Eat Pray Love...then what?

Well, it was bound to happen. Oprah had Elizabeth Gilbert on her show and now the book is big-time famous. My review of Eat Pray Love is by far, the most accessed blog entry. It dramatically surpasses all the blog entries I meant to write but never got around to. We will just have to all imagine how entertaining and poignant those would have been.

I wrote the original review in April 2006 in the midst of a spiritual pilgrimage- or maybe just an early mid life crises- and it's amazing how has and has not changed in that time. For one, at that time I was beginning to fear that I would never be able have a second child. The barren months stretching endlessly. And today, I type one-handed, a nursing baby curled against me. A living, breathing blessing, if you believe in such things. Sometimes its hard not to.

And then other times....

Since reading Eat Pray Love, I've had my share of fortune and trials. I've continued my search for the eternal "meaning of life" and slowly added to my knowledge, carefully adding each fact or plausible theory to the overall equation like a little mad scientist. Then I ran into some health issues and completely lost my faith for a period of time. I believed that there was no one "looking out" for us. It was a stupid idea anyhow. Like some God in the sky was micromanaging our lives, giving me this condition and letting children starve in Sudan. It was maddening, because clearly it seemed, we were alone. Very alone. I felt like a small child. A cosmic orphan.

And yet, I looked at my earlier experiments with attraction theory- being explicit about what you wanted and waiting for the universe to make it so. It wasn't entirely a failure, that experiment. In fact, it was a little eerie. Strange enough for me to quietly send out copies of the little book (It Works) on the subject to friends in distress like a closet evangelist.

And then I started looking at healing through hypnosis, and concerned about falling into the hands of a crackpot, tried self-hypnosis and found it also sort of works. The hypnosis also helped with the onset of anxiety brought about by this condition I developed. I wasn't depressed per say, and was quite happy with life, but would be seized by bouts of anxiety where I got dizzy and wanted to jump out of my skin. Maddening. My husband was great, and in a way, it renewed my love for him- him being such a rock and safe harbor. That was a type of gift- to have such a renewed gratitude for my amazing family. In the past, having heard people say similar things "the tragedy brought us together" I thought- geez, some consolation, but now I think I understand that more.

Then I read the book "Miracle in the Andes". Which is part of the whole Alive story about the plane crash in the Andes. I don't know why I read it, I knew the story. But I'm glad I did, because I really identified with the author, one of the survivors, having gone through a transformation as a result of his experience. A transformation that I really understood in light of my own challenges, which thankfully did not include me having to watch my friends die and eat their bodies (cheap shot but you know you're all thinking it). To understand my current state, I will quote from that book, which I really related to. It's long and it's not my words, but for now, there are a lot of parallels to where I am.

"I have lived a happy life since the disaster. I have no guilt or resentments. I look forward to tomorrow and I always expect the future to be good.

“But how is that possible?” they often ask. “How can you be at peace with life after what you suffered?” I tell them I am not at peace in spite of what I suffered, but because of it. The Andes took so much from me, I explain, but they able gave me the simple insight that has liberated me and illuminated my life: Death is real, and death is very near.

In the mountains, there was never a minute that I did not feel death at my side, but the moment I stood on the summit of the mountain and saw nothing but towering peaks as far as the eye could see, was the moment all my doubts were swept away and the certainty of my own death became viscerally real. The realness of death stole my breath away, but at the same time I burned more brightly with life than I ever had before, and in the face of total hopelessness I felt a burst of joy The realness of death was so clear and so potent that for a moment it burned away everything temporary and false. Death had shown its face, dark, predatory, invincible and for a split second it seemed that beneath the fragile illusions of life, death was all there is. But then I saw that there was something in the world that not death, something just as awesome and enduring and profound. There was love, the love in my heart, and for incredible moment, as I felt this love swell- love for my father, my future, for the simple wonder of being alive- death lost its power. In that moment, I stopped running from death. Instead, I made every step a step toward love, and that saved me. I have never stopped moving toward love. Life has blessed me with material success. I like fast cars, good wine, fine food. I love to travel. I have a beautiful house in Monetvideo, and other one at the beach. I believe life should be enjoyed, but my experiences have taught me that without the love of my family and my friends, all the trappings of worldly success would ring hollow. I also know that I would be a happy man if all those trappings were taken from me, as long as I am close to the people I love.

I expect most people would like to think of themselves in this way, but I know that if I had not suffered as I did, and not been forced to stare death in the face, I would not treasure the simple precious pleasures of my life as richly as I do. There are so many perfect moments in a day and I don’t want to miss a single one- the smiles of my daughters, my wife’s embrace, a slobbering welcome from my puppy, the company of an old friend, the feel of beach sand beneath my feet, and the warm Uruguayan sun on my face. These moments bring time to a stop for me. I savor them and let each one become a miniature eternity and by living these small moments of my life so fully, I defy the shadow of death that hovers over all of us, I reaffirm my love and gratitude for all the fits I’ve been given, and I fill myself and more and more deeply with life.

In the years since the disaster, I often think of my friend Arturo Nogueira, and the conversation we had in the mountains about God. Many of my fellow survivors say they felt the personal presence of God in the Mountains. He mercifully allowed us to survive, they believe, in answer to our prayers, and they are certain it was His hand that led us home. I deeply respect the faith of my friends, but to be honest, as hard as I prayed for a miracle in the Andes, I never felt the personal presence of God. At least, I did not feel God as most people see Him. I did feel something larger than myself, something in the mountains and the glaciers and the glowing sky that, in rare moments, reassured me, and made me feel that the world was orderly and loving and good. If this was god, it was not God as a being or a spirit or some omnipotent, superhuman mind. It was not a God who would choose to save us or abandon us, or change in any way. It was simply a silence, a wholeness, an awe-inspiring simplicity. It seemed to reach me through my own feels of love, and I have often thought that when we feel what we call love, we are really feeling our connection to this awesome presence. I feel this presence when my mind quiets and I really pay attention. I don’t pretend to understand what it is or what it wants from me. I don’t want to understand these things. I have no interest in any God who can be understood, who speaks to us in one holy book or another, and who tinkers with our lives according to some divine plan, as if we were characters in a play. How can I make sense of a God who sets on religion above the rest, who answers one prayer and ignores another, who sends sixteen young men home and leaves twenty nine others dead on a mountain?

There was a time when I wanted to know that God, but I realize now that what I really wanted was the comfort of certainty, the knowledge that my God was the true God and that in the end He would reward me for my faithfulness. Now I understand that to be certain-about God, about anything- is impossible. I have lost my need to know. In those unforgettable conversations I have Artuuro as he lay dying, he told me the best way to find faith was by having the courage to doubt. I remember those words every day and I doubt, and I hope, and in this crude way I try to grope my way toward truth. I still pray the prayers I learned as a child- Hail Mary’s, Our Fathers- but I don’t imagine a wise, heavenly father listening patiently on the other end of the line. Instead, I imagine love, an ocean of love, the very source of love, and I imagine myself merging with it. I open myself to it. I try to direct that tide of love towards the people who are close to me, hoping to protect them and bind them to me forever and connect us all to whatever there is in the world that is eternal. This is a very private thing for me and I don’t try to analyze what it means. I simply like the way it makes me feel. When I pray this way, I fell as if I am connected to something good and whole and powerful. In the mountains, it was love that kept me connected to the world of the living. Courage or cleverness wouldn’t have saved me. I had no expertise to draw on so I relied upon the trust I felt in my love for my father and my future, and that trust led me home. Now I am convinced that if there is something divine in the universe, the only way I will find it is through the love I feel for my family and my friends and through the simple wonder of being alive. I don’t need any other wisdom or philosophy than this: My duty is to fill my time on Earth with as much life as possible, to become a little more human every day, and to understand that we only become human when we love. I have tired to love my friends with a loyal and generous heart. I have loved my children with all my strength. And I have loved one woman with a love that has filled my life with meaning and joy. I have suffered great losses and been blessed with great consolations, but whatever life may give me or take away, this is the simple wisdom that will always light my life: I have loved, passionately, fearlessly, with all my heart and all my soul, and I have been loved in return. For me, this is enough."

I still love the book Eat Pray Love and I'm delighted it's such a success. Though I sometimes feel like it's an old friend who went to Hollywood and became a movie star; I want to yell- hey I knew you when...!

Or at least I think that is how I would feel, given that Hollywood is not filled with people from my hometown. Or even with people who may have accidentally driven though my hometown, as far as I know.

Up for Air

Well thank heavens I stopped writing for Disney's http://www.family.com/ a week before the birth of my second son. Otherwise they'd be suing me about now for default. Why do I perpetually overestimate maternity leave? I never have the action packed, trip filled, super productive leave of my dreams.

I was mussing over this recently and I said to a friend, "next time, I'm truly going to have a good leave". They said, "You keep telling yourself that Amy. I can see you with 3, 4, 5 kids- I bet you'll eventually get that perfect maternity leave." Sigh.

The C-section infection didn't help. Nothing like an open abdominal wound for 7 weeks to take the spring out of your step and damper your summer fun! Now that its finally (thank you God) closed, I'm back on my feet. Which is useless, because even with up to 2 hours a day of walking, I haven't lost any weight since week two. Breastfeeding appetite, that scourge! Hey preggos out there, don't go gaining 42 pounds thinking you'll drop it during maternity leave. I still have 20 stubborn pounds that refuse to vacate. Which means I have to take them back to work with me in 3 weeks. Which means I need ALL NEW CLOTHES because I threw my "fat" clothes out in a fit of fitness two years ago. Egads.

So that is the bad stuff, the good stuff is I have another sweetheart. I'm smitten and in love with baby Alec, which is super since we are BFF. He eats every two hours around the clock, unless he gets hungry and steps it up to hourly. He is 9 weeks today and is almost 17lbs. Bigger than Jack was, who is projected to be around 6'10", maybe 7" as an adult. Wow. Makes me look smaller in pictures with them anyway!

I find that I love Alec and Jack differently. Jack is a little boy at age 3 who is famously for asking me 30 times a day "do you know how much I love you?" and telling me I am his best friend, and Alec, who just learned to smile (which I am crazy for and do anything to elicit from him), so you know, it's different.

In any event, I've been keeping a running mental list of things that I need to teach my kids. Things I wish I had been taught (or taught earlier), so keep your eyes open for that series forthcoming. In these last few weeks of my highly unproductive, and mostly bedridden, maternity leave.

I've done a little reading. Read Miles Levin's blog http://www.carepages.com/ServeCarePage?cpn=levinstory&uniq=812298&extrefid=tlcupdate and felt shallow but grateful. Read The Power of Now and felt confused, reading the accompanying Meditations book and felt deep. Read The Emperors Children and thought, when does this get good? Read Final Exam, virtually by accident, and through a single long night of breastfeeding. Felt maybe my lack of medical career (doctor!) wasn't a total mistake, dont think I could have survived anatomy lab!

Book Review: The Tender Bar by J.R. Moehringer

As the mother of 3 YEAR old and 3 WEEK old sons, you know a book has to be pretty good to get me blogging on it rather than using my downtime to research tube-tying surgery.

It's been some time since I have been truly inspired by an author (perhaps since Elizabeth Gilbert) and I am delighted to have discovered J.R. Moehringer. I know I said I was going to review some other books first but I got sleepy. So here are the other mini-reviews:

A Life in Smoke: A Memoir by Julia Hansen (4 stars, as a former smoker, really enjoyed it.)

Water for Elephants: A Novel by Sara Gruen (2.5 stars. It was OK, but only because I have nothing else to read, otherwise a bit boring)

Buddha: A Story of Enlightenment by Deepak Chopra (3 stars. A little disappointing, slightly boring)

I Feel Bad About My Neck: And Other Thoughts on Being a Woman by Nora Ephron (3.5 stars, A little shallow, mildly humorous)

Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky (4 stars, love those WWII genre books, true life all the better, still, not the best book Ive read from that era, but interesting)

The Glass Castle, by Jeannette Walls (4.5 stars, great memoir, really unique story)

Ok, so back to The Tender Bar...

First, I wasn't so sure about this book because the name was a little off-putting. I didn't know what it meant. I have this idea that women do most of the leisure reading, is that wrong and sexist? Maybe, but I doubt it. So, given that, the title of "bar" and the write up that it was about some guy growing up near a bar, though I love to knock some back when the opportunity arises, didn't inspire me. It sounded like a book for guys. Still, I was in a book lull, so I gave it a shot.

Well I will pull out the oldest cliche for JR- you know some people can play the notes, while others make beautiful music. JR is a writer in the truest and most elegant sense. Words must follow him around like the pied piper in endless admiration. He has "the Gift". It makes me never want to write anything again, which is how I typically react to other peoples good fortune and talents.

And yes, it is about him growing up near a bar, sort of, but it's really more about relationships and an incredibly funny/witty/wry guy and his perspective on life. He has amazing self clarity and it was a joy to read his prose. I'm sounding like a lunatic I sense, but while his story wasn't inspiring the way Eat Pray and Love was, his writing is so captivating, I'd gladly read about him taking out garbage.

Like most of my lazy reviews, I didn't summarize his book or plot, but suffice it to say, this guy deserves to be at the top of the Best Sellers list and he needs to write more- if he can. Sometimes, I think, telling ones own story has a charm that cannot be replicated in other stories, but still, JR should give it a shot because he is so funny and well, yes, I demand it.

I also wonder how people can write memoirs that include other people where the writers assessment of them lays them so bare. Are they friendless outcasts after publication? I get yelled at for even relaying a story under a fake name in my never-read blog, I cant imagine how some people feel about showing up in a best seller.

That random diatribe aside, this is a 5 star book because his writing is so charming and funny- he is truly in the class of great writers.

Buy the book!

Book Review: The Scent of God

My poor forlorn blog has been so neglected as I continue to write for my Disney's Family.com blog Just Amy.

Still, I'm way behind in my book reviews, so I figured I've give a quick update. First, I can't remember most of the books I have read recently. I'm almost 9 months pregnant and the brain is working overtime with critical complex issues such as remembering that the salt is white and the pepper is black. I also found my car keys in the refrigerator recently. Can't explain that.

However, a couple of books that do stand out include:

The Scent of God: A Memoir by Beryl Singleton Bissell

Wow, this was a great book. As many of you know, I have an ongoing existential crises and this fit that MO perfectly. This book is about a cloistered nun, which I had always regarded with a horrid fascination. Cloistered nuns are locked away from society to live a solitary contemplative life, even their families may never see their faces again. Talk about shock value. Anyway, I had always assumed these women were out of their minds, insane perhaps, but after reading this book, I actually remarked to my mother, "you know, I think if my life had gone differently, I could have become a contemplative nun."

My mother howled at this one- both of my parents were involved in Catholic religious orders for many years and obviously knows me quite well, and so could appreciate the ridiculousness of the statement from a special perspective. However, while maybe that was a stretch, there IS a part of me that finds most of life and society so superficial, I do often wonder why we dont all dedicate our lives to the search for eternal truth, I can't believe I actually spend most of my time doing things like overseeing the development of software products or picking out shingle colors for my house.

I spoke to my father about this also. My Dad spent 17 years in as a Catholic brother, which is similar to the priesthood. He experience reminded me a lot of the cloistered nun in the book, which is that even in dedicating your life to religion and seeking God, you often become no closer than anyone else. My father told me that someone once said "you find God not by looking in the clouds (as many religions would have you focus), but in the people and world around you." And this seemed very real to me as well- sometimes I look at my son and see such divine beauty in his innocence or the light in his eyes or the richness of his laugh that I am certain God could not challenge in it's purity and truth. Or in the embrace of my husband, or the comfort of my parents, or the shared joys of friendship or the filtering of sunlight through the clouds on a beautiful day. If you look, you can find this "divinity" in many places. Not all the time, but snippets here and there, enough to sustain faith. But it too, is easy enough to miss if you forget to look.

Anyway, enough of that, I have to get back to my busy day filled with things that ultimately will have no meaning (haha) but I do highly recommend this book, it was well written and quite captivating.

I hope to return soon, where I will also provide my thoughts on books such as:

• A Life in Smoke: A Memoir by Julia Hansen
• Water for Elephants: A Novel by Sara Gruen
• Buddha: A Story of Enlightenment by Deepak Chopra
• I Feel Bad About My Neck: And Other Thoughts on Being a Woman by Nora Ephron
• Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky
• The Glass Castle, by Jeannette Walls
  

Again, a sadly incomplete list of recent reading, but the library protects my privacy even from myself so I can't tell what else I might have checked out recently.

Book Review: Jump At The Sun by Kim McLarin

For some time now, authors have made it very difficult for me to follow through on my intention to review the books that I read, by writing books that left not a lot to say about them. Or only negative things to say which makes me look catty. Whenever I read another predictable boring book, I think “I can’t believe that got published! I could write a book if this is the standard!”. Then I remember that I can’t even commit to getting a paragraph out on my blog more than once a week. If that.

Anyway, finally I read a book that was intriguing enough to mention. The book is called Jump At The Sun by Kim McLarin. I’m not getting paid to summarize the plot for you (for that, you can go read all the budding book critics over on Amazon.com who fall all over themselves trying to outdo one another in plot summaries) but to set the framework, the story is about this professional and accomplished married woman with two young children who is struggling to find contentment in her life, who apparently yearns to be free to focus on her work, or at least do as she wishes. In addition to this story line, there is a parallel story line of her ancestors who were slaves, and some of those relatives also seemed to have the anti-settle down gene.

I have a love hate relationship with dual story lines in that it’s kind of a free second story, but it’s also one more thing to keep track of. Given that I usually have to read these in stops and starts, sometimes I can’t remember who is who with just one story, never mind two. And so it is with this book, there are a lot of characters to keep track of and it can get a little muddled. Especially in the historical story line.

This book has a unique story line, which makes it worth reading. It’s clearly not the 500th remake of Bridget Jones Diary, which a lot of authors apparently aspire to (note to them: It’s been done. Please stop.). However, as a warning, this book can be a little harsh for doting parents out there, like me. The woman in the story says she loves her kids, but clearly the less glamorous, tiring, frustrating things about parenting weight more heavily in her mind. It’s a little shocking to read about a mother who is not endlessly devoted or charmed by their children. However, in its darkness, I did find some things I identified with. She is an expert in the frustrations of raising children and she is very proficient in articulating the moments when you think your head is going to explode if your child repeats himself one more time (you know what I mean if this sounds familiar: “I want yogurt. I want yogurt. I want yogurt. Mommy, I want yogurt. I want yogurt...”).

She writes about how as parents, you will be surprised at your behavior occasionally when it comes to children. I suppose she is right that you would never screech like a manic and come within inches of spanking the behind of someone who was NOT your child, but then again, speaking from experience, young children are not regular adult people. Regular adult people don’t laugh when you stub your toe, or pitch a fit when you are trying to drag in heavy groceries from the car, during a hailstorm, while 8 months pregnant, after a full day at work, because they want a purple popsicle RIGHT NOW. For me personally, there are days when I wish I had a camera on me in the house to show off my endless patience, my careful teaching and purposeful interaction, and other days I stick my screaming or misbehaving kid in his crib in the middle of the day and close the door for 5 minutes to avoid having a serious meltdown of my own. At those moments, I know why I have not been signed up to star in my own reality TV series about successful parenting.

For me, it was hard not to project from the woman in the story to the author herself, however unfair that might be. I knew from her writing she had children. “Research” I’m sure is a great tool, but there are some things you can only know by having been there, and I see it in this writing. There are also thoughts in there that I definitely have never had and you can’t help but worry about how someone would even know they existed enough to write them. This is a terrible explanation, but you will know what I mean if you read it. As I was reading, I couldn’t help but feel bad that this person (author or character?) had the dutiful love, but was also consumed with the resentment and frustration. I can’t imagine life without my child, however hard it may sometimes be. Despite the inherent sacrifices of having children, it is by far the best thing I have done. If I think back to the happy highlights of life, my wedding or falling or love or the feeling as a teenage girl heading off with all my friends for a big night out or anything where you get the sense of happiness and optimism about life at that moment, having a child has brought those moments to me sometimes 100 times a day in short bursts. The most random things will bring them out- the way their hair glints in sun, the way they wrinkle their nose when they are thinking hard, or the funny thing they say at dinnertime. Whatever it is, they bring these bursts of happiness that are like a drug. They get you through the hard work of children and they are completely addictive. The love is overwhelming and it changes you forever. Except, I guess, it’s maybe not like that for everyone.

All in all, I found it to be a well written book, with unique content and an interesting, if not dark, perspective. I’ll give it 4 out of 5 stars.

Book Review: And You Know You Should Be Glad by Bob Greene

The last two days I read “And You Know You Should Be Glad” by Bob Greene. I saw it reviewed in the paper and I guess the fact that it was about Bob’s best friend from Kindergarten hit home since my husband is unnaturally attached to his best friend he met in First grade. They talk almost every day. I am a huge supporter of this relationship; having such a close friendship is rare for men, and his friend lives out of town, so it’s no skin off my back.

Anyway, Bob’s books is good, but here’s the deal- a lot of it is walking down memory lane, which for me, never having been a little boy in the 1950’s, wasn’t such a thrill ride. You would be tempted to skip over these parts entirely, except Bob would occasionally come back with some, if not profound, searingly accurate observations. For example, Bob writes:

“It was the first time we had experienced something like that. Later, in the adult world of business and gnawing ambition, we- all of us, everyone who is thrust into that larger and colder world- would go through it time and time again; seeing someone move ahead of us, seeing someone achieve something or be given something that the rest of us can only yearn for. You feel it in your stomach, you feel the sands shifting. Someone has moved beyond you and you are witness. Someone has become something different- something better- than what he or you had been before. And all you can do is watch it happen.”

Ouch. That one hurt a little. I think I’d been chalking some of that up to the Old Boys Club or whatever else. But still, I like recognizing real life in books, so it prompted me to mostly read the entire book. I seem to be getting lazy in my old age, this is the second book I publicly have admitted to skipping parts of.

Anyway, as for the present day story, it’s a tear jerker. I was crying for the last two pages and I don’t even know these guys. Sigh. I always feel so stupid when that happens; completely unsure of how I would explain what exactly I was doing (and why) if someone walked in. Then again, I challenge you *not* to cry, lets see how tough *you* are.

I wish I could find more happy books. These sad stories are like car accidents you can’t not look at. True, it was a story of a beautiful friendship and it made me think about how much I treasure my friends. But it also made me think of all of them dying. Not such a pretty picture. It was a good book. I wish I hadn’t read it.

Book Review: The Tenth Circle by Jodi Picoult

Last weekend, I read The Tenth Circle by Jodi Picoult. I’ve read Picoult’s other books, I think I liked them, they are similar to all others in that genre. I started reading the book on a Sunday morning and after sneaking pages in all day in between running after Jack, I was still reading it at 1:00am Monday morning. It was suspenseful and I was reading it like it was crack. I knew I would really regret this in the morning when I had to get up for work, but I couldn’t go to sleep without finishing it. While, despite skimming through a late story line at the end, I did. It was a bit of a “quick finish” where an author tries to tie up 30 loose strings in five pages, but it was done. I went to sleep satisfied.

The next day, I remembered my pledge to start contributing to those forums I visit a lot, like Amazon.com ratings or Allrecipes.com. Damn. Why did I have to pledge to be so consciousnesses? Anyway, feeling guilty, I did go and write a review, giving the book a good review based on how compelling I found it that I read it all in one day.

The next day, I woke up with a major “book hangover”. The more I thought about The Tenth Circle, the more I felt like I had been wearing beer goggles and hooked up with an ugly guy, who had temporarily appeared cute. In retrospect, I don’t think I actually know what the result of the main story line was. What kind of person writes a book where you get to the end and still don’t know what happened? Argh! And geez, that thing on the bridge towards the end, what was THAT about? How unrealistic can you get?!

So I think I have changed my mind. The Tenth Circle is like Chinese food- you’ll be hungry one the soy sauce high wears off. That said, I’m always impressed that anyone has the focus to sit down and write a book from beginning to end, so good for you Jodi. At least you wrote it so armchair critics like me could have something to complain about!

Book Review - "Eat Pray Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert

As an avid reader, I've come across some good books (and, of course, lots of losers). I'm not genre-specific, from mystery to "women's literature" to autobiographies to historical, I've read them all. This one, however, stunned me.

As a 30-something raised by former religious-order (Catholic) parents who ended up embracing eastern philosophy, I spent my formative years visiting ashrams, meeting mediums and gurus, meditating- all sorts of non-traditional exposure. My parents had us do the Catholic sacraments and training too. Just in case.

I married a traditional Catholic and honestly wasn't sure what I believed. I admired the complete faith of other Catholics, but I didn't feel it. In my darkest moments, I began to question whether this wasn't all random and maybe in the same way we think a dead bug is just dead, maybe that too was our fate. Gone forever- faith being just a brain-process to protect us from the truth. I sadly thought that maybe I was burdened by being one of the smart ones who was able to see this and I felt cursed that I had the intellect for it.

In recent years, I began to truly feel that existential weight- that I needed to know what this was all for. Time seemed to be slipping by so quickly it began to alarm me. I read all sorts of books from Victor Frankel to Ian Stevenson. I thought I was starting to find a path back to believing in something greater, but it seemed like "information gathering" for me vs an emotional breakthrough.

Then I read a review of this book and tacked it onto my to-read list with a bunch of others. It seemed like a chick-lit type book and those are great every now and again, like eating chocolate chip cookies for breakfast- good but best you don’t make a habit of it . When I finally got it, I checked reviews again and ALMOST DECIDED TO RETURN IT. The review I read said something along the line of: obviously a book written only as an excuse to travel around the world. That sounded dull to me but I started to read it anyway, just to see.

Well, wow. What can I say? Someone commended the author for having the courage to publish such a brutally honest and intensely personal journey of discovery. At times, that's an understatement. This book can be so forthcoming, I almost think I would edit some of the content, even contemplating only in my own mind. However, there is something so stirring and so vividly true about her story, and her humor among the gravity of seeking such divine wisdom. It felt so real. And for me, given my background, I found myself actually shedding tears several times in the book (out of seemingly nowhere)- I recognized things the author wrote that my conscious mind had forgotten. This book has put into words things that I have struggled to define. Over and over again. Its remarkable.

Beyond the deeply moving spiritual and philosophical discoveries in the book, Elizabeth is just a really really good writer. Very funny, very clever, very articulate. It made me insanely jealous of her talent. You could read this book on a "regular" level without the spiritual overtones and still find it funny.

Obviously this book wasn't intended as a religious text, but in some ways it became one to me. I will actually reread this book, which I almost never do, because in her observations I think there is profoundly deep meaning and I don't know if I could have absorbed it all the first time. The best part is that this is someone who I actually saw a lot of myself in and my friends in, not some wacky "new ager" that makes you want to roll your eyes as you find a way to extract yourself from listening to their stories.

And whoever wrote the review on Amazon about this all being about not wanting to have kids? What kind of craziness is that? The author makes brief commentary on being unsure about having kids- which 90% of us go through/went through, but she also has the wisdom to note that most parents seem to find them a metaphysical experience. And I can attest, I think my young son is a lot of the reason I began "seeking" truth because despite the endless sacrifice, there are the moments when I know I am, without question, in the presence of something that is the closest I may ever come to God in this lifetime. The radiant innocence and beauty of a child- it that doesn't break your heart open and set it free, I'm not sure what can.

What a remarkable book, and a remarkable person.


My Epilogue: Eat Pray Love...then what?