Eat. Pray. Love.

So, I read this book…

A few years ago, right after Mike and I separated and I was living by myself for the first time in years, in this little shanty just outside of town, I picked up this book called Eat.  Pray.  Love.  Ever heard of it? It was a big deal.   Hollywood made a movie out of it.  They casted Julia Roberts to star.  The movie wasn’t a blockbuster, but the book was a best seller.  It doesn’t necessarily qualify as a literary masterpiece, but it’s very poignant and honest and beautifully written.  And it is VERY relatable for a recent divorcé.  As I read it, I heard every word and felt every emotion.  It was like she was writing my story.  From the sobbing on the bathroom floor in a loveless marriage, to moving from a comfortable house in the suburbs into a smaller, less desirable place, to the boyfriend who was going to save her soul, and of course didn’t…I got it.  ALL OF IT.  I was engaged.  And captivated.  And when she said “I just needed to get away from it all.”  I got that too!!!  But what she said next effected me more than anything else that came before or after in the book.  She said that she pitched a book idea to her publisher and they footed the bill for a year-long vacation.  Italy.  India.  Indonesia.  All expenses paid.  Just come back and write about what you did there, they told her. 

Uh…What??? 

Getting Away

When I fantasized about getting “away from it all”, I was dreaming about a week on the North Shore of Kauai, or a quick trip to visit old friends on the East Coast, or even just a weekend in Santa Barbara.  In reality, though, I got away from it all with a trip to the smoke pit at lunch.  It never occurred to me that “getting away” could mean escaping the plague of reality for an ENTIRE YEAR without having to pay a dime for the solace.  Where the fuck was my publisher? 

That’s when I started to call bullshit on the sob story.  Where this woman was talking about having panic attacks while eating or meditating, rent free, I was having panic attacks about keeping my job and my house.  While this woman was getting paid to learn the value of solitude, I was learning the cost of seclusion.  While this woman was being embraced by the man of her dreams, the man of mine was alienating me.  Suddenly, it wasn’t such a good book.  It became more confining than liberating.  It became the other side of the mirror.  And that’s the thing about life, there’s always another side.  There is always another hurdle.  There’s always more bullshit to contend with than was advertised.  There is never any “getting away.” 

This is not a book review, this is real life.

Now, don’t get me wrong.  The smoke pit is a great place to regroup and recover.  Every couple of hours, there’s a break in the mundane; a break from the monotony.  But it’s not a year of good meals and meditation and tropical islands.  It’s the smoke pit.  It’s dirty and disgusting and full of heavy angst.  But that’s where real people go to recover.   It’s reality.  But on days like today, when I get a past due notice from PG&E,  I wish the smoke pit wasn’t the only place I could travel to.  I wish that the only love story I knew was someone else’s.  I wish that the phone call I got at 3:PM wasn’t about work, but about dinner or drinks or moving to Bali.  I wish I didn’t feel so out of place when I’m in a room full of people I love.  I wish.  I wish.  I wish….

Eat.  Pray.  Love. 

So, the book was a bust.  But, very often, so is life.  I’ll pay PG&E tomorrow.  I’ll keep listening to love songs, even though they will never be mine.  I’ll answer the phone again.  And I’ll keep loving my people.  Because they are amazing.  And they love me back…for some reason.  Also, I will continue to eat, pray and love.  Those are the greatest gifts we are given.  Even if they don’t pay the bills. 

OK, I changed my mind.  The book wasn’t  a total bust. 

-Inner Peas