaching. Silence as a Teaching Tool (http://www.yogajournal.com/for_teachers/2433)
There are many poses I avoid teaching to my class because the poses are too advanced for the students. And then there are those poses that I omit because, well, I hate them. These are the poses that when they come around in classes that I'm a student, seem like the perfect opportunity to take a break to adjust my pony tail or my yoga pants because that will cut the pose short by at least a breath or two. Then, when I actually make it into the pose, I might be so uncomfortable and frustrated by it I'll mumble profanities under my breath (or at least in my head).
Once upon a time, in a far away land, a college student sat down at her local Barnes and Noble to flip through Yoga Journal for the first time. She wouldn't dare actually buy the publication, much less anything advertised within it's pages because, frankly, yoga classes were expensive enough. The articles were about massage, organic food, and exotic yoga vacations. Puzzled, the student (OK, it was me) scowled, closed the magazine, and placed it back on the shelf thinking, "Who has the time, money, and dedication to live that kind of lifestyle?"
After my first experience as a yoga sub, I couldn't wait for my next attempt. If there's one thing I love more than a perfectly aligned pose, it's a second opportunity to redeem myself after I've failed miserably. Luckily, this week the asanas AND the stars aligned for the class I was subbing. It was one of the most fun teaching experiences I'd ever had. Ever! 
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