A few years ago, as I was preparing to go on a little trip and looking for reading material, I bumped into an acquaintance of mine who told me, "Oh, you must read Eat, Pray, Love - it changed my life!"
So thinking this was what I had been waiting for all these years, and surely would either be my Holy Grail or Fountain of Youth in the guise of a book, I RAN - literally - to the nearest book store to buy my copy.
I was half way through it before my vacation began, impatiently speed reading it to find what, indeed, was life changing about Elizabeth Gilbert's experience.
I never did find it, although I enjoyed the book for what it was: one woman's experience with divorce and the interesting year of introspection that followed it. And I would love to count Gilbert amongst my friends, clearly she is an interesting person I could have some great conversations with. But what's the big deal about two people splitting up early in a marriage, dividing their assets (and perhaps friends), and sailing off into the sunset?
I do remember reading, and re-reading, the passage near the beginning where she wakes up in the middle of the night and decides to leave her husband. I kept looking for a clue: where did this conviction come from?? And why couldn't I have had a similar experience BEFORE children came into the mix? Sadly (for me, anyway) it seems to be a case of too little too late.
Watching the newly released movie again reminded me of the frustration I felt when reading the novel: divorce, without children involved, just seems like an entirely different beast. They don't ever need to see each other again, let alone talk at length about issues surrounding children.
And as for the year spent traveling to Italy, India and Bali - well, let's just say I salivate to think about spending an evening on my own in my house, never mind a year in such interesting places. I applaud Elizabeth Gilbert for seizing the day, but I relate to her situation as much as I relate to the idea that a young prince will knock at my door and carry me away from this tower that holds me prisoner: not likely to ever happen.
It is all - like most books I read - wishful thinking.
There is no possibility of a year long vacation for me. Instead I have taken up piano (left brain exercise, like learning Italian) and continue to do my yoga podcasts in my own studio (read: living room) while my kids are at school, and dream about, well, a lot of things: a divorce that would be as simple as hers, a marriage that actually worked, or simply the day when I am no longer tortured by the decision to stay or leave this marriage.
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