“In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities. In the expert’s mind there are few.”
— Shunryu Suzuki
Humility, to me, is probably the most important quality a person can have.
And when I say humility, I don’t mean putting yourself down or pretending you don’t know anything. I mean something much simpler: being respectful of the people and environment around you, and having the ability to admit that sometimes — actually quite often — you don’t know.
It’s about maintaining what Zen calls “beginner’s mind.”
That sense of curiosity and openness that allows you to keep learning, even after many years of practice.
Because the moment you believe you’ve mastered something completely, you’ve probably stopped growing.
A Short Story
A friend of mine recently visited a yoga studio in a town he happened to be working in. The class was a Mysore-style practice, the traditional self-practice method used in Ashtanga Yoga.
For those who haven’t experienced it, a Mysore class works a little differently from most yoga classes. Everyone practices the same sequence but at their own pace while the teacher moves around the room offering guidance and adjustments.
Anyway, my friend had settled into his practice and was well into it when the teacher asked him to step outside the room for “a quick word.”
Except it wasn’t really a quick word.
It was more like the Ashtanga Yoga version of the third degree.
“Who are you?”
“Did you book?”
“Did you email first?”
All delivered in a tone that suggested my friend had just wandered into a highly classified government facility rather than a yoga class.
Understandably he was a bit taken aback.
Like many people — myself included — he was under the impression that yoga is supposed to cultivate balance of mind and speech. Yet here he was being interrogated by the very person who was supposed to embody that balance.
Fortunately my friend possesses a strong Irish spirit, and he politely but firmly challenged the teacher’s approach. At which point they backed down and he returned to what he’d come there to do in the first place:
Being in Downward Dog.
The Fertilizer Theory
There’s a wonderful David Swenson — one of the genuinely good guys in the Ashtanga world.
If you ever meet him you’ll notice something immediately: despite decades of teaching and practice, he’s incredibly humble.
David has a theory about yoga practice that I’ve always loved.
He says that Ashtanga Yoga is like fertilizer.
Whatever you bring to it, the practice amplifies.
If you’re a kind, caring, thoughtful person, then years of practice will tend to deepen those qualities. It turns up the volume on the good stuff.
But if you arrive with a large ego and a slightly unpleasant personality… well, the practice can magnify that too.
In other words, yoga doesn’t magically transform your character. It reveals and intensifies what’s already there.
Which is why humility matters.
The Expert Problem
This sort of thing happens in every field.
Someone reaches a position of authority, becomes labelled an “expert,” and slowly the sense of curiosity disappears.
When that happens the world gets smaller.
Possibilities narrow. Listening stops. Certainty grows.
And suddenly the beginner’s mind has vanished.
Ironically, in practices like yoga — which are supposed to cultivate awareness and compassion — the danger of this can be quite high. The more years someone has practiced, the easier it becomes to believe they’ve got the whole thing figured out.
But the deeper you go into practice, the more you realise how much there still is to learn.
Not an Expert
I can honestly say, hand on heart, that I don’t consider myself an expert in anything.
Which might surprise some people considering I’ve been practicing and teaching yoga for more than twenty years.
But the longer I practice, the more I’m aware of my own ongoing stupidity.
And strangely enough, that’s probably the thing that helps keep me humble.
Every time I think I’ve understood something, the practice reveals another layer I’d completely missed.
Another blind spot.
Another thing to learn.
Which is why maintaining a beginner’s mind is so important.
A Mancunian Reminder
So if you ever meet me and I appear to be talking complete nonsense, please feel free to call me out on it.
Back where I’m from in Manchester (Northern England — not Manchester-on-Sea), we have a rather useful phrase for situations like that:
“Wind yer neck in.”
It’s a beautifully direct bit of Northern wisdom.
Roughly translated, it means:
Stop talking rubbish, my friend. Pay attention. Be humble.
And honestly, that’s probably pretty good advice for all of us — yoga teachers included.
