Let's be honest... (Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert)

We have sacrificed way too much time on the alter of the mediocre book in hopes of finding one of “those” books. When younger, I was willing to read a few chapters in anticipation of the point where it would hook me, and by that time, whether it had done its job or not, I was committed.

I don’t have that kind of patience anymore. Every last bit of it was exhausted by people who eat lunch while they’re talking on their cell phones, traveling one mile under the legal speed limit, in the fast lane, with their blinker on when I am late or even worse... have to go to the bathroom! ( For the mothers of young children among you, think, “Screaming entity in car seat” )

Like I said, spent, so a book has two pages to woo me, three if it buys me a glass of wine, otherwise, I’m outta there, thank you very much. I’m only interested in a book that sweeps me off my feet. It has to transport me or transform me and nothing else will do.

Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat Pray Love is one of those books, those rare gifts that did both and now it’s a movie. I won’t see it, but on some level I’m glad, because it’s made more people want to read the book, though ‘I’m trying to be glad’, is closer to the truth. I searched and didn't find any reference to it by the bookish beauties who create this literary oasis, but if I missed it, I apologize for being redundant.

Assuming you don’t live under a rock but allowing for the possibility that you’ve been reeeeeally busy, it’s the true story of a woman’s life in metamorphosis and the transforming power of throwing yourself into your own life, consequences be danged to heck.

The almost too much longer version is: mid thirties, married, slight nervous breakdown, runs very far away from home, eats, starting to feel pretty good about it all, more travel, larger or smaller breakdown depending on how you look at it, a lot of praying followed by more traveling and finally love, both of herself and a man, in Italy, India and Bali, respectively. The three countries are so pivotal to what happens to Gilbert that they become characters in a sense, but some how I don’t think of it as a travel book, though it did make me want very much to go to India. Road trip anyone?

Here is where I would insert the photo of my dog-eared, highlighted, tea and tear stained copy complete with margin notes, but I don’t own one. Even though I’ve lost count of the number of copies I’ve bought, I can’t include an original picture, because I keep giving them away, the last one just two days ago.

Instead, here are my 109 beads, one for each chapter. I think Mrs. Baja Greenawalt would understand.