Om not Um

I have taught every semester, every year, since 1995, the year of the O.J. Simpson trial, Jerry Garcia’s death, and the opening of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland.  It was also the year of Babe, The Usual Suspects, and “All I Wanna Do” by Sheryl Crow. 

In other words, I’ve been teaching a long time, from high school freshmen to doctoral candidates.  For the first several years, I felt guilty because I was learning more from my students than they were from me.  After a long while, I finally figured out what I was doing.  Or so it seemed.  There were good semesters and bumpy semesters, eager students and indifferent ones.  Through it all, I grew and changed, and still can be absolutely surprised at what my students have to teach me, if I’m willing to listen. 

With all of this experience and reflectivity in and on teaching, I was reasonably certain I could adapt easily from English education to yoga.  As Nels put it, at the very least, I know how to be in front of people and connect with them.  Plus, the sequence of poses was already prepared for me—I didn’t even have to develop it.  Nels even let me teach him the poses so I could practice. 

Thus, I felt mostly prepared to teach my first class this weekend.  Similar to microteaching in the early courses of our secondary education program, the audience would be my peers.  As I watched others teach, my teacher educator self peeked out and I could feel myself being critical.  She didn’t say very much.  He moved too fast.  She skipped that pose.  After listening to my peers’ and teacher’s feedback though, I realized that those were small issues. My teacher was looking for something different, and I saw that the things I had depended upon as a high school English teacher and college professor, that is, my verbal ability and strong personality, were not assets in this setting, but liabilities. 

For example, my teacher asked us to use only necessary words—nouns and verbs--in our instructions.  It was easy to see why.  Filler like “We’re going to…” before the next pose breaks up the rhythm, as every pose has a specific time to inhale and exhale.  She also asked that we focus on what students were experiencing, and when possible, to demonstrate instead of using words. 

This was a struggle.  My teaching persona is built on the outgoing aspects of my personality.  I like to tell stories as well as hear them.  Plus, I enjoy yoga teachers who bring themselves into the room.  However, my teacher’s point was well-taken:  yoga is the place for students to go inward, something that is not readily available in everyday life.  If I’m up there telling stories and trying to impress with clever repartee, the class is focused on me and my performance, not on their experiences with their bodies.

Thus, before the class, I was determined to shut the hell up.  I even wrote, “Stop talking!” on my cheat sheet.  Alas, it was not to be.  I kept using the word “gently” as in “gently raise your left leg” or “gently lay your head on the mat.”  I also said “um” a lot.  It’s kind of ironic, since “Om” is the universal word to start and end yoga classes.  At least I got that right.

My biggest disappointment, though, was that I was so concerned with getting things right that I neglected my students.  In fact, I barely opened my eyes through the first postures.  My teacher pointed out that several of us, when teaching, neglected a peer who, due to injury, was having difficulty executing a particular pose.  As she reminded us, being a good teacher is about self-control.  The teacher needs to be able to put aside her ego to focus on her students.  Duh.  How many times have I said this to the candidates I teach?

On the plus side, my peers told me that they felt safe and that I taught with integrity.  I also did well with what I thought would be my biggest problems:  pacing (slow) and voice (soft. I know!  Can you believe it? Me?).    My teacher said that I executed my intention to have a restful class.  This made me feel better.

This experience reminded me of two things.  First, doing something is not the same as teaching it. Just because I have been doing variations of these yoga poses for five years doesn’t mean I know how to teach them to others. Second, it is not only the tasks that are challenging, but recognizing and understanding the nuances of a teaching environment. Any classroom, in any setting, has a unique meta-structure that is only partially discernible to all but the most observant students.  This structure reflects the values and demands of the institution and the teacher. Thoughtful and skilled teachers render the structure invisible, but its absence becomes obvious when an inexperienced or clumsy teacher steps in.

Once again, I am reminded that the intellectual work of teaching is only part of the equation, albeit a necessary part.  Nothing takes the actual place of practice with compassionate and knowledgeable observers, whether they are students, peers or teachers. My message to teacher candidates, then, is this:  take every opportunity to teach and get feedback.  Read not only the surfaces of the teaching environment, but what is going on underneath, just as you would with any text.  And always question your motives when planning and executing a lesson.  Does the lesson reflect what your students need at this moment in this context?

My message to myself, as a teacher educator, is to observe my candidates with compassion and patience.  As I was reminded, becoming teacher is hard work, and flailing about is part of the process.  

  

Namaste.