J. Brown Yoga Thoughts

We've all heard about the amazing things that yoga can do for us, but try explaining exactly what it is and how it works and you quickly find yourself on shaky ground. There is an innate something at the heart of the matter that simply cannot be measured, only felt. As unsatisfying as this may be, the highly subjective perception of our own experience is the only real basis for any understanding, and the very thing that makes yoga so vital.

Radical transformation is the provenance of yoga. The promise of bringing about change in oneself through will and determination, being able to derive truth and purpose by observing our own experience rather than succumbing to societal conditioning or the influence of outside authorities, is inherently revolutionary. The compartmentalization and standardization of practice techniques, and the parsing of yogic experience through a scientific lens, has created the perception that yoga can be neutered of its subversive underpinnings. Yet, truly authentic expressions always seem to retain a spark of the unknown that refuses to be ordered.

A lot of people in the yoga world are feeling confused. Changing social tides and startling revelations are calling into question the foundations on which many a career have been built. Deep vacuums have been created with the passing of primary teachers, previously held secrets are being exposed, and the emergence of a neo-orthodoxy is attempting to lay claim to what was once considered an open-source transmission. Those who continue to feel a calling are rightly searching their souls for clarity as the always precarious mix of business and wisdom tradition becomes ever more blurred.

The algorithms and operating systems that are governing our experiences, intended to expand our reach and connect us to the broader world, have borne unforeseen and adverse repercussions. This is particularly true for yoga teachers and center owners looking to cohere the intimacy and connection they feel through yoga with the realities of making it a profession. Only if we can abandon the flawed models that are suffocating the better parts of our humanity, might such a balance be struck.

A lot of people who go to yoga classes are not really interested in yoga. At least, not in the sense of being seriously committed and willing to take on a radical inquiry into the nature of being, and having the courage to manifest what is discovered in attitudes and actions. Most folks just want a good workout that will tone their bodies and make them feel less stressed, without being all too clear about what that might actually mean or entail. The trappings of mainstream yoga have led to an obfuscation of not only the greater challenge for individuals but the potential rewards for our communities and planet at large.

As the evolution of yoga in the modern world continues its slow-motion metamorphosis from ancient wisdom culture to fitness craze to no-one-knows-what-yet, expertise has become a highly sought after premium. The 200-hour teacher training model has managed to bring in enough revenue over the last 7-10 years to make up for shortfalls and keep pace with gentrifying rents, but now that the meme of certificate mills producing ill-equipped and injurious teachers has become ubiquitous, everyone is feeling the need to step up their game. The question is, how?

I recognize that I was born into privilege. Being male, white and American comes with a set of assumptions and implicit biases that are deeply ingrained in me and the mores of our fathers. As a progressive-minded person who wants to be an example of attitudes and actions that foster a more just and humane society, I am willing to have my unconscious behaviors laid bare so that I might learn new ways of communicating and interacting with people and the world. But in order for this to occur, my hope must be met with more than mere outrage.

After nine years of owning and operating a yoga center in one of the most popular neighborhoods on the planet, I was approached by a broker inquiring if I was interested in selling my business. Nine months later, I closed on a deal and handed over the keys. What I have learned in the process has given me new perspective on why owners sell and how easily it can tarnish the hearts of teachers.

Something has happened to the way I see myself in relationship to time, and the amount of life that is being spent behind a screen. For a while, I had a handle on my use of technology and my digital life seemed empowering and mind-expanding. But, of late, things seem to devolve easily into a grey zone of succumbing to the more manipulative aspects of our systems and the mentalities that govern them.

In the post-lineage void of the current yoga scene, conversations around safety and improving the quality of yoga teacher-training often turn to biomechanics for solutions. However, replacing one arbitrary imposition on our bodies with another does not address the real issues. Fostering safer spaces for practice, or creating any sort of positive change in our bodies, will likely require new understanding based on a broader range of possibilities and ideas.

Pop culture continues to enjoy a glossy-eyed love affair with yoga. But many long-time practitioners and professionals are discovering that, somewhere along their journey over the last decade or so, either yoga or they have changed. As once die-hard yogis attempt to discern what, if anything, of their practice has stood up against the test of time, their relationship to yoga needs to be allowed to evolve or they’ll likely feel compelled to part ways.

Yoga Journal has announced that it is doing a "reset" on all of its annual conferences. There will be no more Yoga Journal Conferences for the rest of 2017 while they attempt to re-imagine the model and figure out a way to make them relevant and profitable again. For those who are invested in the yoga profession, it’s not clear whether the crumbling of this institution is a canary in a coal mine or a crow outside our window.

It’s official. I will be closing my yoga center down at the end of this year. The hipster pond that I once helped homestead a decade ago has come to a boil quicker than I could have foreseen, and the only sensible thing to do is come up with an exit plan. Contrary to the common meme though, I don’t think the ‘studio model’ is disappearing. I always knew that my time for an ending would come. I have witnessed the pattern enough to predict that an operation like mine can only keep pace with the rents for so long before getting priced out. What is surprising is how fast it happens and how hard it is to accept when the numbers turn against you. It’s easy to place blame somewhere. With myself for not running the business better. Or with the NYC real estate market for acting so seemingly against its own interests and humanity. Or with a larger economic system that is based on a grow-or-die model which precludes a healthy stasis for community-supported businesses.

For a long time, I relished the way I could “crack” my back and neck. Just the right turn of my torso would send a ripple of clicks and releases along my spine. My idea about it was that those cracks were “unsticking” the gears of my body-machine. But there was also an underlying pattern playing itself out. Those cracks were a symbol of sorts, they represented all the breakthroughs and “tapas” I had accomplished through my many years of diligent practice. The cracks felt good, at least until they didn’t anymore.

I grew up in the eighties. My folks moved from NY to Los Angeles and settled into the comfort of a big house, two-car garage, and three kids. We were never in want for money. My dad made millions as the vice president of a huge construction firm. I was raised to believe that there was no limit to what I could attain. The milieu of my childhood is best exemplified by a t-shirt that hung in my dad’s closet, and would sometimes be bandied around for laughs, it read: “He who dies with the most toys wins.” In the nineties, I moved from LA to NY for college and rejected the era of my upbringing as representing a glorification of the superficial. I was one of the x-generation slackers who grew up alongside the corporatization of America, whose only defense against the takeover of everyday life was feigned apathy. On some level, I felt despair over something I could not explain but, being young and without a sense of consequence, I still believed that I was entitled to more.

A number of long-time yoga teachers are deciding to stop referring to what they teach as yoga. In the past, the term yoga represented a freedom to explore and discover truths outside western cultural norms. Now that yoga has largely become a western cultural norm, fueled by the advertising prowess of a multi-billion dollar industry and challenged by scholars questioning appropriation, public perception has been shaped in ways that have made the word yoga seem limiting. However, the teachers are the only ones who hold the power to define what they do, not scholars or the industry.

The novelty of yoga has been worn down to almost nothing by a multi-billion dollar industry that cares little for its tenets, like the crumbling shreds of a shoddily made pvc mat from China. But from out of the ashes of craven images and advertising schemes, a new discipline is emerging.

Continuing education for yoga teachers is in high demand since the proliferation of yoga teacher training certification has reached epic proportions. No one expects someone to be seasoned after merely two hundred hours, and technological advancements have enabled newfound access and resources to anyone with an internet connection. More than just a knowledge of yoga, or adjunct skills for teaching, these offerings often purport to give practical career advice that will help graduates succeed financially. Unfortunately, business advice for “yogapreneurs” is often grossly misguided.

In the last twenty years, yoga in the west has gone from a guru-driven model to a market-driven model. Decisions still often come from atop a pyramid. But now, the directives are based more on aggregated data than on the presumed authority of an ancient wisdom. One small manifestation of this turn can be found in the way that yoga classes have gotten progressively shorter. As yoga teachers are newly questioning old models for what and how they teach, industry mores also deserve examination.

Among longtime yoga professionals, there are some well-kept secrets. The reasons for these truths to remain unspoken are rooted in protecting both personal and professional interests. But, for many, the veneer has worn too thin and what once was an article of faith now feels like perpetuating myths. For those untangling the mess of confused emotions and experiences, honesty is our only saving grace.