Told to try yoga by everyone from the woman behind the counter at the co-op to the homeless guy on the corner, she signed up for her first class. Ten years ago, Claire Dederer put her back out while breastfeeding her baby daughter. In flagrant defiance of my longtime policy of never entering a structure adorned with Tibetan prayer flags, I removed my shoes, paid my ten bucks, and walked in. The only spot of color came from the Tibetan prayer flags strung over the doorway into the studio. All was white and blond and clean, as though the room had been designed for surgery, or Swedish people. (Jan.The studio was decorated in the style of Don’t Be Afraid, We’re Not a Cult. Dederer's memoir, like a challenging yoga class, flows smoothly and shows by example that a full life is one that is constantly in motion. Each chapter is titled after a different yoga pose as Dederer recounts the challenging births of her children and reflects upon her own emotionally difficult childhood and adolescence during the 1970s. With lighthearted humor and a touch of irony, Dederer introduces her readers to the culture of motherhood in north Seattle during the late 1990s, a place populated by clog-wearing attachment-parenting women whom Dederer simultaneously disdained and embraced.
But despite her misgivings and her "defiance of my longtime policy of never entering a structure adorned with Tibetan prayer flags," Dederer makes it through that first class to develop a strong commitment to yoga in addition to-and sometimes despite-raising two children, coping with a husband struggling with depression, finding time to write, along with a demanding extended family and a move from her native Seattle to Colorado. "I have never been good at sports I always feel like a spectator even in the middle of the game," writes freelance writer Dederer about her initial reluctance to attend a yoga class.
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