re- writing the story
I’ve been trying to write for days now. ‘Do it tomorrow’ my mind whispers. ‘Tomorrow is a better day.’ My lovely, confused mind. Always looking for the low hanging fruits, the instant gratification.
What my mind wants, based on natural selection: To eat food (especially chocolate), to drink coffee, to get praise and recognition, to feel comfortable, to have ‘material’ things.
What my soul wants. To do my spiritual practices, to do things for others, to be in community, to be kind, to create, to paint, to write.
I stare at the page for a while before giving up. The familiar sense of resignation. I feel stagnant, the words aren’t flowing. The inspiration fleeting as the leaves turn to gold. I jump on my bike instead and ride up to the headland to watch the waves. My friend ’Not-writing’ is always with me. She’s heavy to carry.
I try again. Sunbathing on my balcony. Looking at my plants closely. My hibiscus plant got taken over by aphids last week. I half thought about trying to save her, vague notions of vinegar spray and garlic but of course I did nothing, and miraculously she’s healed. We can learn so much from flowers. They simply bloom, they don’t care who’s watching. Now she has five healthy blooms. Coral sheets of petals backlit by the autumn sun. I can see each individual vein. I look at my palm. The lines are the same.
I bought her at Moruya markets one sunny Saturday from a weathered man with money stuffed into a belt around his waist. I apologised for my lack of change. ‘I’ll never complain about getting money from a pretty girl’ he said. She bloomed that evening. I remember the night vividly. I climbed up the stairs exhausted after cycling from my friends party in East Lynne. That’s a long way on two wheels. As I crept in under the stars she greeted me. The next day her flower fell to the ground, the same day as my first bike accident. Broken skin and a broken heart. We get what we need eventually. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, look out into the dark and wonder what is this life I’ve created so far from my original home.
March 2014. Sydney. I’d spent the last few years travelling around ‘the world’ after making a momentous decision to pack my bags and leave England in 2010. In that time I’d fallen in love, travelled round the US & Canada with fore-mentioned love in a van that cost $800 with only one opening door, started the visa application process and of course, found yoga. I’d survived the harsh Toronto winter, worked a hundred different jobs to fund my travel, from grape-picker in Robinvale to Coffs Harbour Jetty Theatre Marketing Manager (despite having ZERO marketing experience) and everything in between. I’d got used to a life of change, visa uncertainty and a shoestring budget. For the most part I loved my life. But I remember a vaguely unsettling feeling of lacking purpose.
I didn’t want to work in another restaurant with people who only cared about how quickly I could clean cutlery and how many plates I could carry. Yoga was my sanctuary, away from the gnawing feeling of ’something’s missing’. When I practiced yoga I could be totally present. I didn’t care about my topsy turvy life. I loved the flowing movements and how graceful and strong my body felt, moving effortlessly from pose to pose. Whilst in Toronto one of my yoga teachers had suggested I teach. I didn’t believe I could. I was so shy, the thought of speaking in front of a group terrified me. Nevertheless a seed had been planted.
So we returned to Australia with no money and moved in temporarily with my ex-boyfriends family in South Sydney. The first thing I did was google ‘yoga teacher training’. A list appeared that meant nothing to me. I’d never been to Sydney before and knew nothing about the different suburbs. One thing I quickly realised, Yarrawarrah was a really long way from ANYWHERE. I had no car at that time so I’d ride my bike (before e-bikes were invented!) crazy distances to work in a Greek restaurant in Cronulla for minimum wage.
I chose ‘Dancing Warrior Yoga’ for 3 reasons. It was the closest (an hour train ride), I liked the logo, and the course started in 2 weeks. I called the owner Matt. He suggested I do some research, at least come and meet him and take his class before handing over my hard-earned cutlery polishing money. ‘There’s another course starting in 6 months, that may be more suitable for you’.
‘I don’t need to do any research’ I said. ‘I just know.’ He agreed, and the rest as they say is history.
I threw myself into the training with everything I had. It was an ‘intensive’ training, every day apart from Sunday for a month. Each morning I got the earliest train. I shared the carriages with tradies in fluorecent vests drinking red bulls. I’d pull out my books and do all the reading and assignments we’d been set the previous day. I’d given Matt all the money I had for the training, so I still needed to work at the restaurant. I’d run from the train in the evenings, always a few minutes late to the horror of my boss, and work until late. Matt had been very clear. ‘Dont try to work another job whilst you’re doing this. Commit to it fully. This is intense work’. Great advice, apart from when you have no choice. I’d crawl into bed in the evenings, smelling of food, feet aching yet totally elated. I’d finally found something I was passionate about. I actually wanted to study. The fire within me started to burn.
When we started to learn about yoga philosophy my heart would beat a little quicker. YES! This is it! It was as if everything I’d believed - that magic exists, that the world is alive, that trees can feel - everything was being confirmed by these mystical texts. My world was transformed from grey to a kaleidoscope of colour.
I learned about the chakra system and poured over the yantra images. Sacred geometry in bright rainbow colours with names like ‘the city of jewels’ and Svadisthana. It was all so exquisitely beautiful, and apparently, it was all within me.
The hardest part of the course was actually teaching. I’d get so shy I’d burst into tears. ‘Open your mouth to pronounce your words’ Matt would say for the trillionth time, but somehow the words wouldn’t come. I was constantly confused (nothing’s changed there), I had terrible spacial awareness and was always confusing my left and rights. Trying to mirror the poses was a nightmare. The first ‘community class’ I taught, I put everyone in Savasana half an hour early, then got them back out and carried on. Teaching did not come naturally to me.
I wanted to quit. Before every public class I’d fantasise about no-one showing up, me getting so sick I couldn’t teach, the world imploding on itself, anything that meant I wouldn’t have to teach the class. I’d get so nervous my whole body would shake uncontrollably. I WAS NOT giving off a relaxing vibe and I knew I was totally messing it up. Weren’t yoga teachers supposed to be calm? I started teaching at a studio in South Sydney. I got a call the next day ‘the students really like YOU, but the class is all over the place, you need to learn how to flow’.
Even though I totally sucked, I knew I was supposed to teach. I kept showing up. And eventually I started to find my rhythm. I threw myself into teaching. I quit my waitressing job and surprisingly the opportunities kept flowing. Everyone told me it was impossible to make a living teaching yoga, but I kept getting jobs without much effort. I said yes to them all, from a 5:00am class at a military training inspired CrossFit gym, to corporate classes in board rooms of the fanciest offices I’d ever seen. I was teaching over 25 classes a week at one stage, schlepping from one end of Sydney to the other. Yes it was hard work, but I loved it! I was living my absolute dream.
I lived in Sydney for 4 years. During that time my relationship broke down, I moved into a retro house in Marrickville with my friend Miriam and I granted Permanent Residency. I was ‘burning the candle at both ends’, enjoying all Inner West Sydney had to offer. I took advantage of all the international teachers visiting Sydney and took training after training with some of my favourites, Sarah Powers, Shiva Rae, Jules Febre & Jasmine Tarkeshi. I would spend my evenings dancing to techno in some dirty warehouse, sometimes not sleeping at all before heading into my 6am classes. It was a life lived in the fast lane and I’m so grateful for every UV light splattered moment. I finally got bored of raves, micro-brewery’s and endless dates. The wild was calling me.
In 2018 I bought a van, sold or gave away most of my possessions, quit every single one of my ‘dream’ teaching jobs and started driving South, with no plan, no job prospects and hardly any money. And here I am!
I share this story to remind you, what you want isn’t always going to be easy. I was not a natural teacher. It didn’t come easy to me. But I knew it was my dharma, my purpose. Even though I sucked at it, I loved it. Whatever you love to do, dont expect that just because you’ll love it, it will feel effortless all the time. In the Bhagavad Gita Krishna tells Arjuna, it is far better to live your own dharma imperfectly that to live someone elses perfectly.
I hope this inspires you to not take the easy way out. You can do things your way. You can be different. You definitely dont need to have it all figured out. Every time I’ve left my ‘normal life’ I’ve never had a back-up plan. I’ve never had a safety net. I truly believe when I do what I’m put on this earth to do, I will be supported. And so will you.
If you’re feeling the call, our 200 hour teacher training starts in August. There’s 7 spots left. Yes it’s hard work. Yes it will get you out of your comfort zone. Yes, you’ll be asked to present in front of others. But what’s the alternative? Giving into fear itself and staying stuck is far more terrifying that the temporary fear of putting yourself out there. You'll know when it's the right time.