The Accidental Yogini

There was no epiphany. There was no transcendent or shocking moment where a huge light went off and a Voice said to me, “You were meant for yoga.”

Well, there was a moment, but it wasn’t very dramatic. My yoga teacher Galey, now my friend and a woman I admire a great deal, said to me once, “You’d make a good yoga teacher.”

I’m telling you this because often, we look for the fireworks. We look for the earth to move. And sometimes that happens. But sometimes, it doesn’t. The shift is subtle. The energy is there, but it’s a whisper, not a whoop. I’m telling you this because I don’t want you to miss something. I don’t want you to look so hard for the fireworks that you miss the fireflies. To wait for some gigantic cosmic shift to make you see what’s in front of you.

In reality, what you need is a set of eyes, a brain, and a heart. And I know you have all of those. So be watchful and ready – as greater scholars than I have said. The message is there, if you notice enough to receive it, and if you’re open enough to what it’s telling you. Think about why you take a yoga class. Are you listening to the still, small voice inside yourself? Do you know you have a still, small voice inside yourself?

I was interested in yoga, had taken many classes and a few workshops, but really, the thought of teaching or even training to be a teacher didn’t enter my mind until several years later, when I wanted to learn more about the philosophy. My doing it on my own wasn’t enough. There wasn’t enough structure; I didn’t know which resources were the best; I was overwhelmed.

After doing a lot of research, I found a school closer to home, looked at the curriculum and decided it would fit what I needed. So I signed up. And in that moment, I became an Accidental Yogi.

In actuality, my beginning yoga days were quite mundane. I knew that arthritis was taking hold and that the arc of my future wasn’t going to be a fun one if I didn’t do something. I tried a number of exercise regimens and nothing “fit.” I was hurting myself more. I was getting discouraged. I was, actually, even bored.

When I started studying with Galey, I didn’t even start in the traditional way: with Yoga 101. I walked into her “basic vinyasa” class with only minimal knowledge. I’d done the DVDs and I have some range-of-motion issues: my joints go where normal folks’ joints don’t and I had hurt myself more than once. I clearly needed a teacher who could see me and correct my alignment so that I got the most out of the practice. So I showed up one Sunday morning and the rest is history.

I decided I liked my teacher and her style. We clicked. So I stuck with her. Like several of her students, I followed her from studio to studio . When she started teaching Yin, I was there. When she started her own studio, I was there. I could do more when I had a steady yoga practice. My body let me know when my practice was slacking off. My teacher and I were in a partnership; I was grateful for her teachings and wisdom.

When her practice changed, I knew mine was changing, too. We’re near the same age, and she’d been a runner. I bike a lot. I listened to my body and knew that fast flows were not where I was going.  When I was in training, I thought about that a lot. I made some educated decisions for myself and my teachings. My Accidental Yogi kicked in when we were learning those foundation inversions, and I listened to my body. While I know the mechanics of a headstand, I neither do them, nor will I teach them. I don’t teach an active class - I should say I don’t teach a fast class. I will guarantee that in my Basic class, you’ll warm up nicely. And you’ll step off the mat with a little history, a little philosophy, and lots of ideas of how to continue your practice at home. That’s how I roll, and I can thank my teacher, friend, and mentor because she saw something in me and planted the seed. Then she sat back and watched it grow. It grew slowly, and almost reluctantly. But it grew and grew. From her suggestion that I consider a teacher training, I began to teach, then after a while, I began to manage her studio. And now I own it.

From that basic 200-hour training, I went on. I found other teachers who challenged me: Tricia Fiske, Linda Troutman, Gabriel Halpern, Baxter Bell. I’ve earned a certification in “Yoga for Healthy Aging,” and I’ve also completed my 500-hour training, and during COVID, I completed my 85-hour prenatal training (a long-held dream of mine). I’ve taught over 1,000 hours. I’ve become a fully qualified Accidental Yogi.

I wish I could tell you that there was a dramatic, huge, magic moment, but there really wasn’t. Yoga worked for me. It was (and is) a place where I feel healthy and strong. It was (and is) a place where I could legitimately be still, quiet, and listen to my body. It made the aches less achy. It captured my imagination with the history, the “why,” the method. It still is and still does.

I notice this in my students now. I can see them relax as they roll out their mats. I can hear the relief in their voices. In the glorification of “busyness” we’ve lost the ability to recognize how much we need non-busyness. How much we need quiet and time to listen to our own physical being.

Do you think there needs to be a specific moment? Think about that. Does there have to be an exact significant moment where your life changes? Or does it happen almost by accident?

For me, it happened almost by accident, due to my own intellectual curiosity and a chance remark that I “would be good at this.”

Don’t always look for the fireworks. Sometimes the “firefly” moments are the ones that change your life the most.