Friday, June 26, 2015

Grateful

I am exhausted yet grateful for my work. I'm teaching at two beautiful studios and my students are dear to me. It seems odd to write "my students." I don't know if I will ever feel like I am a teacher; I'm a student that is fortunate enough to get to act as a teacher also. I am gripped with anxiety before every class that I teach, and sometimes it seems completely absurd that the students are actually following me and doing what I say. At times I find it downright hilarious. They think I'm an adult and I am an adult, yet when it comes time to sit and lead a class I feel like a scared kid. I ask myself, "who am I to teach them?" With all the worry and angst I experience, the students don't have a clue how insecure I'm feeling, because fortunately I am able to pull off being an experienced and competent yoga teacher.

One of the good things about my heightened insecurity is that I am brought closer to my Source. I pray before every class that some force greater than I am will take over and speak and act through me. The more I've surrendered "control" the more powerful the experience of leading the class. We begin each class with a meditation, which used to make me uncomfortable because I'm undisciplined at meditating, so I felt like a fraud. Now when I start class with meditation I feel that I want to stay in that powerfully rooted and grounded space forever. Words start flowing out of my mouth, inspired words, words that come from a place deep inside that I rarely get to touch. And then I realize that my fear is a good thing, because praying and asking to be lead is a gift.

Replacing the pain, hurt, and sense of betrayal of losing jobs that were dear to me last summer, has come an immense gratitude that now I am exactly where I want to be. I couldn't ask for more and I am forever grateful for the Love that is guiding me through my life on this painful and beautiful journey.

This is for all of my students and teachers, particularly for Irina for her unwavering kindness and support.

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