Pick Me, Pick Me

I've been thinking a lot about social media lately.

Not because I've suddenly decided it's all bad, or because I'm about to disappear from it altogether. But because I've become increasingly aware of the way it changes how I feel about my work.

Before last week, I'd already written this blog.

At the time, it was simply an attempt to understand why promoting my work often feels so different from actually doing it.

It was always scheduled to be published today. I do like to have things done ahead of time!!

I had no idea that, over the following days, I'd end up testing almost everything I'd written.

I didn't make a reel.

I didn't spend twenty minutes wondering whether Tuesday evening was a better time to post than Wednesday morning.

In fact, I hardly looked at social media at all.

I wasn't surprised that I didn't miss it.

What surprised me was how quickly I stopped thinking about it altogether.

It was as though it had quietly disappeared from my life.

What remained was the part of my work I'd always enjoyed.

Before long I found myself thinking about yoga again. New class ideas appeared uninvited. I'd notice something on a walk and wonder how it might become part of a meditation.

That's always been the enjoyable part for me.

What I didn't miss, even slightly, was the feeling that I ought to be promoting it.

The irony wasn't lost on me.

I'd written this blog before I left. I came home realising it wasn't simply how I imagined I felt about social media. It was how I actually felt when it disappeared.

Somewhere along the line, teaching yoga acquired a second job description.

Not just teaching it.

Marketing it.

Every week there seems to be another rule.

Post every day.

No... not every day.

Be authentic.

Optimise your reach.

Use trending audio.

Have a hook.

Finish with a call to action.

By this point, I'm no longer sure whether I'm teaching yoga or auditioning for it.

The truth is, I never became a yoga teacher because I wanted to market yoga.

I became a yoga teacher because I wanted to teach yoga.

They sound similar.

They aren't.

One asks you to give your attention to other people.

The other often feels as though you're asking other people to give theirs to you.

Perhaps some of this is my own pride.

I'd quite like to believe that good work quietly announces itself. But I know that's just not true.

Marketing exists for a reason.

If nobody knows your classes are there, they can't come.

If nobody hears about your retreat, they can't book it.

If I genuinely believe yoga helps people—and I do—then I have some responsibility to let people know it exists.

None of that is the problem.

The problem is the feeling that I need to persuade people to choose me.

I don't mind someone deciding I'm not the right yoga teacher for them.

I mind feeling as though I have to convince them that I am.

Somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like sharing what I do and started feeling like standing in a crowded room shouting,

"Pick me! Pick me!"

Like Donkey in Shrek.

Perhaps that's why I keep coming back to blogs.

A blog doesn't ask me to compete for attention in quite the same way.

It feels more like leaving the front door open.

If someone wanders in, sits down and enjoys the conversation, wonderful.

If they don't, that's alright too.

I'll still use social media.

I'll still tell people when classes are starting.

I'll still post the odd photograph from outdoor yoga, a sunrise or, almost certainly, a terrible joke.

But I think I'm giving myself permission to stop treating social media as though it's a measure of whether I'm a good yoga teacher.

I'd rather spend two hours becoming a slightly better teacher than two hours wondering whether I should have used different music on a reel.

I'd quite like to hold on to what that unexpected week reminded me.