I just finished "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. To be truthful, my awareness of the book's existence was, well, non-exisitent before I saw the movie. But I love me some Julia Roberts, so I decided to make an evening of it. I texted my best friend, Becky and her sis, Meghan, and off we went. 

Julia Roberts, as always, was luminescent. The scenery was fantastic (duh). The acting was so-so, as you can expect from a book-turned-movie. All in all, I thought the movie was good. Good enough, in fact, I had to buy the book. Not to shock you all into heart failure, but I liked it even more than the movie. The movie stayed really true to the book, which was refreshing. Obviously one down-fall of making a movie from the plot of a book, especially out of a memoir, is that you loose complexity from a lot of different areas of said plot. 

*insert segway to plot summary*

Liz Gilbert is a 30-year-old married woman. She has everything an educated, ambitious American woman is supposed to want - a husband, a house, a successful career. But what's this? She's confused. Anxious. Consumed with panic. She doesn't want to be married anymore. She divorces her husband. Liz experiences a crushing depression, another failed love, and the eradication of everything she thought was supposed to be. 

She makes the radical decision to uproot. She says goodbye to aforementioned lover, stores her personals at her sister's, and takes off for a year of soul-searching. Now, now, before you start your full-on eyeball roll, hear me out. She calculates the amount of time spent in relationships. Without counting the time after breakups and before new flames ignite, she can't remember a time in the last fifteen years that she's spent more than two weeks alone. Woah. And she relays honestly that she falls hard and fast and foolishly for men. She gives of herself too freely, she says. So now, it's time to be by herself. 

First stop is Italy. Here, she will study - and indulge - in the art of pleasure. Living in Rome serves her all of the pleasures she could possibly crave. She is immersed in the sexiest culture (arguably) in the world, but ironically decides to remain abstinent for the duration of her soul-searching mission. Anyway, she learns the language, falls in love with the culture and spends her time transversing this drippingly sexy country, exploring every culinary deliciousity she can get her paws on. Bitch. 

Second stop: India. This is where she studied the art of devotion. With the help of a wise (ass) cowboy from Tejas named Richard and a native guru, Liz embarks on a solid four months of spiritual exploration. 

Last stop is Bali. How beautiful this land is. The people, the food, their tragic history. Bali is four months of learning to live in the balances of worldly pleasures and otherworldly transcendence. She became besties with a sixth-generation medicine man who calls her "Liss", and unexpectedly fell in love with a beautiful Brazillian man. 

*end segway*

Seeing the movie, you only get a snap-shot of everything Liz Gilbert. Her intensely articulate verbage invites you into the depths of her dispair and to the peaks of her joy and peace. It (honest to God/Allah/Zeus) feels like you've spent a couple hours catching up with an old friend. That's how easy her writing is to read. 

Writing a memoir on "finding yourself" is a task not taken lightly. The honesty poured into this book is astounding. This book is about taking "destiny" by the reigns and claiming responsibility for your life's contentedness. Not giving in to society's cookie cutter about what life you should be happy with living. I think the book could be represented by a single quote;

"Stop wearing your wishbone where your backbone ought to be." 

There is absolutely no good in spending your days wishing and hoping for a better tomorrow, with opportunity abound. If something is ailing you, do something. The worst thing you can do for yourself is set idly. It's easy though, not doing anything. It takes no effort, but it does take a toll. 

From this book, I've learned proactivity, if such a word exists. My fantastic boyfriend brought this idea up to me about a year ago when I was thinking about (brooding is more than accurate) how much weight I had put on. All he said was, "Then start working out." Ew! What an insensitive jerk, right? I mean, how dare he not understand my need for a magic weight-loss pill? 

Really, Jen?

Stop wishing for magic to happen, when the tools are in your hands. And what do you know. Working out proves effective in 100% of it's participants. And there are less side effects than those pesky oral medications anyway. :)