I stepped out the door at 5.55 and it was raining. Sh*****t, I said out loud. And then I thougt: So what? I just go to the studio and I will see what happens. Nothing happened, of course. My pants were a little wet, but my hooded large coat (I am still in my winter coat even though it is May) kept the rest of me dry. In the shala it was 23 degrees (Celcius of course, since I am in the Netherlands) and my pants were dry soon.
I rolled out my mat next to a girl who was doing some really advanced asanas. I wanted to stop and stare, but I remembered I was in the shala not to stare at another person, but to do my own practice. It got me thinking about writing. As a writer, you need stories, ideas, inspiraton. If I want a story, I can go to a bar and listen to the people next to me. I can hop on the train and listen to the passengers who travel together. I can observe people in the streets. There's always someone who gives me an idea (without them knowing they've provided me with inspiration).
Yoga is different. I cannot observe the people, even though I would very much like so. If have to practice my own practice, focus on my breathing and focus on my inside. Luckily, I can find a great deal of stories there, too.