Do you take out your phone while teaching? To change the music? Text about Take-out? Social Media? Snap Pics to market/brag about your rockin’ packed class on the ‘gram? 

This, after you’ve told students to store their own phones away in cubbies? After you’ve waxed poetic on the glory of paying attention to your breath? 

Ruh. Roh.

You probably feel a little defensive right now reading this from your phone, reading it from the blog of another phone addict, yes– 

ME.

So let’s just start with that. I suffer from a condition known as: insta-phone-gratif-likemypost-heartmypic-LOVEMELOVEMELOVEME-ANSWERMENOW-ARE YOU DEAD ANSWER ME-WHO-WAS THAT ACTRESS IN THAT MOVIE I MUST KNOW NOW AT 7AM GOOGLE-addiction. A condition otherwise known as most of us in the new age of smartphone smothering ubiquity. But I’m trying, kids. I airplane mode my phone at night and I TRY SO HARD NOT to text or google for a good hour after waking until I’ve had coffee and done my daily writing exercises.

Over holiday break I got to sit away the morning phone free, angelically/furiously scribbling bile into a journal as I watched my partner stare at his phone across the room. Seeing his phone made me want (a) my phone, like my fingers itched and (b) to throw him, phone included, into the snow.

I listened to a podcast with Dax Shepard and Tal Ben Shahar-– of the infamous happiness class at Harvard and books in that realm, who I first read years ago upon the rec of my old psychologist. Smartphone use is the suspected culprit behind rising depression rates in teens. Wow. He also mentioned that if you were an alcoholic you wouldn’t go to bed with a bottle next to your pillow — but hot damn, we all do.

With our phones. Me too, man.

We’re surrounded– by phones, or other people using phones, staring at phones. You want a break from your phone? Have at it– but it would be like wanting to quit smoking and drinking while everyone around you smokes and drinks no matter where you go.

So what happens when we as yoga teachers use our phones, even minimally, while teaching?

What goes through the minds of students when I fiddle with the music during my “powerjams” class? I want that playlist perfect for each moment, which can change moment in the room, or I have to touch the phone in order to adjust the volume. Maybe my eyes spy a message banner as I do. Or perhaps you, teacher, text your BF that you want take-out Thai later, or your mysore teacher reaches out while in the room to say “hey” check out this post from @incorrectmethod. 

Let’s meet in Rumi’s field beyond right or wrong for a second, and try to work together here instead of throwing each other to the wolves.

When I’m in class or your room and you pick up your phone– I SAW IT WITH MY OWN EYES — I know we’ve lost you for a second. I know you’ve left the room, so to speak. Sometimes it evokes a desire to scratch the itch we came to yoga to forget–our phone-itis, like my partner did at home over break. Or it makes me wonder, AM I NOT ENOUGH TO DESERVE YOUR PRESENCE?

(I washed my clothes and everything, man!)

So here’s my two thumb’s worth of what I try to do (thumb free):

1. I’m going to try to make my playlist as perfect as I can so I can fiddle with tech less during that music-centric class (although it’s my only way to adjust volume, so I cannot be perfect, but let’s not let the perfect be the enemy of the good)
   
2. I’m not going to look at it except to check time/volume adjust in my other classes.
   
3. I will not text or social media during class (I don’t, generally, but I’ve heard about it being done by others) absent emergency (um, a packed class is not an emergency)
   
4. I will not take pictures or videos of you with my phone without your consent and while I’m supposed to be teaching (after class, if we agree that a video might help you see a pattern and it’s just you and me and we’re all good, that’s different, k?)
   
5. Mostly I’m going to be present for you, so I can teach you. 

I used to fall asleep at night to audio of Sharon Salzberg’s “LovingKindness” books. She tells a story about someone who made a long journey to see a famous, venerated monk. When he arrived, the monk gave him one hundred percent of his attention. He gave him the gift of presence. 

How can we pay attention to our students if we aren’t paying them attention? I may not be the best teacher in the world. Ten years, roughly, and I’m still working on so many things– on my mat and off. I don’t have all the answers and I don’t come from a place of perfection. But if there’s one gift I can give you?

 It’s the attention you deserve.