On
Wednesday, I was scheduled to teach a class at an established studio that
opened a second asana space and needed more instructors. As I had recently
resigned from another studio, I was thrilled to join this new community,
bringing some of my students along to mingle with a whole new crowd of yogis.
The auspicious day, however, became memorable for all of the wrong reasons.
To begin
with, the owner of the studio was there when I arrived 15 minutes before the
class; I wanted to learn the procedures for signing folks in to class, opening
and closing the studio and all other pertinent functions. Rather than being
able to spend any appreciable time with me, however, the owner was running
around, attempting to corral the three young children who were romping around
the new space, throwing handfuls of Cheerios everywhere and attempting to sneak
out of the door when mom was not looking. I patiently watched the mother-child
ritual, hoping for a small window of opportunity to ask some questions. The
owner quickly talked through the basics of the studio and then grabbed the kids
and left; I didn’t even receive a key to lock up. The capper on the evening was
the fact that no one showed up for class. I know that a new teacher and a newly
scheduled class are not big draws, but I expected at least ONE curious person
to show. And where were my “loyal” students, the ones who had clamored for me
to find a new space when I resigned my previous position? Nowhere to be found…
Although
my pride was injured, I spent the rest of the night at home reflecting upon the
dreadful first experience. I realized that my ego had been wounded when no one
showed up for the class. I reminded myself that the class is NOT about me; the
students are the reason that I do what I do, and if they are not there, so be
it. I should be thankful when they do attend and want to share a practice with
me. I vowed to relinquish my attachment to my ego and just accept that some
night there are zero students and other nights there are fifteen.
Good
thing I made that vow, too, because the following evening, I was enlisted to
sub a class for another instructor. Again, no one arrived for class. I handled
this episode with much more grace and humility, especially since this was not
one of my regularly scheduled classes. I did, however, run into another ugly
aspect of studio teaching: lack of respect for others. Once again, I arrived
early for the class, to help people sign in and to be there to introduce myself
before class. The class before mine was scheduled to end 15 minutes before my
start time. I peered into the studio ten minutes before class and saw that the
instructor and her students were still in the space, engaged in discussion. No
problem, since no one had yet appeared for my class. Then, five minutes before
class, I looked again and the teacher and students were standing around
chatting about life. That’s fine, but could you do that in the foyer or hall,
so I can set up for class? Finally, at the appointed start time of my class (still
no students!), I entered the space and was greeted with an icy stare from the
instructor. She asked if I had a class in there and I replied that I did.
Instead of excusing herself, she went right on talking! I quietly set up my mat
and dimmed the lights to the desired level, and still she continued her banter
with a student. About five minutes later, the student left and the instructor
took her time gathering up her mat, her bag and then continued to linger in the
space. I got up and closed one of the two doors to the room, hoping that she
might understand that the next class was imminent. She looked at me and curtly
said, “When does this class start?” I told her about five minutes ago. She
offered no apology and made no discernible attempt to go. She said that next
time, she would try and remember that another class was starting at this time.
I had no response. After she left and I was once again without students, I
pondered the way that I had been “welcomed” to this studio so far: the owner
could barely find time for me, students were not coming and one of my peers
lacked the courtesy to exit the room when my class was going to start. A rough
start, I would say.
Next
week, I will give it another try. I hope that students will come; if not, I
look forward to a time when they can. I hope that my fellow instructors are
welcoming; if not, perhaps I need to make the effort to break the ice and
extend a friendly hand. In the end, I am like a new kid who arrives in an
elementary school class: I need to take my lumps before I am accepted.
Peace,
Trent