An Intimate Yoga Class

Yoga class was particularly crowded this morning. We burgeoning yogis moved our mats closer together to make room for more people than the space could easily hold. Lying still no more than a foot away from our closet neighbor, one could hear the intimate breathing of our floor mates . . . the inhales, exhales, sniffles, coughs, grunts, and all other sorts of human noises made during the course of class.

It was all very intimate.

We wiggled this way and that in order to reach our arms along the floor, move our legs from side to side, to just "be" on the mat. The yogi-in-training to my right has a history of bad allergies at this time of year, so her breathing was at times labored as she struggled to inhale through congested nasal passages. The gentleman to my right moaned softly. I wasn't sure whether the postures were too strenuous or whether he had reached a state of near Nirvana.

I wondered whether such intimacy would detract from my yoga practice, particularly when on this very day when I'd set my intention to accept myself, my life, and the world around me. Okay, maybe I bit off more than I could chew. But I thought I'd give it a go. Maybe all these people lying so close to one another were a test of some sort, a yogi exam. If I could do my downward dogs without worrying that my tail was in someone else's face. . . if I could manage a plank pose without collapsing on someone else's mat . . . if I could breathe freely and not be influenced by the breath of someone else . . Then maybe, just maybe, I was on my way to enlightenment. Well, okay, maybe just en route to a cheerful afternoon.

Choosing A "Path of Fire"

Lela and Nick Beem, both 27, spent ten days of their honeymoon at a silent meditation retreat in Thailand. They slept on concrete slabs, rose each morning at 4 a.m., meditated eight times a day, practiced yoga, and didn’t speak a word to each other – or to anyone else. There was no reading or writing or listening to music. And there was no intermingling of the sexes.


Sound crazy? Maybe for most of us unenlightened mortals. But for Nick and Lela, Chicago-area yoga instructors who met when he was finishing a degree in computer science at Brown University and she was an AmeriCorps teacher, it made perfect sense. “What better way to start a marriage,” said Lela. “The commitment we made to each other was through Buddhist ideas, and we vowed to move forward in mindfulness.” Loose – very loose - translation: To be nice to each other.

So, are the Beems an oddity in today’s goal-oriented, get-rich-quick world? Or do they represent a trend among younger yogis and yoginis who are choosing to make a positive difference rather than a steady paycheck?

There is no quibbling with the facts: The number of registered yoga teachers in the U.S. has increased six fold to 15,329 in 2006, up from 2,521 in 2001. According to Yoga Alliance (YA), 17 million Americans of all ages now practice yoga regularly. And there are no signs of a slowdown. Americans spend some $2.95 billion a year on yoga classes, equipment, clothing, vacations, videos and more, according to a study commissioned by Yoga Journal.

There are no statistics on yoga teachers’ ages, but a 2007 New York Times article reported that representatives of more than a half-dozen top training programs said interest from recent college grads is strong. “Teaching yoga is wonderful, satisfying, sometimes blissful,” said Nick Beem. “But it is not easy.” It is, according to one of Nick’s teachers, “a path of fire.” Class attendance, which determines income, can vary wildly. Many new teachers travel long distances. It can take months, sometimes years, for classes to build.

Given the obstacles, what’s the draw? And what are the challenges of being a young trying to live a yoga lifestyle? Is this a group of mystical misfits comparable to the hari krisnas of the 1960s? Or are they seekers truly interested in spreading a path to personal growth? And does their age matter in the eyes of older practitioners?

As one of the "older practitioners," I can tell you that a yoga instructor's age pales in importance to his or her ability to teach, support, and inspire. I'm interested in how the breath can take my mind off of screaming hamstrings. I'm focused on how meditation can calm my over-active mind. I'm dedicated to strengthening my weak and all-too-flabby arms. And, oh, yeah - I'm trying not to compare myself to the woman next to me who can balance on one leg for days and stand on her head. Hell, as long as an instructor doesn't try to use the podium to tell me how to live my life, I could care less about age.