Eat. Pray. Love. (Blog #5 11/5/08)

I was probably the last person to read Elizabeth Gilbert’s book. I loved it for so many reasons. I loved how she was able to convey how horrible her divorce was and how she could talk about her emotional insecurities and needs during such a low time without being self-pitying and whiny. I loved her turns of phrase and how she saw the world. I loved her descriptions of every step of her journey. Everyone told me that her stint in Italy was the best of the trio—and it was fun. I would love to be open enough to allow myself to meet new people and join into life the way she did. On my healthiest, most emotionally “up” day, I can’t do what she did. I would love to muck around Italy and I’ve always wanted to learn Italian, too.

I loved Indonesia. I loved how she was so moved to help her friend that she raised $18,000 in a few days to help her buy a home. I loved how appreciative her friend was, how she recognized this miracle that dropped from nowhere , how she was determined to make her life and that of her children as a result. I loved how she then began to waffle and hem and haw until the author finally figures out that she’s being held up for more money, and then has to figure out what her response to that aspect of non-Western aspect of friendship will be. How very African, was my first thought the minute her friend didn’t get the house she had said she was going to get. I loved her description of her new-found romance.

But interestingly, I found her stint in India to be one that I felt the most connection with. I don’t share most of her beliefs about God and divinity and humankind, so I was surprised at much I felt connected with her journey. She described this time in her life where she was literally unable to get up off the floor of her bathroom. After months of agonizing soul searching she decided to leave her husband. What she anticipated to be a sad-but-amicable parting became an long extended ordeal of hate and pain. During this time she was searching for an answer, a way out, a hope that there was something more and that there was a purpose to what she was enduring. Her journey along this path, however, is difficult. She finds herself having trouble concentrating, focusing, letting go, especially during her times of meditation. She uses the phrase “monkey mind” to describe the way her mind jumps in and out, back and forth, when she’s trying to focus her thoughts and energy. It’s what always happens to me when I pray. I find it so hard to be disciplined, to train my mind on God, to relax and be in that moment, to listen. I start off determined, then have a mental argument with one of the kids, then make a shopping list, then remember an appointment, etc. etc. etc. Then I fall asleep. It’s pathetic, really. Eventually she achieves a level of peace, an appreciation for the discipline, a need, really, to be disciplined in that part of her life in order for her to live. That’s the part that I know in my head, and can never seem to get to.

Someone gave me the book this summer (Karen?) and I didn’t pay a lot of attention to it. But now I think I’ll rank it as one of the best books I’ve read this year. Give it a try!