The Shala Daily

Matthew Lesko drove a question mark-covered mini cooper through the streets of DC. Later, a Fiat. Same question marks. He wore a matching suit. The whole thing looked ridiculous and absolutely worked. He made a career helping regular people navigate government programs and grants. Not by gatekeeping information. By translating it.

That’s the job, actually.

Teaching yoga, especially Ashtanga, can feel like wearing your own version of that suit. You’re standing between people and a practice that’s been deliberately mystified. Sanskrit terms. Lineage wars. Debates about what’s “traditional.” Meanwhile, someone just wants to know if they should bend their knee or keep it straight.

📚 Cutting Through the Catalog

Lesko made endless government catalogs navigable — where the programs were, how to apply, who qualified. That’s satya in action—truthfulness without decoration.

Teaching works the same way. You’re not inventing svadhyaya or the eight limbs. You’re pointing at them and saying: this one, try this one. Here’s how it applies to your life. Here’s the form you fill out.

The malarkey accumulates fast. Yoga has its own bureaucracy—layers of interpretation, competing schools, teachers who’d rather keep you confused than empowered. But the goods are real. The practice works. Your job is to get people to the goods.

🎯 Passion That Looks Like Service

Lesko’s passion was obvious. He wasn’t cool about it. He wore the suit. He drove the car. He believed in what he was doing enough to look silly. That’s dharma—doing your work without apology.

Teaching Ashtanga, you’re doing something similar. You’re saying: this practice changed my life, and I think it might help yours. You’re willing to demonstrate, adjust, repeat yourself, answer the same questions. You’re not precious about it. You’re in the question mark suit, metaphorically speaking.

And you have to know the real love too. Not the performance of devotion. The actual thing. The way the practice holds you when nothing else does. The way breath becomes a fact instead of a concept. You can’t fake that part. People feel it when you’re translating something you actually understand.

🔑 Making Space for Access

Lesko’s whole deal was aparigraha—non-possessiveness. He didn’t hoard information. He gave it away. He trusted that abundance meant everyone could have access.

Teaching means the same thing. You don’t own the practice. You’re a conduit. Your job is to make it easier for the next person to find what you found. To strip away the unnecessary complexity. To say: you don’t need to be flexible, enlightened, or Sanskrit-fluent. You just need to show up.

That’s the work. Wading through the malarkey so other people don’t have to. Wearing the suit. Driving the car. Believing enough to look a little ridiculous. Knowing the real love and teaching from that place.