Landed: A Yogi's Memoir in Pieces and Poses

In her first memoir, The Places We Left Behind, Jennifer Lang attempted to examine, in a series of short reflections and vignettes, her complex but loving relationship with her French-born husband as they attempted to build a life and family on three different continents. Her new work seeks to address her psychological journey in which she comes to accept and own what began as a marital comprise: the life she is now living in Israel.

What gives this story a unique perspective is the way that Lang, a student, practitioner, and teacher of yoga, interweaves mind-body principles of yoga as a way of finding herself in the midst of a reality that is often frustrating, confusing, and scary, but also rewarding and exhilarating. There are sections in the book in where yoga literally grounds her, compelling her, as yoga can, to glean a still center from which she can find calm and growth. Here, for example, she talks about attempting to teach yoga in Hebrew, a language which she has not fully mastered:

“In December, I inaugurate my basement studio and begin teaching at Ella Yoga. While the former is only mine and all English, the latter hired me under two conditions: speak Hebrew and build followers.

“Every time I utter a sentence, I sound like a six year-old breaking down syllables. As I escort my students into Warriors, I stumble over unbeknownst basics: weave (fingers together), fold (forward), and stretch (arms overhead).

“In New York, we called this Humble Warrior. But humble, like hundreds of words, is not in my Hebrew lexicon. Nor is devotional warrior, bound warrior, or silver surfer—all names for the same pose. No one ever says its Sanskrit name: Badha Virabhadrasana, derived from the Hindu warrior, Virabhadra.”

The book reads like watching someone try to work out, over time, the most basic rudiments of their own life. It feels like someone free associating, moving around through flashbacks, memories, conversations, reflections, and moments that still resonate, casting their implications years into the future. Through it all, overriding issues of commitment, sacrifice, acceptance, unfinished business, and self-doubt pervade the narrative. Her psychological struggle is constant and complicated by her very real love for her husband, whom she refers to as “Mari,” the French term for “husband.” This passage, in which she shares her inner dialogue as she practices Ashtanga yoga at a portside yoga studio in Tel Aviv, is a telling example:

“’I love this,’ I say, even though my nemesis, Mademoiselle Ambivalence, tries to insert herself with ‘Are you happy? Do you feel safe? Can you stay?’ I focus on the flow, shoving her aside.”

The teacher dedicates the last eight to Ella, to her staff, and to the workers at the port.

“‘For the final one,” she says, ‘dedicate it to someone important, on your mind, in your heart.’

I picture Mari.”

Ultimately, Landed is a success story. Lang comes to take full responsibility for the choices she’s made, and to fully own them, which is perhaps the best of all outcomes in a story like hers. She comes to see the arc of her life as having purpose, meaning, and value, and in this sense, she has found a hard-won peace. The ancient teachings of yoga, and the ancient complexities of her heritage, have finally come together, resolving themselves into a fully formed sense of self. She can finally look back on her years of psychic struggle with satisfaction:

“I watch my daughter with awe, unable to believe this is the same girl who didn’t want to come to this country. And, like my mother, who used to tell her friends that meeting Mari in Israel was bashert—Yiddish for fate— after enrolling me in a pilot French class in first grade, I think she was right. Maybe it was meant to be. Despite all the vicissitudes of our marriage and moves, Mari and I did the right thing.”