A Living Tradition: Nearly Thirty Years of Returning to Yoga

Sep 20

5 min read

I have been practising Yoga for close to thirty years and teaching for almost half of that time. For nearly fifteen years, much of my teaching life has been rooted in the studio in Dorchester—a familiar space in which I have welcomed complete beginners, long-standing students, children, teenagers, adults and older adults, as well as people seeking a more individual and therapeutic approach.

When I reflect on those years, I do not think primarily about how many postures I have practised or how many classes I have taught. I think about the many people who have arrived at Yoga at different stages of life, each bringing their own history, responsibilities, questions and needs.

Some arrive wanting to become stronger or more flexible. Some are living with pain, illness, stress or anxiety. Others are moving through bereavement, parenthood, menopause, retirement or another significant transition. Some are simply curious and unsure where to begin. A person may come to their first class believing Yoga is something they must be physically capable of doing, when the real beginning is much simpler: learning to meet themselves as they are.

This is one of the reasons the Viniyoga approach continues to resonate so deeply with me.

The practice is not something fixed into which every person must fit. It is adapted to the individual, taking account of their stage of life, capacity, health, responsibilities and circumstances. The Yoga should serve the person, not require the person to serve a predetermined form of Yoga.

Beginning With More Than the Physical

Introducing a beginner to Yoga is a privilege. It is an opportunity to offer something much broader than physical movement or a sequence of postures.

Āsana may provide an accessible doorway, but it is not the whole house. Breath, attention, self-observation, relationship, discipline and reflection are also part of the practice. The philosophy of Patañjali gives us a framework through which Yoga can be understood not merely as something we do on a mat, but as a way of meeting the mind, our relationships and the changing circumstances of life.

For a beginner, this does not need to mean being overwhelmed by abstract philosophy or Sanskrit terminology. The teachings can be introduced through lived experience. What happens when we become distracted? How do we respond when something is difficult? Can we recognise when effort is helpful and when it becomes force? Can we remain present without constantly judging or comparing ourselves? Can we make a commitment to something small and return to it consistently?

These are philosophical questions, but they are also practical and deeply human ones.

The Practice of Showing Up

Patañjali reminds us of the importance of abhyāsa: sustained practice. A practice becomes firmly established when it is cultivated over a long period of time, without interruption and with sincere care.

This teaching has become more meaningful to me as the years have passed. Consistency is not necessarily dramatic. It is rarely impressive from the outside. It is found in showing up, returning and beginning again.

There have been periods in my own life when practice has felt spacious and strong, and others when it has needed to become quieter, shorter or more supportive. The form has changed because life has changed. A sustainable practice cannot be based upon pretending that our bodies, energy, health or circumstances remain the same.

Viniyoga offers a way of working within this reality. Practice can evolve with us. What is appropriate for someone at twenty may not be appropriate at forty, sixty or eighty. What supports us in good health may need to change during illness or recovery. What is useful during a demanding period of work or family life may differ from what is needed when there is more space for study and contemplation.

Consistency does not mean rigidly repeating the same practice regardless of circumstance. It means maintaining the relationship: continuing to listen, enquire and return.

The Privilege of Teaching

Teaching Yoga is a privilege because students entrust us with something personal. They allow us to witness their uncertainty, effort, vulnerability and change. They often arrive with expectations of what they should be able to do, and part of the teacher’s role is to help them discover what is appropriate, possible and meaningful for them.

Over nearly fifteen years of teaching, experience has given me greater confidence, but it has also given me greater humility. The more people I teach, the less interested I become in offering one answer to everyone. Experience reveals the importance of observation, careful listening and adapting without losing the essence of the teaching.

Sharing Yoga does not mean claiming ownership of it. I am passing on teachings that were shared with me and entrusted to generations of students and teachers before me. That brings both gratitude and responsibility: to teach honestly, to acknowledge the source, to remain within the scope of my understanding and to continue learning.

Tradition That Remains Alive

Yoga has roots in an ancient tradition spanning hundreds, if not thousands, of years. Yet tradition is not valuable simply because it is old, nor should it be preserved only for tradition’s sake.

A living tradition survives because its wisdom continues to speak to human experience. It is carried through relationship, from teacher to student, not as a museum piece, but as something practised, questioned, understood and applied. Its outer expression may respond to time, culture and circumstance, while its essential purpose remains intact.

This balance matters. If we remove Yoga entirely from its roots, it can become another form of exercise or a collection of techniques detached from their meaning. If we hold too tightly to form without considering context, the teachings can become inaccessible or inappropriate. A living tradition asks us to do something more demanding: to respect what has been handed down while understanding how it can be applied appropriately to the person before us.

The teacher–student relationship is central to this process. Books, courses and independent study can offer valuable information, but a teacher can help us recognise what we may not yet see for ourselves. A teacher challenges assumptions, offers context and guides the application of the teachings according to our needs and capacity. They do not simply tell us what to practise; they help us understand why, how and when.

I remain grateful to have a teacher and to be part of a lineage connected through Dr Kausthub Desikachar and Śrī T.K.V. Desikachar to Yogācārya Śrī T. Krishnamacharya. This connection reminds me that Yoga is not something I have invented or completed. I am one student within a much longer continuum of learning and transmission.

Remaining a Student

Nearly thirty years of practice have not brought me to an endpoint. If anything, they have made me more inquisitive. Questions that once seemed simple have become richer, and teachings I have encountered many times continue to reveal something new.

Remaining a student means being willing to reconsider what I think I know. It means practising rather than relying only on knowledge, receiving guidance rather than assuming experience makes guidance unnecessary, and staying curious about the person, the teaching and the context in which they meet.

This matters particularly when teaching beginners. A beginner does not arrive empty. They bring a lifetime of experience, even if they have no previous experience of Yoga. My role is not to mould them into an image of a Yoga practitioner, but to help them begin a relationship with Yoga that is authentic, appropriate and sustainable.

After nearly thirty years, perhaps this is what the practice continues to teach me: Yoga is not measured by how far we appear to have travelled. It is found in the quality of our attention, our willingness to remain teachable and our commitment to return.

We show up. We practise. We listen. We adapt. We remain curious.

And, supported by those who have walked the path before us, we continue.

Namaste