Being My Own Teacher

As many of you know, I practice at home, with rare exception.  I have learned most of what I know from personal experience and books.  Occasionally, I will practice with other ashtangis, and have worked with several different teachers over the years, but never for more than a few weeks or months at a time.  This means that, most often, I have to be my own teacher, which requires a certain degree of separation from myself.

This isn't always easy.  In fact, it can be downright awkward.

This morning, mid-way through a gritty second series, I observed me being hard on myself.  I heard the tension in my throat and saw the tell-tale signs of self-flagellation on my face.  So I stopped myself after Nakrasana, sat myself down, and we had a little chat.

"Listen," I, the teacher, said.  "I know you're feeling discouraged and you're reluctant to add to your practice.  I know that both your knees click, and your hip is tight, and your wrist is rallying for mutiny all the way up your right arm.  But you're in a rut.  It's time."

I, the student, shook my head and stared in disbelief.  "But... Karandavasana?"  I said.  "It isn't even close. . .  My knees and hips will never let it happen."

"Don't say never," I responded.  "You don't know that."

"And Mayurasana?  It's hardly ready.  For Pete's sake, what about Dwi Pada?  I can barely balance..."

"That's not important.  You're doing well.  There is a deceptively fine line between perfectionism and laziness, and you've been walking it for too long.  Let's go.  Vinysasa.  Vatayanasana."

I obeyed with hesitation.  The elaborate entry was awkward, and the posture itself was precarious with a few tumbles at first, but I struck the sweet spot eventually, and my knees were not as strained as I had feared.  First side.  Second side.  Done and done.

I, the teacher, stood nearby and nodded with approval.  "Good.  Let's keep going.  Parighasana is cake."

I was right.  Parighasana is cake.  Sweet, delicious, side stretching, thigh rotating cake.  Right side.  Left side.  My body buzzed with a fresh rush of prana through the following vinyasa.  "Next?"

"Gomukhasana!  Jump!"

Gomukhasana A was strange.  I teetered there atop my snugly folded legs.  But the B variation felt fantastic on my knotted shoulders, like a long awaited treasure at the bottom of a giant bag of Cap'n Crunch.

"One more.  Supta Urdhva."

I struggled through it.  Couldn't bind my foot on either side.  But I did my best, enjoyed the twist, and chuckled at the rest.  Emboldened, I asked, "Headstands?"

But I smiled to myself and shook my head.  "Not today."

Tweet