My first yoga class....
was sold out the first time I tried to go, a Sunday morning beginners class at the Jivamukti brownstone in the East Village of NYC. I made sure to sign up early the next week. The teacher's name was Charles. He wore glasses and effused intelligence but not in a condescending way. He had a way of making yoga seem both esoteric and accessible. The mirrored room was big enough to hold only a dozen or so students. Sitting awkwardly in lotus, I felt weirdly exposed in my bare feet and legs. But my life was beginning to change at that very moment. Charles patiently explained, demonstrated, and talked the class through basic poses, which to him seemed effortless and second nature. Trying to stand in "Tadasana" sounded so exotic...who knew standing still could be so intricate! He challenged us to keep that connection to the earth throughout our day. I'll never forget the sense of service he brought to the class, as if teaching us was an honor. Now as a yoga teacher, I strive to bring that sense of service to my classes as well. Thank you Charles, wherever you are. And always to Sharon Gannon and David Life, my first true teachers.