Every week I plan the theme for my yoga classes for the following week, and most of the time, I feel deeply inspired and have a lot to give. I love sharing in conversation with y’all about stuff going on in my own life and hearing about what’s going on in yours. I love to make connections between the yogic teachings and real-life happenings.
But sometimes, the well runs dry. Temporarily, of course, but dry nonetheless. I feel empty, without a ton to offer. I reach in but come up empty.
This used to make me feel really bad. About myself, and my teaching. If I couldn’t come up with something compelling to talk about each week from the front of the room, what was I doing up there? Who do I think I am?
November marked the end of my sixth year of teaching yoga, and while that’s a short time in the big scheme of things, it’s a long time relative to my life. And what I’ve come to six years in, when the well runs dry, is that the practice still holds me. It holds you all, my students, and the space we create when we come together to practice with intention.
I don’t have to say anything powerful or poignant or funny. I don’t have to perform the role of “yoga teacher.” You don’t need fancy poses or name brand pants. This practice is potent enough that simply being reminded to be still, to get quiet, and to breathe is all that we need, in the fertile times and the dry spells, now and always.
I’ll hold the container, you show up with sincerity, and the yoga will do the rest.