Never Too Late to Discover Your Destiny

Warrior II on Assateague Island

You know the saying, attributed to 6th Century Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu: "When the student is ready, the teacher appears.” It speaks to the openness necessary to be a true learner, as well as the idea of predetermined connections or destiny.

I felt a simmering sense of such destiny a couple months back, as I stood at the reception desk of the Chincoteague YMCA and asked the director, Emma, why were there no yoga classes on Mondays, Wednesdays or Fridays, just Tuesdays and Thursdays.

“No one to teach those days,” she shrugged. “Know anyone?”

Of course, I knew someone. I’d just come out of my friend, Guru Gail’s Kundalini class and was vibrating high from our work in the upper chakras. Still, I held my tongue.

That someone, if you hadn’t guessed, was me.

I’d earned my yoga teaching certificate over five years ago, graduating just as the pandemic hit and, shockingly, all the studios were shuttering. I tried my hand at leading yoga over Zoom during those isolated times and enjoyed it – as did my small cadre of virtual students. Though, as studios began to re-open a year later, I was reluctant to take-up the mantel of real teacher. I was content to learn from others and steep myself in my own home practice.

But the urge to teach grew stronger. Over 15 years of yogic practice, exploring a range of modalities to help heal my scoliotic spine, I had wisdom to share. Didn’t I?

I tried to squelch the longing, as the insidious voice blared in my head: You’ve got better things to do; you may be an accomplished yogi, but teaching others, nah. In yoga classes, I found myself becoming ever more envious of the instructors with whom I studied, my inner frustrations seeping out as secret criticisms: They should be clearer, more fluid, hold this pose longer, remind us of our breath.

Fortunately, one day, the voice of wisdom rose up and reprimanded: Why don’t you quit judging and try, yourself! The obvious, though secret answer: I was scared – afraid I’d be no good, anxious to be judged, myself. Besides, pushing 60, wasn’t I too old?

The primary judge was me: I could not possibly do justice to this ancient practice – be articulate enough, know enough, BE enough.

Fear has a way of dousing creative sparks – the ancestral survival mechanism protecting us from the shame of failure. Stephen Pressfield, in The War of Art, calls this dousing the work of The Devil, or Resistance with a capital R.

Over the past year, I furtively fought that devil. Down on my yoga mat for my daily, solo practice, I found myself pausing to scribble notes, then excitedly rushing to my computer to type up yet another cool routine – one on grounding, another on goddess power, yet another on effort vs. ease. Yet, all that teaching potential sat trapped in computer files.  

Until that Tuesday morning at the receptionist desk at the Y. Director Emma stared at me wide-eyed: “Know anyone who could teach?”

I cleared my throat, mischievous grin spreading across my face; I was about to defy The Devil. “I’m certified, but…”

“What, in yoga? Great! I’ll send you the application. We’ll turn it around quick.”

She spoke as if it were a done deal. And it was – in a way. There were many bureaucratic hoops. Though, nothing, it seemed, could impede my predetermined destiny.

To riff-off the ancient Buddhist proverb: When the teacher is ready, the students appear.

~~~

And so they did. My very first day, I sat tall in my teacher’s seat, nervous energy coursing through me, as the room filled with yogis. Well, four or five or six, anyway. I told myself the number didn’t matter: whoever showed was meant to be there.

My mind swirled with the wisdom of my own teachers – ‘make the practice your own’ and ‘yoga is the practice of listening’ and ‘there’s no problem in the world that can’t be solved by yoga’ and…

As the clock struck 12:30, it was time to quell those voices and speak: “This is my first ever live class. I’m a little nervous. When we’re nervous, breathe into the belly. Follow along with me.” I placed my hand on my stomach. “Notice the rise and fall of the breath. Notice the calming. Yoga is the practice of noticing.”

Ooh, this felt good. I noticed my words flowing, hips grounding, and the sweet sense of presence fill the room as the clock ticked and a gull cawed outside the window.

"We think of yoga as a solo practice," it occurred to me to say. "But it is very much about connecting – with each other – with our collective energy – and with our true selves – the breath the link between mind and body."

“On the next inhale, raise your arms up overhead.” Scanning the faces, I smiled. “Reach for the sky.”

~~~

One month later, my class has grown to as many as 12 students (on cloudy days) – back down to 5 or 6 (on sunny ones). No matter to me – I’m ecstatic to be there, at the Y studio, learning and growing together.

I’m not nearly as nervous. They’re sitting taller, now, and so am I. As we flow through a sequence of belly-down waves, and I observe the students improving week by week, I wonder for a flash: how come I didn’t do this sooner?

But that’s a silly question. We are here, now. Present together, now.

When the teacher was ready, the students appeared.

Try this at home...Tall Aligned Seated Posture

Hero's Pose is a basic seated pose from which many other poses flow. Make it a stable, aligned seat by using props - props are your friends. I recommend placing a cushion between the thighs and calves to prop-up the torso up - hips should be above the knees. Or sit on a block, positioned width-wise, so that both sits bones can rest atop it. From this stable, aligned seat, we can move freely.

Inhale, raising the arms overhead. Clasp the hands, turn the palms so they face the sky. Find a little more length in the side body by stretching up out of the waist energetically. And breathe.

Now, grasp the wrist with the opposite hand, inhaling, draw up out of the waist, and bend to the opposite side. Switch the grip and stretch the other side.

A tall, aligned seated posture in yoga class teaches us to remember good posture out in the real world - at the desk, dinner table, in front of the TV.