I’ve been thinking a lot lately of where I fit in the ‘yoga scene’ in Singapore, and what that really means. I’m coming from a bit of an unusual background, one that I don’t think always fits as well as it could with the average yoga practitioner coming to studio classes, and I admit, I fumble a lot in trying to teach.
I practiced, sort of regularly, but often not that regularly, for 5 years, before taking my YTT. During that time I was also practicing Muay Thai, Brazilian Jiu-jitsu, MMA and doing some fairly intense conditioning workouts – contact sports and conditioning was really my thing. Most yoga practices I attended were slow, occasionally sweaty, but mostly very, very boring. I did them to share an experience with my girlfriend (now my lovely wife Grace), and to help recover from the impact of all the impact sports, but I couldn’t really say I felt compelled or profoundly moved. Really, they were boring as shit.
That changed when I saw guys like Dylan Werner and Patrick Beach on Instagram, and really changed when I watched the likes of Chuck Miller, Maty Ezraty, Tim Freeman and other notable ashtangis on YouTube. It was like a small light went off in my head – what, I asked, was I doing wasting my time with that chaotic, who the hell knows what’s going to happen studio class when I could be doing this ashtanga thing? I felt, suddenly, like there was a yoga for me.
This love and appreciation for losing oneself in order to find oneself, in a disciplined physical and mental effort, was something I was eager to share. Once I finished my YTT, I couldn’t wait to start teaching jump-throughs, arm-balances, jumping to arm-balances, lolasana; all the aspects of the asana practice that had resonated so powerfully with me.
Well, it didn’t really work out that way. I found that, generally, most students aren’t especially interested in any of those things. Mostly, they want hip openers and back-bends. Slow, steady, relaxing practices that help them unwind a bit after work. Gaining and applying strength wasn’t on the agenda, and was seen as interruptive and excessive in the quest for maximizing flexibility.
I’m a big believer that as a teacher, you should bring your practice to your classes – authenticity can be sensed, and if you come off as fake, the students will know. My practice, it seems, is intense, and sharing it has turned more students off than pulled them in. Of course, as teachers, we should be able to teach to all levels – but that’s the ideal, not in my case, the reality. Teachers are human, and only with decades of experience can we hope to be agile enough to customize our lessons on the fly to embrace everybody equally. Until that happens, we need to teach to people a bit like ourselves, since that's what we know best.
At this point, I’m at a bit of a loss as to where I fit in. I love teaching, love seeing students try, love seeing them fail but persevere, love even more seeing them succeed, whatever that means at the time. Quoting Larry Shultz, “you’re stronger than you think”. I repeat this mantra often in class. Only a precious few believe me, and I haven’t yet discovered the secret to convincing the rest.
I practiced, sort of regularly, but often not that regularly, for 5 years, before taking my YTT. During that time I was also practicing Muay Thai, Brazilian Jiu-jitsu, MMA and doing some fairly intense conditioning workouts – contact sports and conditioning was really my thing. Most yoga practices I attended were slow, occasionally sweaty, but mostly very, very boring. I did them to share an experience with my girlfriend (now my lovely wife Grace), and to help recover from the impact of all the impact sports, but I couldn’t really say I felt compelled or profoundly moved. Really, they were boring as shit.
That changed when I saw guys like Dylan Werner and Patrick Beach on Instagram, and really changed when I watched the likes of Chuck Miller, Maty Ezraty, Tim Freeman and other notable ashtangis on YouTube. It was like a small light went off in my head – what, I asked, was I doing wasting my time with that chaotic, who the hell knows what’s going to happen studio class when I could be doing this ashtanga thing? I felt, suddenly, like there was a yoga for me.
This love and appreciation for losing oneself in order to find oneself, in a disciplined physical and mental effort, was something I was eager to share. Once I finished my YTT, I couldn’t wait to start teaching jump-throughs, arm-balances, jumping to arm-balances, lolasana; all the aspects of the asana practice that had resonated so powerfully with me.
Well, it didn’t really work out that way. I found that, generally, most students aren’t especially interested in any of those things. Mostly, they want hip openers and back-bends. Slow, steady, relaxing practices that help them unwind a bit after work. Gaining and applying strength wasn’t on the agenda, and was seen as interruptive and excessive in the quest for maximizing flexibility.
I’m a big believer that as a teacher, you should bring your practice to your classes – authenticity can be sensed, and if you come off as fake, the students will know. My practice, it seems, is intense, and sharing it has turned more students off than pulled them in. Of course, as teachers, we should be able to teach to all levels – but that’s the ideal, not in my case, the reality. Teachers are human, and only with decades of experience can we hope to be agile enough to customize our lessons on the fly to embrace everybody equally. Until that happens, we need to teach to people a bit like ourselves, since that's what we know best.
At this point, I’m at a bit of a loss as to where I fit in. I love teaching, love seeing students try, love seeing them fail but persevere, love even more seeing them succeed, whatever that means at the time. Quoting Larry Shultz, “you’re stronger than you think”. I repeat this mantra often in class. Only a precious few believe me, and I haven’t yet discovered the secret to convincing the rest.