I woke up this morning with butterflies in my stomach. Today, for the very first time, I was scheduled to teach someone a private 2-hour yoga and meditation session. I was nervous but so freaking excited.
Last night I went through my journal from the yoga teacher training course. I reread my notes from our first classes on meditation. I searched through the Radiance Sutras and picked two techniques I thought would be perfect for a first-timer. I mentally rehearsed how the meeting would go. We’d spend the first hour diving into meditation: what he already knew about it, what meditation is versus what it isn’t, and then into the Sutra techniques we would go.
The second hour would be for asana. I planned to teach a sequence on forward folds, perfect for opening up hamstrings and hips- notoriously tight areas on everyone but especially men. It was going to be a simple, straightforward practice with plenty of variations for someone new to yoga. I was so amped at the thought of introducing someone to these poses, just like I’d spent 28 days straight practicing for. Finally, it was going to happen!
So I showed up for our meeting 10 minutes before our agreed upon time. 10 minutes later, no sign of him. 10 more minutes later I sent him a quick email letting him know where I was within the park we’d planned to meet at. 10 minutes after that I rolled out my mat and started my own practice. Well, damn.
I heard from him 30 minutes after we planned to meet and he claimed he was on his way. I agreed to wait until I finished my own practice. Then I continued to wait, at this point practicing more patience than yoga.
Finally, I gave up. Today is not the day I’ll get to teach my first yoga student but that’s ok. The buzz from the possibility of even getting to teach someone has me even more excited for when a student actually shows up. Whenever that happens.