This week my university, Ohio State, starts our second academic year on semesters. My 19th year at Ohio State. Yikes.
But it doesn't really feel like the second time. Last autumn I was working half-time at the Graduate School and only taught one class -- my students and I met three times a week to talk about Russian poetry. It was fabulously fun, but it doesn't really help me with starting this week. In spring semester I was in Warsaw -- again, great teaching experience, but I taught two courses which met once a week for 90 minutes each. Not particularly helpful as I prepare to teach my two undergraduate Russian literature courses this semester -- especially since the autumn semester will actually last about 16 weeks. One thing from last autumn will help -- I remember telling my students that as compared to quarters we were bound to experience several lulls, when we became sick of each other and the course material. I do feel that it's important to prepare -- and control -- for those lulls and to know that they will pass.
One way I've been preparing to return to Ohio State is by going on a yogic journey. I say this tongue-in-cheek, but in a sense it's true. Commuting to work is hard on my back; sitting at the computer writing syllabi, answering email, and wrestling with the course websites will also be hard on my back. And yoga can help stretch me out -- when I do various poses I can actually hear my spine popping, in a good way (I hope).
But the yogic journey is about something else too. I started in Philadelphia in July around the corner from me on Baltimore Avenue at Studio 34. I generally go a few times a summer, and I've become a huge fan of Brittany, who is like no yoga teacher I've ever met. But this summer I realized that I should challenge myself to develop a "practice," or at least to practice often enough that the yoga postures might have a lasting effect on my increasingly aging body. (My wake-up call last November was the day I woke up and couldn't get out of bed due to excruciating back pain -- the eventual CT scan was inconclusive, but I'm pretty sure stress, commuting, and the genetics of my skeletal structure were telling me the answer loud and clear: YOGA.)
So I signed up for "monthly unlimited." If you're a child of a child of the Depression, monthly unlimited is a way to feel like you're getting a deal, but it also works to make you feel guilty when you don't go. Perfect Midwestern way to goad myself into practicing yoga. I discovered, among other things, the pleasure of being instructed -- for years I've been in the front of the classroom, but I haven't been in a classroom setting. Taking piano lessons a few years ago taught me to value teacher knowledge and skill, and my Polish teacher, Pani Paulina, at Klub Dialogu, also had me meditating on pedagogical practice, not just on Polish vocabulary. But being part of a class is a different experience.
A yoga class, I find, is humbling. I'm not completely out of shape, but I am not the most flexible person, nor do I have particularly good balance. I know enough to recognize the poses, but I'm not sure I will ever "jump" to the front of my mat or back into high plank. In July I learned a lot about yoga, my teachers, and myself -- and I thought about how being a yoga student can change the way I myself am a teacher in the classroom.
Now that I'm back home, I've again taken out a monthly unlimited membership at the local studio, Yoga Springs. It's going to be harder to integrate my "yogic lifestyle" with the demands of commuting and teaching, but it seems like that's all the more reason I should do it.
And I'm going to take another lesson from Baltimore Ave -- the second time around is better. In July I tried all different teachers and classes, wanting to see what style of yoga, and of teaching, I liked. (I was encouraged to do this by the fact that Brittany had a lot of subs for her classes -- she took a 10-day vacation to Costa Rica and also was engaged in some teacher training and conferences...)
What I discovered is that I liked every teacher better in the second class I took with her.
We usually say "she's an acquired taste" about people who are psychologically complicated -- shy people, abrasive people, people who have talents and positive aspects but whose negative sides present first. But I am thinking that yoga is an acquired taste, teachers can be an acquired taste, indeed, anything new needs to be acquired, integrated into our previous world view, taken with a grain of salt until we can really assess its pluses and minuses.
Ever since I arrived at Ohio State I have been longing to return to semesters, so I'm pretty sure I will acquire that taste again. But I hope my students realize that the second time is better than the first -- the second class session, the second paper, the second course with the same professor. If something is good, the second time is much sweeter.
But it doesn't really feel like the second time. Last autumn I was working half-time at the Graduate School and only taught one class -- my students and I met three times a week to talk about Russian poetry. It was fabulously fun, but it doesn't really help me with starting this week. In spring semester I was in Warsaw -- again, great teaching experience, but I taught two courses which met once a week for 90 minutes each. Not particularly helpful as I prepare to teach my two undergraduate Russian literature courses this semester -- especially since the autumn semester will actually last about 16 weeks. One thing from last autumn will help -- I remember telling my students that as compared to quarters we were bound to experience several lulls, when we became sick of each other and the course material. I do feel that it's important to prepare -- and control -- for those lulls and to know that they will pass.
One way I've been preparing to return to Ohio State is by going on a yogic journey. I say this tongue-in-cheek, but in a sense it's true. Commuting to work is hard on my back; sitting at the computer writing syllabi, answering email, and wrestling with the course websites will also be hard on my back. And yoga can help stretch me out -- when I do various poses I can actually hear my spine popping, in a good way (I hope).
But the yogic journey is about something else too. I started in Philadelphia in July around the corner from me on Baltimore Avenue at Studio 34. I generally go a few times a summer, and I've become a huge fan of Brittany, who is like no yoga teacher I've ever met. But this summer I realized that I should challenge myself to develop a "practice," or at least to practice often enough that the yoga postures might have a lasting effect on my increasingly aging body. (My wake-up call last November was the day I woke up and couldn't get out of bed due to excruciating back pain -- the eventual CT scan was inconclusive, but I'm pretty sure stress, commuting, and the genetics of my skeletal structure were telling me the answer loud and clear: YOGA.)
So I signed up for "monthly unlimited." If you're a child of a child of the Depression, monthly unlimited is a way to feel like you're getting a deal, but it also works to make you feel guilty when you don't go. Perfect Midwestern way to goad myself into practicing yoga. I discovered, among other things, the pleasure of being instructed -- for years I've been in the front of the classroom, but I haven't been in a classroom setting. Taking piano lessons a few years ago taught me to value teacher knowledge and skill, and my Polish teacher, Pani Paulina, at Klub Dialogu, also had me meditating on pedagogical practice, not just on Polish vocabulary. But being part of a class is a different experience.
A yoga class, I find, is humbling. I'm not completely out of shape, but I am not the most flexible person, nor do I have particularly good balance. I know enough to recognize the poses, but I'm not sure I will ever "jump" to the front of my mat or back into high plank. In July I learned a lot about yoga, my teachers, and myself -- and I thought about how being a yoga student can change the way I myself am a teacher in the classroom.
Now that I'm back home, I've again taken out a monthly unlimited membership at the local studio, Yoga Springs. It's going to be harder to integrate my "yogic lifestyle" with the demands of commuting and teaching, but it seems like that's all the more reason I should do it.
And I'm going to take another lesson from Baltimore Ave -- the second time around is better. In July I tried all different teachers and classes, wanting to see what style of yoga, and of teaching, I liked. (I was encouraged to do this by the fact that Brittany had a lot of subs for her classes -- she took a 10-day vacation to Costa Rica and also was engaged in some teacher training and conferences...)
What I discovered is that I liked every teacher better in the second class I took with her.
We usually say "she's an acquired taste" about people who are psychologically complicated -- shy people, abrasive people, people who have talents and positive aspects but whose negative sides present first. But I am thinking that yoga is an acquired taste, teachers can be an acquired taste, indeed, anything new needs to be acquired, integrated into our previous world view, taken with a grain of salt until we can really assess its pluses and minuses.
Ever since I arrived at Ohio State I have been longing to return to semesters, so I'm pretty sure I will acquire that taste again. But I hope my students realize that the second time is better than the first -- the second class session, the second paper, the second course with the same professor. If something is good, the second time is much sweeter.
Comments
Post a Comment