Most yoga teachers handle an injury the same way. Panic. Guess. Hope. I know, because I did it for years.

Someone will tell you that you changed their life. They'll mean it. And they'll be wrong.

You have a body. You have sensations. And you have blind spots the size of a parking garage.

I built a room full of skilled dependents. That's not teaching. That's a cult of personality with good hamstring flexibility.

Most yoga teachers handle an injury the same three ways: panic, guess, and then either tell the student to stop entirely or pretend nothing happened.

Yoga comes from India. This should not be controversial. And yet.

You don't yet know whether they're excited about yoga, or excited about winning at yoga. And neither do they.

Most yoga teachers become leaders by accident. You open a shala, people show up, and suddenly you're making decisions that affect their lives — and nobody handed you a manual.

The biggest changes in a yoga room almost never come from the biggest moves. They come from the small ones nobody notices.

For years I hid every struggle. Only showed the poses that came easy. Covered up the Sanskrit I mispronounced like nobody heard it. And when I hurt a student with bad instruction, I said nothing. Just moved on.