This week I taught a--well, not a bad class, but definitely a mediocre class. I taught a mediocre class and it was all my fault.
There was someone who was going to be in class who I wanted to impress AND I was using it as sort of a rehearsal for a class I'm teaching later on in the week at a studio I really want to work for.
Sound familiar, anyone?
And so I came to class with a PLAN. A detailed, moment-to-moment, plaaaaaaaaaaan. Which meant, that instead of being in my class, with my students, I was deeply involved in a relationship with my plan. It was my plan vs. the class, a fight to the death. Are they liking the plan? Are they following the plan? What comes next in the plan? How is my plan working?
And all of my natural attentiveness and joy went scrambling out the door in order to make room for MY. PLAN.
How many auditions have I screwed up using this exact same logic? How many times have I walked into a room and instead of noticing who was there, what the temperature of the room was, and how I was feeling in that moment, was only thinking about how I had planned to do what I was about to do?
Many. Many, many, times.
And if any of you have heard me talk about teaching yoga you know that I am determined not to make the same mistakes as a teacher that I find myself making as an actor. Which is why (I assume) that halfway through the class some other voice kicked in, and the voice said:
"Throw your f-ing plan out the f-ing window."
And because I was having a miserable time up until that point, and because it seemed like everyone else might be too...I did. I threw my f-ing plan out the f-ing window, and I arrived in class. Yes, it was at least 45 minutes in at that point, and yes, I had some ground to make up for, but the energy in the room, the energy in my heart, the tightness in my chest immediately changed. And POOF! There I was. There I was with all of my knowledge and all of my desire to teach and all of my playfullness now fully (thank god) present.
And after the class was over, feeling mostly redeemed, I thought about how important it is to trust--to trust that we know enough, that we're smart enough and spontaneous enough to think on our feet. To trust that we have everything we need--so much so that we can really just walk into a room, be there fully, and let what is going to happen unfold. Without any additional help or worry or gripping from us.
The plan doesn't make me safe, I'm realizing. The only thing that makes me feel safe is my full and unrestrained participation with myself.
So, Shanti-towners, if I could offer you one piece of advice today it would be:
"Throw your f-ing plan out the f-ing window."
xo
YogaLia
