Her words made me pull out scrap paper and keep notes. By the end of it all I just wanted to smack her and scream, "you selfish, horrible woman, you've learned nothing!" I can see how millions of women would desire to have her experience, but are women in this country truly that shallow? Here is my in-depth review.
First of all reading her book was like reading edited excerpts from her personal journal, except they don't make sense and they are elusive. Personally if I was going to air my dirty laundry I would go for full disclosure, but there are some thoughts you should just keep to yourself. In Gilbert's case her edits only make her look like a selfish brat and her husband like some monstrous jerk. If she wanted to build sympathy or a connection with her readers, instead of looking like a pompous witch who's lead a sheltered life, stating exactly what happened would have made her seem more personable.
She lost all credibility and respect from me by violating three of my biggest pet peeves. First, she couldn't stop inserting her political opinion throughout the book. The book is suppose to be about a "journey." I didn't want to hear about her ill founded and totally useless political opinion. Second her absolute lack of understanding of how antidepressants affect the brain, their side effects, and the biological reasons one would need them, plus her irrational fear of them shows she has selective ignorance like most mainstream Americans. At one point in the book I truly questioned whether she had bipolar disorder. Last, everyone knows of my deep respect for service members. Ms Gilbert on the other had has none. On page 61 of the paperback version, I quote :" Ours is an entertainment- seeking nation, but not necessarily a pleasure-seeking one. Americans spend billions to keep themselves amused with everything from porn to theme parks, to wars..." What the <
Ms Gilbert never showed any self reflection, any remorse, any idea that her actions negatively affected others around her. She lived in her own little ego bubble. She compared her personal suffering to that of the Sicilian people, thought her personal application to the ashram would positively add to it, thought people would refer to her floor scrubbing metaphor as they do Buddha's teachings. One of the biggest things that added to her undaunted self- centeredness was the description of her pious silent self and what people would think of her by taking a vow of silence. She absolutely missed the point of a vow of silence which shows she learned nothing about finding inner peace or about becoming a better person.
The point of her trip, from my understanding, was to heal, to grow, to change, to find out who she truly was and is. I saw none of that. I saw a selfish woman indulge herself in food and language while wallowing in self pity. Then she moved on to prayer. Again learning nothing about self sacrifice, the point of getting closer to God, learning to appreciate all that she has. Last she was offered to learn from a medicine man and yet she learned nothing. Her only redeeming quality was getting a home for a Balinese woman and her children, and yet she some how turned that into self glorification.
So here is what I wrote in my book journal:
"Honestly all I could think about through the majority of the book was: what a self absorbed b****, And get off your political high horse. It must be nice to not do a G-damn thing for a year, but think about yourself. Wonder if she's capable of facing her problems realistically?'
How this book is suppose to relate to me:
April of this year marked two years since my divorce. Truth be told my marriage ended years before that. Not many people know what happened and like I said I am not one to air my dirty laundry in public, but I can say I made some mistakes, some that I feel are pretty unforgivable. A lot of what happened was due to lack of maturity (here I am strictly speaking about myself), and the inability to handle my emotions appropriately. I would like to say I have matured, that I am relatively on my way to handling my emotions, but I really don't know.
I lived back home for almost a year until I got a wild hair and decided to take a job in the middle of nowhere Montana. And thus began the whole idea that I would be experiencing my Eat, Pray, Love.
So am I having an Eat,
Pray, Love experience?
I like to think my life is more like Bridgette Jones’s Diary except I don’t have the knot of close knit
friends or the love triangle. I have stated instead of death by vodka, Chaka
Khan, and wild rabid dogs, it will be: wine, Breaking Benjamin, and a rouge
cougar. There are pervy old men where I work, but wearing a short skirt and
see-through top is not an option for revenge. Equally ridiculous things happen
to me. When I go out Ms Jones and I put an equal amount of effort into getting
ready. I never go home with a charming rouge, I go home alone. I also get hit
on by scrawny weirdoes and fat men that are older than my father.
I bet if online dating had been an option for Bridge she
would have tried it. Most undoubtedly hilarity would have ensued. In my
case…well there has been some hilarity but mostly disappointment. At first it
was one miserable date after another. People do misrepresent themselves online,
why I haven’t the slightest clue. The intent of online dating, at least for me,
is to actually meet someone. So if I am actually going to meet someone, which I
have met several, why lie about who I am just to attract someone? When they
meet me they are going to find out the truth. So I am honest. Not one person I
have spoken with or gone on a date with has been honest with me. Some lies were
minor like weight or athletic ability; some were bigger like career and age.
Others were there just to get lucky, no surprise. I am sure Bridge would have
come up with some fantastic fibs about herself, but I certainly can’t. I have a
hard enough time talking myself up.
Ms Gilbert took a year off from sex and dating to clear her
mind. One of two virtuous things she actually did and one thing we had in
common. It was easy enough for me to refrain from dating since I was living at
home and after receiving the cold shoulder from my family for a Bridgette-esque
escapade in Canada. Moving to Montana I thought meeting a whole different breed
of men might revitalize my outlook on love and the future. Unfortunately all
the men in Montana have done is made me think: so this is where serial killers
are bred. I have been on three first dates up here and several people have
tried to set me up. One person actually tried to set me up with the town drunk!
That would happen to Bridgette. What I have learned is men in Montana are good
at the first date (except the one guy that threw up before we were even served
our meal because he was so nervous), but after that first date…well they leave
a lot to be desired.
Can you see it now? It’s like a montage in a movie: me
sitting at a restaurant asking first date questions as a parade of different
types of men sit opposite me answering the questions with the strangest
answers. By the end of the montage I am blowing a stray strand of curled hair
out of my face while I am gesturing to the bar tender to refill my wine glass,
looking utterly exhausted and disappointed. After my last foray into the first
date world, which I kept quiet because I thought it held promise, I had an
epiphany I don’t think you can call something a relationship if all
conversation is conducted via text. Twenty-nine year old man (I am being kind),
text only! I learned a very valuable lesson about the text only thing the year
before. If they insist on text only, they are not telling you something. I am
not sure why I let the most recent streak of text nonsense go on as long as I
did, nor why I let him get under my skin, nor why I thought it held promise. We
did have a great first date. It’s hard to know whether Bridgette has a
vindictive side, I talk big, but I don’t have one, but if she was like me she
would know what she would like to do if she had the courage. I would want to
write a nasty review on his Match profile and the next time I saw him dump a
dark red glass of wine all over him, while smiling sweetly. I keep telling
myself he’s not worth the anger, but he’s the straw!
Bridgette did eventually finds happiness with the smart and
handsome Mr Darcy. As my luck would have it, I don’t think there is a Mr Darcy
for me. In a way I believe I will end up like Ms Havisham from Great Expectations, but instead of being
a monument to a lost love and a wedding that never happened, I will be a dusty
warning to all who play chicken to ring my doorbell that “happily ever after”
does not happen for everyone.
So I will give up on dating altogether. Now Ms Gilbert went
to an Ashram to practice yoga, pray, and find inner peace. Unfortunately I have
dumped every penny I have into a shack of a house in the middle of nowhere and
a new car. So there goes the idea of a yoga retreat. Some of us actually have
to work for a living, if you can call what I make “a living”. I would love to
do yoga on a regular basis, if it was offered in BFE. It helps me focus and
find inner peace. It helps me get closer to God without distraction. It has
been very difficult to do that up here. Montana so far has done a really good
job of humbling me, of making me struggle, reminding me of things I should have
been grateful for when I had them, and of pointing out the virtues I lack. I
have taken heavy blows to my ego. I didn’t think I had one! Montana has shown
me all the things I am missing in my life.
I have prayed all my life. I have listened to the sermons
from my church back home on prayer. The stress of my life up here has caused me
to fall heavily on prayer. I find myself wandering over to the hospital’s
chapel every night I work to sit there for five minutes and pray. Some nights
the stress level and other emotions are so overwhelming I use the prayer time
just to try and calm down. I use to go to church on a regular basis. I use to
be involved in the church, but somewhere along the way I became very private
about my faith and my relationship with God. The group setting just wasn’t for
me anymore. Out here in BFE, you go to church; you open yourself up to small
town gossip. I managed to become small town gossip without going to church, but
that’s a Ms Jones like story for another day.
Since moving to Montana I have managed to pick up my Bible
and resume reading on a regular basis. I have also been discussing my faith
again, with trusted people. Lately I have been feeling a lot like Job (although
God has not put me through the serious rigors of faith testing Job went
through, I am not that egotistical). I do not have Job’s patience and I don’t
feel like my faith is strong enough to make it through the trials I am
facing…or its more like I am not strong enough and I have no faith in man. And
this is where everyone might draw the comparison to Ms Gilbert and myself, she
breaks down several times and complains about her lack of coping skills.
I will admit, in recent years I have become weak and
dependent. I constantly whine about the state of my life, but unlike Ms
Gilbert, I can’t run away from it and I am learning to cope with it. I
constantly wonder and worry if I am wearing out my family and the few friends I
have. I had a family member once tell me you should never lay all your problems
on your friends. I have had another family member tell me there are just some
things you keep to yourself. Keeping both of these things in mind, I generally tend
to keep things bottled up until the pressure explodes in the most inappropriate
places.
Maybe I haven’t been writing enough or maybe I need to
workout more to clear my mind, or maybe I need a shrink to help me find closure
that I never seem to be able to find. At least unlike Ms Gilbert, I can admit I
need help and I know its virtues and I am not afraid of its stigma. Perhaps if
Ms Gilbert sought professional help and respected its virtues instead of being
a snob she might have learned something from her experience. On principal I
refuse to read her book about her new life. I live in reality, if I lived in Ms
Gilbert’s privileged world the following would happen:
Someone will buy my house for $65,000, no questions asked,
as is, that way I have plenty of money to move to Helena and be able to pay
down a little debt. The move to Helena will go well and I adjust well. I find a
place I can have both my dogs at an affordable cost.
I know that is not as glorious as living for four months in
Italy eating fabulous food and learning to speak the language. Not as reverent
to God as spending months meditating, or as awe inspiring as studying under a
Balinese medicine man. However, it is truly what I would want to happen. I
wrote that down, along with some other things, prayed about it, and placed it
in my Bible. In my line of work I can’t take a vow of silence, so I just write
down my prayers to be pious, if that counts.
Meditating became a cathartic release for Ms Gilbert
although she turned into self- glorification. Bridgette used flirt tactics,
making dinner for her friends, and alcohol. Although Ms Jones’ methods sound
like fun and I have certainly done them, it’s not cathartic for me. I write.
And I suppose sharing my thoughts help. And kickboxing. Unfortunately Ms
Gilbert gets paid for sharing her thoughts. I do not and hardly anyone reads
what I have to say, but if anyone reads this they will see that the Eat, Pray, Love experience is only
happens to the privileged. The rest of us are forced to take crappy jobs in the
middle of nowhere, forced to buy houses only insane people would live in,
struggle to make ends meet, go on dates with immature men and give up on
dating, rely on others for help always wondering when they are going to leave
you and always waiting for the next catastrophe.
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