Think most yoga instructors are rich, serene deities with legions of followers? Think again.
Four years ago, I decided to become a yoga teacher. I was walking through the housing projects near my shitty Brooklyn apartment after another weekend spent making Bloody Marys for hungover strangers, and it occurred to me: You’ve been practicing yoga for seven years now. It’s the only thing you’ve ever stuck with. Teach it. So I applied for a scholarship for the $3,000-plus tuition and books for a 12-week teacher training program at a studio on Manhattan’s Upper East Side.