I read My Life in 23 Yoga Poses by Claire Dederer this past spring. It seemed the book de jour for the yoga community and although interested I was also a bit hesitant, I just couldn't quite place why. Dederer explores her passions; yoga, marriage and motherhood. She captures a feeling state that is personal, generational and universal. I understand why so many felt a connection with the subject matter, but yet something was missing for me. It was the joy of yoga, the release, restoration and expression of life force. I felt a small wave of unresolved depression running through the story and I found it unsettling and from a psychoanalytic point of view a bit unnerving. Throughout the book I felt she was trying to let go but couldn't. This seemed a defense mechanism she inherited from her parents who had left each other years ago but never divorced. By the end of the book Dederer had found some resolution from her childhood and peace in her present roles as mother, wife with a professional career. I'm glad she got on the mat but I think it may be time to climb on the couch as well. Well written but strangely unfulfilling.
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