Something happened in class not that long ago that has stayed with me.
Not because it was disruptive (though it was), but because of what it revealed.
A student brought their phone onto their mat. And I don’t mean just tucked away quietly. It was alive, dinging, buzzing, and calling for attention.
Once, I let it pass. Twice, I softened around it.
But after that, it became something else - it became the center of the room.
So I gently asked them to turn their phone completely off. I also took a moment to remind the group that phones aren’t meant to enter the studio space at all.
To my surprise, instead of understanding, the student with the phone offered some pushback. I was told another teacher at that space allows it.
And in that small, suspended moment, there were a hundred different ways I could have responded. I could have explained, justified, softened, or even backed down.
Instead, what came out was simple and clear:
“Then that’s the class you should be going to, and that’s the teacher you should be receiving from.
Because in this space, I value presence.”
I truly meant it from a place of care, not rigidity.
Because presence is not a personal luxury in a shared space. It's s a collective agreement. And one person’s distraction doesn’t just belong to them - it ripples outward.
That choice didn’t land well for that student. They chose to leave.
And then something else happened. The rest of the room applauded. Not all loud and boisterous, but in a way that said, thank you for protecting this space.
I’ll be honest, I had a sting in my chest and mixed feelings afterward. There’s always that human part of me that wonders if I could have handled it differently. But beneath that was something steadier:
Contentment. Alignment. Truth - My Truth.
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When I reflected on it later, I realized this moment wasn’t separate from the practice of yoga.
It was the practice.
As a teacher, I was being asked to live the principles I so often speak about:
Satya (truthfulness) - speaking honestly, even when it’s uncomfortable.
Asteya (non-stealing) - protecting the time, attention, and experience of the group from being taken.
Tapas (discipline) - holding the boundary, even when it would be easier not to.
Ahimsa (non-harming) - not just for one person, but for the entire room.
And maybe most importantly…
Svadhyaya (self-study) - noticing my own reactions, my own doubts, my own growth in real time.
But it wasn’t just me practicing. Every student in that room was also given an invitation.
To sit with discomfort.
To witness conflict without turning away.
To notice their own judgments - of me, of the student, of the situation.
To choose presence, even when the moment wasn’t perfectly calm or ideal.
That’s yoga.
Not the poses, the playlist, or the aesthetic.
But the willingness to stay awake inside the moment as it unfolds-
to honor the space we share,
to respect the presence of others,
and to return, again and again, to being fully here.