That “Eat, Pray, Love” book changed my life.
Back when the book hit, I felt a ground swell of collective “yeah…the bathroom floor crying confusion and despair - that’s me too”.
There was less isolation after that book.
There was new awareness that during the most intensely lost experiences in some of our lives, maybe we weren’t alone in that aloneness.
Maybe we shared the deep frustration with our not-fairytale adult life paths, anger at the hell-state we were battling, confusion about how to reroute…sometimes even a complete blank on any GPS destination that could lead to a remedy for the pain.
“Not here, not this” may have been all we could muster.
That book….
She left, not knowing where she was going…
Wandered through landscapes of self in search of what felt missing, I think.
I remember her rich and vibrant descriptions, reminders of the wide world we inhabit, and her stories… somehow permission slips to be… human.
Sensual indulgence with the aromas, vistas, sounds of Italy greeted her heart, alongside the previously forbidden foods and fantasy lovers.
It’s been so long, and what I recall of her Pray journey more of a gestalt, clearing space for the Love to arrive and finally find welcome….
photo credit: first edition cover art
Since the mind- and heart-opening I experienced when I read the book years ago, my own missing pieces search feels more like a mash up of Fun House and Tower Drop on repeat, interspersed with coasts through Elysian Fields just often enough to keep me from leaving the game.
Discovering my passion then finding my 3D limits…eagerly ingesting what seems like every single woo woo New Agey assurance that we are infinite limitless beings, then grappling with the actual bleeping bank account-versus-bills mismatch…so many examples I lived of paradox.
What even is “paradox”?