eat. pray. love. yep.
A few years ago, every woman I knew in Denver (and yes, Jacksonville, Susan) was reading the same book: Elizabeth Gilbert‘s Eat. Pray. Love. And every one of them told me I “must” read it. That it was written for me. That it was “the” book and…yadayada, yadayada.
Now, those who know me best also know this: tell Carla she “must” or “should” and…well, ain’t gonna happen. And before you try to determine why that is, do know that better shrinks than you–paid much more than you are for this exercise–have gone home with nothin’. 😉
But, a few weeks ago, when I was scrounging through the shelves of the oh-so-beautiful Belmar library because (a) cash-flow sucked and (b) I was, as Jackson Browne wrote so beautifully, “running on empty,” I found Gilbert’s audio set and brought it home.
WTF did I know?
As a writer, there have been times when I anticipated, moments ahead of the phrase, precisely how Gilbert would finish the sentence.
As a searcher, there have been times when I knew, down through my bones and deep in my belly, the precise feeling she was expressing.
Lose it on the bathroom floor? Yep, done that. (Actually, it was the kitchen floor.)
Find it with an older guy I never would have picked out of the Universal Catalog of Eligible Suitors? Yep, done that.
Realize that Life has a phenomenal way of taking us where we need to go–be it around the globe or across town–to our next selves? Yep, got that one, too.
So, tonight, I’m sitting here, toasting Elizabeth Gilbert. Belatedly.
Girl, you are good. And I am grateful.
And I am, as well, discovering for the umpteenth time that sometimes people, experiences, love…and stories…arrive at just the perfect moment.