So I started my yoga teacher training program this past weekend. I've been practicing yoga regularly (religiously? ruthlessly?) for about five years, and have been thinking on-and-off about teaching for almost the entire time. About two years back, I dipped my big toe into a different training program, but found the waters therein chilly and unaccomodating. And so here I go again. So far so good. I didn't freak out in weekend one, and there's only nine more to go (once a month till June). Plus homework. Lots and lots of homework. Time to bust out the #2 pencils.
Despite (or perhaps because of) having spent so much time in this yoga/meditation/personal-growth/crystal-light-and-breakfast-cereal-healing-centre community, I am very very skeptical of the motivations of other folks I meet along the way. I think a lot of the people drawn to this sort of practice are trying to salve old wounds (me included). But some are looking for a way to avoid dealing with old wounds, and it's this emotionally dangerous group of folks against which my guard is raised. But how do you know who's who when walking into a new studio with a dozen new faces? Well... you don't. And much to my discredit, I tend to default to believing that everyone is there for the wrong reasons, until they prove themselves otherwise. Guilty until proven innocent. I wasn't concious of it, but that's how I walked into our first teacher training session on Saturday. Closed. Suspicious. Guarded. It wasn't a pleasant way to spend four hours. But I thought about it that night, and I realized what I had done, and I saw that it probably wasn't necessary. I didn't have to take all these people into my heart all at once, but I didn't have to lock them out either. So I walked in on Sunday feeling a bit different; more open and less accusatory. It was a better way to practice.