It's not like you meant for it to happen.
But oh snap, it does.
And here's how it breaks down.
When you first start the yogification process, you somehow find your studio. Maybe it's a friend's recommendation or maybe it's a Gilt City deal. Doesn't matter. But you find a teacher you love, you get hooked and you only want to practice with YOUR TEACHER because their class is soooo many light-years beyond the other teachers.
Any other class is just NOT THE SAME, unless you're bawling your eyes out with Seane Corn at Wanderlust, in which case it is epic and you must have your picture taken with her and post said picture immediately to Instagram. #yogacrush
A year or so later, you decide you must share yoga with everyone you know, including your dog (#yogadog) and you need to become a certified yoga teacher. On this journey, you take classes from lots of different teachers. You learn new shit. You teach some people and you get nervous and potentially screw up. You now realize what being a yoga teacher actually entails.
You gain empathy.
Now you start teaching yoga. You are surrounded by yoga all day long. You carry essential oils in in your bag. You post inspiring yoga quotes. You basically OM when you exhale without even trying.
You teach now when you you used to take. You self-practice in fifteen minutes increments after your studio classes. You're ecstatic if you sneak a lunchtime class in. You don't give a shit who the teacher is or how creative the flows are. You just want to be told what to do. And when they come over and rub your feet in savasana... holy god, it feels like nirvana.
It's official. You're totally a yoga slut.