Poet, Writer, & Educator
Newton, MA

A lifetime of working in various forms of communication--teaching, leading groups, counseling, writing, directing--gives me full confidence to say, without qualification, that Bill Ryan is the most natural, and the most gifted, teacher I've ever known.  And more: in my graduate studies in communications and philosophy of education, which led to a doctorate in education from Harvard University, I met no one who possessed qualities of temperament and character, necessary in great teaching, to compare with those that are so outstanding in Bill. 

Bill's work is characterized by openness to learning from students; scrupulous preparation that always encompasses new and creative ways of helping students with problems he's observed; a light touch, sometimes humorous that sustains an environment in which students feel at ease and free to explore and question; and patience and humility.  These aspects of Bill's teaching helped me to grow as a student and as a person during 10 years of study at Brookline Tai Chi, which Bill founded.

On a more personal note, during those years I gradually absorbed Bill Ryan's way of the Tao, which he exemplifies.  As someone who was plagued with anxiety when I couldn't perform perfectly, I learned, class by class, to focus, let go, and dissolve tension in body and mind.

That practice gradually seeped into my blood and bones and breath.  In time I came to surprise myself with a reflexive, and increasing, capacity to detach and relax in difficult situations--I lost the old habits of tension and anxiety.  I'm quite certain that it took a teacher as great as Bill Ryan to do that for me.

Here's a little story of an incident I experienced to make my point: Once, on an island in Maine, where it was necessary to follow a map to keep to trails in a dense pine forest, I lost my way.  I took one wrong turn and had no idea how to proceed.

I was on a headland, near a cliff that dropped to rocks and an unforgiving ocean. Dusk was approaching.  Had I not spent several years by then studying with Bill Ryan, I don't know what would have happened after I panicked, which I surely would have done. 

But a phrase Bill always used in class when I tried too hard, thereby defeating what I was trying to do, suddenly began speaking in my skull, repeating like a mantra:  "Seventy percent.  Just do seventy percent." 

I knew then that I had to focus on each moment, step by step, move deliberately, slowly, keeping aware, trusting I would find my way.  When I saw the stones that marked the trail I'd lost, I felt that Bill Ryan, in a way, had saved my life.  Even better:  he'd taught me how to save my life.