The Fool: Beginner’s Mind. Stepping into the Unknown. Spontaneity. Trusting the process.
It’s challenging for me to be a beginner. To acknowledge my mistakes and use them as learning tools, instead of weapons. I’m a recovering perfectionist with high standards. While I have generally learned to adjust my standards to a more realistic level, I still sometimes find myself doubting my abilities when I’m learning something new.
I step into teaching Nia and I am determined. I practice often, I watch the DVD to review the moves and cueing. When I don’t get something the first or fourth time, I listen, watch, and try again.
I step into teaching and I am vulnerable. After class, I sometimes have this feeling like I’ve just shared an important piece of myself. It’s vulnerable to show where I am in the learning process. I’m not exactly polished; there is a rawness to some of my movements. I I stumble at times, which sometimes causes the students to stumble or pause. In those moments, I make a mental note and keep going.
I’ve been given a gift: One of my Nia teachers, who teaches three classes a week, needed a little bit of a break. She offered me one of her weekly classes for the next two months, which is most of my remaining time here before my wedding and move. Yes, I have to pay rent to the studio, but I don’t have to promote my own class. I can still dance with my regular early morning Nia community – I get to teach people I know. While subbing for my teachers, I appreciate the experience, and it’s not consistent enough. In order to learn to teach, I need to teach regularly. For the next two months, I’ll be teaching every Monday.
Now, I have the opportunity to practice. I get to practice being a beginner. I get to practice hearing my doubts, the voices that speak to frustration. I’m learning to hear what they have to say, take any useful feedback, and keep going.
I’m learning. I’m beginning. There’s something beautiful and raw about a time where not knowing gradually becomes knowing. Where doing something new slowly becomes an intentional practice. And hopefully, where teaching Nia becomes a vital and regular part of my life.
I have now been practicing Nia for two years. As of this week, I have taught five Nia classes, filling in as needed when my teachers are on vacation.
I taught my first full Nia class today. One of my main teachers had a work-related training and asked me to substitute for her. Over the past week, we had gone over the steps of opening and closing the studio, how to hook up and turn on the music and the microphone. As for the content of the class…well, I’ve been learning and practicing for months.
And so this morning, as a hint of snow fell from the sky, I walked into the studio. I was fairly calm as I set things up. There was time to breathe and wait for people to come. Four students came. It was a small class, and enough.
We stepped in; my focus was play. I asked them shake off anything they didn’t need to keep with them during class. I switched on the music and began.
Sometimes I felt out of sync, leading with imperfect steps, and I kept going. I know my enthusiasm, my playfulness, my love of Nia came through. Sometimes, I felt so incredibly present – the steps were there and they mattered, but the experience was about so much more than the steps of the choreography. It was about being with myself, being with others, being in the moment,
The body and movement are sources of inspiration, wellness, vitality, vibration, connection. I know that doing Nia as a student helps regulate me; as a teacher, it stretches me to the edge of my capacity and allows me to hold more, even if just for the duration of a class.
There’s a spiritual element in teaching, too, that feels somewhat akin to leading a centering exercise or a blessing/prayer. I remember being in my White Belt training and realizing that the best way to feel grounded and safe was to be fully in my body; that through being connected to my body, I could also be more spiritual, emotional, and connected with the energy around me. This connection feels stronger to me when I teach.
Today, I found my breath at points where it became ragged. I found spaces to step to the side and take sips of water. I found spaces to soften when I needed to. Still, it is a different kind of workout to move while using my voice while my heart is beating quickly, and I have to be very conscious of my breath. I now feel a little stiff, a little more winded than usual. I also feel strong.
After we were done, after we stepped out, one of my friends – another Nia morning class regular – came up to me and gave me a hug, telling me I did a good job. “I remember when you first taught a song; you seemed unsure and a little unsteady. And now…what a difference.”
I felt exhilarated afterward, and that energy carried me for at least an hour more until I felt the waves of tiredness hit me. This was a big step for me. It is the first full movement class I have ever taught. And it is the first full class of any kind I have taught since I last co-facilitated a class in San Diego nearly two years ago.
Although I am tired now, I can still feel the sensations of the experience in my body and spirit. I know I want to teach again. I want to continue strengthening my Nia practice as a student and teacher. This practice feeds me, brings me a joy beyond words.