Dawn Cannon | JUL 28, 2026

In just a few weeks, I'll welcome the very first cohort of Pathways to Peace, a 200-hour Trauma-Informed Yoga Teacher Training. As I've been preparing for this new chapter, I've found myself reflecting less on what I want to teach and more on who I hope these future teachers become.
It keeps bringing me back to one simple question: What makes a great yoga teacher?
I certainly don't claim to have the answer. This is simply my answer—formed through years of practicing, teaching, learning, making mistakes, and being deeply influenced by teachers who have changed my life.
When I first became a yoga teacher, I believed that becoming a better teacher meant learning more.
More anatomy.
More alignment.
More philosophy.
More sequencing.
More Sanskrit.
More cueing.
To be clear, I still believe all of those things matter. They matter deeply.
A good yoga teacher understands the history and philosophy of yoga. They study the relationship between the mind, body, and spirit. They understand the purpose of each posture, its benefits, its risks, and how to adapt it for different bodies. They learn to sequence classes with intention. They continue their own practice of movement, breath, meditation, and self-study because they know that great teaching begins with remaining a student.
These are not small things. They are the foundation. But over the years, I've come to believe something else.
Technique teaches poses. Presence teaches yoga.
Those words have become a compass for me—not because technique isn't important, but because technique alone isn't enough.
One of the gifts I've received as a student came from my most recent teacher, Scott Moore. When I began studying with Scott, I assumed he would teach me how he guided Yoga Nidra. I expected to learn his methods, his style, his language. He did teach methods, style and language skills as part of the training, but that wasn’t the main lesson I learned.
Instead, he encouraged me to become a devoted student of the practice itself. He invited me into a consistent personal practice. He encouraged me to listen, to notice, and to allow the practice to shape me before I ever attempted to shape it for someone else.
Never once did he suggest that I teach exactly the way he did. Instead, he created the conditions where I could discover my own relationship with Yoga Nidra. Looking back, I realize that he wasn't trying to create another version of himself. He was helping me become more fully myself.
Around him, I always felt safe. Not because he had all the answers, but because he trusted that I would eventually find my own. It was as though he quietly held up a mirror.
In many ways, I believe that's the greatest gift any teacher can offer.
Every yoga teacher has favorite practices - favorite styles, favorite breathing techniques, favorite meditations, favorite books, favorite teachers. That is part of what makes each of us beautifully unique.
But one of the greatest lessons I've learned is that there is no single right path through yoga. The practices that transformed my life may not be the ones that transform yours.
Some students will connect most deeply through movement; others through breath; others through meditation; others through philosophy, chanting, service, or simply learning how to sit quietly with themselves for the first time.
As teachers, we offer possibilities. The student discovers the path.
I don't believe our job is to convince students that our way is the right way. As a matter of fact, I think we can unintentionally limit a student's growth when we suggest our path is the only path. Because ultimately, yoga isn't about becoming more like our teacher. It's about becoming more deeply ourselves.
For a long time, I thought yoga was about getting better at yoga - better poses, deeper stretches, longer meditations, more advanced breathing practices.
But today I see things differently. Breath isn't the destination. Movement isn't the destination. Meditation isn't the destination. They are all invitations into awareness. Yoga doesn't magically change our lives. Awareness changes our lives. The practices simply help us notice what has been there all along.
The more aware we become of our thoughts, our emotions, our habits, our nervous system, our relationships, and our patterns, the more opportunities we have to choose differently.
That awareness will look different for every student, and that's exactly as it should be.
This may have been the hardest lesson for me to learn as a teacher. When I first began teaching, I often tried to create a specific experience for everyone in the room. If I designed a class around joy, I hoped everyone would leave feeling joyful. If I planned a class around peace, I hoped everyone would leave feeling peaceful.
But over time, I realized something humbling. Every student walks into class carrying a different story - sometimes a class about joy awakens grief, sometimes a class about forgiveness stirs anger, sometimes stillness reveals anxiety before it reveals peace, and none of those experiences are wrong. In fact, they may be exactly what that student needs to meet.
Today, I no longer measure the success of a class by whether everyone leaves feeling the same thing. Instead, I hope to create a space where whatever arises can be welcomed with curiosity and compassion. That shift changed everything. I stopped trying to control the outcome. I started trusting the practice. And more importantly, I started trusting the student.
I began to understand that every person already carries the wisdom they need. My role isn't to create the experience for them—it's to create the conditions where they can recognize it.
One of the most beautiful things about yoga is that it never ends. There is always another layer to explore, another question to ask, another way to soften, and another opportunity to listen. The teachers I admire most are still curious. They continue learning. They change their minds. They refine their understanding. They remain humble enough to say, "I see this differently now."
I hope I never stop being that kind of student. Because the moment I believe I've mastered yoga is probably the moment I've stopped listening to it.
People occasionally ask me why I wanted to create a yoga teacher training. My answer usually surprises them. It has very little to do with creating more yoga teachers. It has everything to do with helping people develop a relationship with yoga that is truly their own.
Whether they ultimately connect most deeply through movement, breath, meditation, philosophy, or another path entirely doesn't matter to me. What matters is that they discover a practice that feels true - a practice they can return to for the rest of their lives.
If they eventually choose to teach, I hope they teach from that place. Not from imitation. Not from performance. But from an authentic relationship with something that has transformed them.
When students ask me what I hope they gain from teacher training, my answer isn't that I hope they memorize anatomy or become experts in sequencing—although those things are certainly important.
More than anything...I hope they know themselves better. I hope they leave more curious than when they arrived. I hope they embody four qualities that have become the heart of my own practice: Presence. Compassion. Wonder. Trust.
Because I have come to believe that the purpose of a yoga teacher is not to become the student's guide forever. It is to help the student trust the guide already within them. Perhaps that isn't only true for yoga teachers. Perhaps it's true for all of us.
Whether we teach yoga or simply practice it, maybe the invitation is the same: to become a little less interested in mastering the practice and a little more interested in allowing the practice to transform the way we meet ourselves.
If you're in the Salt Lake City area and have ever felt called to deepen your relationship with yoga—or perhaps even share it with others—I would love to invite you to learn more about Pathways to Peace, our 200-hour Trauma-Informed Yoga Teacher Training.
Whether your dream is to teach or simply to know yourself more deeply, this training is designed to help you cultivate a practice rooted in presence, compassion, wonder, and trust.
You can learn more here:
https://www.the-creatrix.net/pages/200-hr-ytt
I'd be honored to walk beside you as your own path unfolds. And whether your path ultimately leads you into a classroom or simply deeper into your own life, my hope is the same: That you become a little less interested in mastering the practice and a little more interested in allowing the practice to transform the way you meet yourself.
That is where yoga comes alive.
That is what lies beyond technique.
Dawn Cannon | JUL 28, 2026
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