Mary Pitz
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Such a good point Mike–what’s important is not that you don’t make mistakes, it that you don’t repeat them. I wish you the best of luck; partnering with a yoga studio seems like such an perfect complement.
So insightful Rosie! Especially the difference between being prepared vs being ready. And the idea that humility and curiosity actually increase hand-in-hand with confidence is almost counterintuitive but makes so much sense. Thank you!
I feel that I’m *mostly* prepared to give individual instruction. Each week in class it feels a bit more comfortable, but then something new comes up to rattle my confidence. But I know that only by doing it over and over will that ever change.
I wonder if I should wait until I’m a better teacher/Buddhist/human to step in, but that day won’t come without experience. A few more practical worries linger in the back of my mind–what if I can’t answer questions? What if I come across too strong? Why should anyone listen to me? But even just typing those out, they sound overly panicky. All I can do is have the right intention and prepare as best I can.Hi Natalie–
I wish you the best in being part of a collective of teachers–that seems like the best of all worlds!Hi Jo–
I had to laugh at your use of McMindfulness–what a great term! I’ve heard Susan’s frustration with meditation being called a “life hack” (or something along that line), which truly separates it from what makes it meaningful.In our culture it seems that the concepts of money and value are inseparable.
Last year when cleaning out my parents’ home, my sister learned quickly not to list furniture online as “Free”—either people assumed it was junk or they would make arrangements to pick it up and never show up. Once she put a price on it, suddenly interest spiked and people showed up—on time—with cash in hand.This week’s discussion made me realize that I’ve always paid for ongoing meditation classes, yoga, and Tai Chi, usually not directly to the instructor but through my membership in a sangha, a gym, or another organization. A “free first class” is always a great idea, to make sure there’s a fit between student and teacher.
I understand the donation model being a compromise, but as a student I would still appreciate a recommendation of a specific amount, simply not knowing what would be appropriate.My concern is in devaluing or undervaluing any service being provided by a qualified person. I used to work as a technical writer creating software documentation, sometimes as an employee, sometimes on contract or freelance. The question of how much to charge came up frequently in my network, where most people had many years of experience or advanced degrees. Our professional organization was always pushing for some sort of licensing or minimum standards but nothing ever came of it. I do remember someone considering taking an hourly project for just over minimum wage-—although the standard rates in our area were many times that—-and it was quickly pointed out that not only would they be discounting themselves, but everyone else in the profession. Would that employer ever pay someone market rates going forward?
Similarly, offering something of value for at no charge might make it more difficult for other teachers who have a set rate structure or give the impression that classes should always be free. I know every situation is different; I can think of instances where of course I wouldn’t charge anything. But I would always want to make it clear to the student that this was my offering to them (“clear is kind”—I love that) to help set expectations for them going forward.
Hi Elizabeth–
I agree with the sense of engagement making such a difference. A less-than-exciting topic in the right environment can be so much more interesting than a fascinating subject taught in a flat and unappealing manner.For me the ideal learning environment includes connection with other students as well as the instructor. I find that being together in a classroom, meditation hall, or online with others who want to learn the same thing and to engage makes all the difference. (I have so many online classes saved on my computer that I’m just waiting for the right time to get back to!) The environment makes a difference–organized, comfortable, supportive–but the feeling of community can turn a good experience into a magical one.
On the flipside, one or two people who clearly don’t have the same goals can really break the energy for everyone else. I once worked for a company where I did software training for a product that we sold. Most often, I had a core group of students who felt the software could truly make their jobs simpler/more effective/etc. and were very receptive. Occasionally though, someone would be told–usually the night before the 3-day training began–that they were required to attend. Understandably, they were resentful and sometimes surly. At best they simply tapped away at their keyboards or phones, ignoring me and their colleagues. But the ones who made it clear this was a waste of their time or asked lots of irrelevant or “gotcha” questions made it difficult for everyone. I was an outsider so it fell to their co-workers to deal with–and they usually did a stellar job of it! Once or twice though, it felt like the whole class went off the rails, and I was Charlie Brown’s teacher going WAH WAH WAH.
Hi Natalie–
Your story brought up some long-forgotten memories of when I learned to scuba dive (and made me angry too). Talk about an environment where trust is crucial! I was apprehensive about learning to dive even though I’m comfortable in water–but I was putting my trust in someone else to set me up with the proper equipment, take us to a safe place to dive, and understand each of our limits. So to have an instructor take advantage of a vulnerable student is just so, so wrong. It makes sense that you didn’t pursue it.I feel that I’ve been fortunate not to have any issues with teachers either being too friendly or remote, because my early days of practicing were so tenuous that I likely wouldn’t have stuck with it.
When I was teaching, I had an experience that made me focus on setting boundaries and expectations. In graduate school I taught Freshman Composition in a fairly large English Dept. All of us TAs used the same format and the same assignments. We wanted to encourage students to read each other’s work and see the value in their peers’ opinions, so they often worked in small groups.
One day I was summoned to the Department Head’s office; one of my students had gone straight to her to request that she not have to share her work in my class. I can’t remember the exact assignment but it was likely writing about a personal experience that changed their lives. She said that she wanted to write about her abusive father and painful childhood and that she just “knew she would get an A on it.” Like Liana, I was barely older than my students, and I really did not have the tools to respond to that—-I felt like I was going to be asked to assign a grade to her trauma. The Department Head left it up to me. (I like to think that now, decades later, this would have been handled differently.) I finally told my student that it would be unfair to the others in her group that they had to share their work and she didn’t so I suggested writing about something less personal, maybe a job or sports or a teacher who had made a difference to her? She wasn’t happy but complied. I felt guilty for being insensitive and unsympathetic, or so I thought at the time. Like I just wanted to take the easy way out. After that I tried to be as clear as possible about expectations and tried offered as many examples of possible topics as I could think of for their essays. Thankfully, the next semester’s class was purely research-based papers.
I look forward to more discussion about setting boundaries and being sensitive to others’ trauma. It sounds like there is a wealth of experience it this class!Hi Vy–
Your statement about wanting students to connect with their yoga practice rather than you as the teacher is so wise! A friend of mine recently stopped attending a yoga class that she enjoyed, but felt uncomfortable because the instructor wanted to hang out with the students outside of class.
It seems to me that teaching one-on-one would make setting clear boundaries even more important because of the nature of the practice. (But I have nothing to base that on!)I think you hit on it with “boundaries” Elizabeth–and how easily the friend vs. teacher roles can become confused when they’re not clear. Good things to remember. You definitely made me reconsider whether teaching a friend to meditate is a good idea after all, no matter how well-intentioned.
Hi Alexandra–
What a wonderful message! I can relate to the difficult balance of taking on too many things while staying fully present in all of them. Thich Nhat Hanh said, “The most precious gift we can offer anyone is our attention.” And a gift to extend to ourselves as well, to begin again and keep coming back.Hi Jo–
Discipline as a river–such a simple but powerful way of looking at it. I can see why that stayed with you. I’m going to try to remember that when I sit and find I’m too tense, or more often when I’m slopping all over the surrounding countryside!The paramita I feel most connected to is Patience. Not because it comes naturally to me, rather the opposite. Case in point—-once on a trip to the rainforest it took everything I had to refrain from shimmying up a tree to hand a sloth the piece of fruit he’d been sloooooowly reaching toward for what seemed like an eternity. When Susan bestowed my Buddhist name-—Sopa Lhatso or Patience Divine Lake—-I remember thinking “oh dear!”
But recently circumstances have made patience a daily practice for me; my husband was diagnosed with Parkinson’s two years ago. My energetic travel partner, the guy who could build anything, and especially the raconteur, had changed. He moves more slowly now, often stays quiet in groups. While some days are ‘normal,’ some day are far from it—but it’s impossible to know which it’s going to be. So I’ve had to open up to it and alas, let go of my expectations. When we travel, I can be OK with all my planning falling apart at the last moment and spending the day watching movies in a hotel room. Or that I might (gulp!) have to carry the conversation at a table full of strangers. Long hikes might now be meandering walks with the dog, who of course is just fine either way. The only certainty is that I have no control over what is going to happen, and I laugh at myself for ever thinking it was any other way.
I’m hoping that Patience has also extended beyond my little world and made me more accepting of others’ behavior. Nearly everyone is dealing with something difficult—kids, parents, jobs, spouses, houses, health—so I hope to drop my expectations of how they should act, and cut them some slack.The paramita I struggle with is generosity. Not because I feel that I’m inherently selfish, but that I don’t feel like I have something to offer. I question my own richness. The donations to good causes, that’s easy. But the gifts that take thought don’t come easily. Even the simple ones like a text to say “hope your root canal goes well” or remembering to call on a difficult anniversary. I worry that I’m intruding, that it’s too personal, or might be misconstrued. I’m trying to get better at it though. And it’s one of the main reasons I signed up for Meditation Teacher training, so that I have an offering to make, even if it’s just a better, more peaceful version of me.