what would you teach if money was no object?
the intersection of passion, profit and peace
There’s a particular type of crossroad in teaching yoga. One road coming in is your passion and your peace - the other is profit. Navigating the point at which they meet can feel messy, especially if they don’t seem to marry up.
This messiness is one of the number of reasons I would never try to make a full-time income from yoga, amongst a bunch of others.
The things I love teaching and want to share the most aren't necessarily the ones that draw the largest crowds (and the biggest bucks). Relying on my teaching to generate a larger portion of my income would stop me feeling like I had the freedom to lead and teach with my heart.
That whole topic in itself it pretty beefy - how the hell do we know what our heart wants to teach? Thriving classes in themselves would go some way towards giving me some warm and fuzzies, but is that actually my soul finding peace in what I’m teaching - or is it more about the relief and freedom that comes with financial stability?
There’s a simple question that might get you thinking…
If I paid you £1000 to guide a bunch of students through absolutely any class you liked, what would you teach that would set your heart on fire?
You can make any assumptions you want to around it - triple the price if that’s more tempting. The point is, what would purely light you up if money was no object? If the class was full regardless (spin off question - ideal number of people??) and if everyone who was there were your ideal student, who loved what you’re were offering?
Now…how does that marry up with what you do offer right now?
We all need to prioritise revenue if we want to keep the lights on and the fridge full - life doesn’t pay for itself. But I also know that the things I want to share aren’t the most obvious crowd pleasers when it comes to yoga classes.
So how do I balance the tension between passion and profitability when there’s not as much crossover as I’d like?
Personally, I do it by not making myself have to make classes work so well financially.
Needing more money would leave me making (albeit rational) decisions to teach the thing that would most effectively fill classes - but in doing so, I know I’d end up compromising on what I really loved and valued most in what I taught.
It wouldn’t be copping out either if I leant into popularity over peace, it’d be from the fundamental need to follow ‘what sells’ in order to bring in the students and earn a decent wage.
This isn’t intended to be controversial - it’s purely economics.
Certain practices, styles or classes are simply more popular than others. That doesn’t make them any better or worse, it’s just what people in that time, at that place are looking for the most of.
Trying to REALLY monetise a heartfelt passion can be soul-crushing if that thing you love simply isn’t in demand for whatever reason. I’ve seen it in different environments, in my own classes and in the broader timetabling at my studio.
I’m not saying making money purely through teaching is impossible, but if you are most passionate about sharing things off the beaten path of popularity, life is going to be harder.
There’s a place for niching, for doubling down on your people and for finding gaps - but the reality of that is that it can take real time, effort and energy (which likely won’t pay bills in a hurry).
Conversely, if you bloody LOVE teaching the very things that everyone is clamouring for, you’re in luck. There are two sides to this coin.
You just have to keep an eye on what you love most, and where that means you sit.
‘Yoga’ is broad, so when people (read: business coaches) slap the ‘anyone can make loads of money teaching yoga’ label on things, it riles me up a bit. It’s not untrue per se, but it usually requires following trends, strategising, and, adhering to the fundamental business dynamics of supply and demand. ie. it works best when you’re offering something that lots of people want.
You need to be willing to align what and how you teach with what the mass-market are looking for, because those raking in significant revenue are often doing it in a very specific way.
But if you don’t want to teach those things, no amount of clever marketing strategies, social media tactics or launch methods will put you on a level playing field with those who do.
Again - you CAN make money here (I’m not a totally debbie-downer) but it’s likely to take much longer, and you might find that lots of the typical, blanket approach ‘business advice’ doesn’t always apply to you.
It’s worthwhile keeping your eyes and awareness open to the fact that you’re choosing to take a harder route; but if that is ever getting you down - remind yourself however many thousands of times you need to that it’s a conscious decision to do what feels right and in the most alignment for you.
A couple of nights ago I taught a VERY slow class. Slower than usual. The focus was on Drishti (pun fully intended), staying with simple movement or stillness for much longer than usual and observing the difference between holding gaze, versus the usual desire to look around so much.
It was challenging in a not-so-typical way. People weren’t breaking a sweat or even really raising their HR. It’s usually a mellow class at the best of times, but this week could was barely be described as being physical. Everyone in class was a regular, but if anyone had been new they definitely could have labelled it as ‘slow and boring’ and might never have returned.
Yes it WAS slow. Yes it probably WAS a bit boring at times. But that was kind of the point…can you learn to sit in steadiness without always scouting out the next distracting thing?
And as a teacher, I fucking LOVED it.
The energy in the room. The challenge. The little lightbulb moments. The shifts. The intense focus.
To guide people through a practice like that gave me a buzz that doing 20 sun salutations never would.
Most of my practices are slower, more contemplative—and yes, they can seem ‘boring’. But they’re authentic to me. I’m more interested in building a community that values the same things that I do. I do love teaching more physical or dynamic practices but I want the movement to be a by-product, not a workout to be the point.
And that’s a slow burn, because it’s not something that has people banging down the door.
It’s a gradual process and at the heart of it all, I’m developing deeper relationships and trust over time with students who resonate with this subtler, more reflective style. Those who want sessions that linger long after they’ve walked away from class (for reasons other than their muscles aching).
But that kind of practice isn’t an easy sell.
Maybe one day this type of practice will spread, where the world suddenly starts craving that slower gentler exploratory level work en masse. Then on that day I’ll be doing the ‘mainstream thing’ and packing out classes to the rafters. But for now, it’s not shiny or the thing people are actively seeking out the most. There’s no instant gratification.
So I have to make a choice.
Do I compromise what I really love - what I really want to share - for the sake of what I know might be more popular?
If my income depended on it, yes - I might. Which is why I choose not to put myself in that situation in the first place. I need to keep that freedom to play as a teacher, and follow what keeps that buzz buzzing.
In a different context, this is a philosophy that has extended to how I show up on Instagram too.
Social media is a game, much like any business, and it follows those same rules of supply and demand. If I just wanted to grow, I simply need to play the game.
Post what’s popular. Talk about what the highest number of people want to see. Share what ‘sells’. It’s a route that chase likes and follows by echoing popular topics or jumping on the latest trends. It’s why you see sooooo many copy cat posts sharing the same shit, day after day. It’s not about the content or the value, it’s all for the likes.
So I’m having to keep checking myself and asking “is this what I really want to say, or is this what I think people want to hear?”
Everyday I see posts that I could copy that would get traction. Topics that I KNOW would garner more popularity and comments than others. Tactics I could use or controversy I could tap into purely for the views.
But is that what I’m there (and here!) for? Growth for growths sake? Or can I hang on to prioritising the things I actually care and want to talk about, even if it feels like less people are hearing it.
I’m trying, but it’s not easy.
I don’t make any real money through this work right now (other than through the amazing support of 22 paid subscribers who I love very much 😍) but I hope to at some point in the future so I can write even more, but it leaves me treading on that same rocky ground.
How easy it feels to fall into what I think I should be saying, rather than what truly resonates the most when there’s future potential earnings on the line.
Instagram has done a number on creators in the last couple of months and engagement for so many people has plummeted…the algorithm is prioritising fleeting content more than ever, favouring quickly digestible content that spreads rapidly (so basically…memes).
It feels a bit galling for anyone actually trying to share something new or different or with more meat to it than a 3 second chuckle.
I’m grateful I (unlike many others I know) don’t have a small business with income that relies on my account. But if growth were my most important metric, you can be damn sure I’d be tempted to tap into those ‘Instagram strategies’ to keep things moving.
I’ve dabbled with trends before and it’s just not really me. I don’t want to echo the noise just for bigger numbers. So I’m making a conscious choice to take a longer, slower, steeper route that aligns with what matters to me the most.
It’s tough. Trying to keep showing up and sharing the things that you know are less popular. Actively writing to and searching for the people that want to hear that something different that you want to say. But it’s SO worth it when I get the ‘thank you - I really, really needed that’ messages and the ‘you’re saying what no-one else is’ comments. Each one of those means a hundred times more to me that another hundred, anonymous followers.
It reminds me that even if fewer people are listening, the ones who are there are listening HARD.
This route means realising my teaching business might play a little smaller and slower, to a lesser number of students.
It means my writing might be seen by a smaller audience of readers.
But that’s kind of okay with me, because I’m prioritising my own love, and passion and peace above the desire to build something big, at the expense of those things.
I choose to play for me, not ‘them’.