One day, a guest came into the shop, and we started talking about yoga. She asked me if I was a yoga teacher. I didn’t want to simply say “no” because, while I’ve never taken a formal yoga certification course, I felt the answer was more nuanced. I took a moment to reflect and replied, “I’m a yoga teacher of sorts.”
I teach people how to concentrate on their breath and relax their minds. I guide them in exercise, healthy eating, and character development. I sponsor people in 12-step recovery. I practice intense yoga at least four days a week, and on the other days, I engage in some form of movement. I’m deeply fascinated by the form and function of the human body. I meditate. I contemplate the nature of reality. I choose to abstain from many distractions available in the modern world.
But beyond all of that, I simply live what I study. I read and absorb yoga teachings, Buddhist philosophy, Western philosophy, and psychology. I write about these things in depth. If I had to put a label on it, I’d say I’m a yogi—though I’d rather not put any label at all.
There were times in my life when I called myself something else. In my 20s and 30s, I was a skydiver. Looking back, if I had truly discovered yoga then, maybe I wouldn’t have needed to jump out of all those airplanes. Thank God I survived.
Real yoga teachers—those who dedicate their lives to teaching in studios—have a specialized and refined talent. If they teach long enough and with real devotion, their words become something more than instruction; they become wisdom. A true yoga teacher is not defined simply by leading a class and charging a fee. It’s about what else they offer, how they guide, how they help.
So, am I a yoga teacher? I don’t know. Maybe that’s not for me to decide. When I die—hopefully after 100 years—the body of work I leave behind and the lives I’ve touched may answer that question for me. But for now, I’ll say maybe.