I had such high hopes for Poser.
True, I was at a very different place in my life than Claire Dederer – she being married with kids, me being totally single and kid-less. Still I felt like I was going to be able to relate to her. After all, I was about to go through yoga teacher training. I was excited about yoga as a new found love, a friend who would be there on bad days and a friend who would challenge me and push me to be a better person.
Based on the description, I won’t say Claire and I were two peas in a pod, but at least two beads of the same mala string.
At first, I really enjoyed both the personal memories and the yoga tales. I shared in her successes on the mat along with her struggles, her emotional breakthroughs and sometimes the resulting breakdowns. More than anything, I was intrigued by the way she connected changes in her life with the postures from her practice.
Somewhere along the way, though, she lost me. It started to feel forced. There was no relationship between the yoga and the stories from her life, or if there was, it was lost on me. It was more like two different books that somehow were bound together…. one about learning yoga; the other a memoir of a woman raising her kids and holding on to her marriage while going through changes that had her questioning various aspects of her life.
At some point, I gave up.
The story line wasn’t strong enough to make me care anymore what happened and the yoga connection had been reduced to a few pages in each chapter that felt forced.
One day I may pick it up and try to get through it again, but for now, Poser sits on my nightstand, which, is at least better than being relegated back to the book shelf in the other room.
After all, the yogi in me is curious to find out which postures she did end up mastering as she worked to find the same balance and grounding in life that she was finding on the mat.