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Book Review: Eat, Pray, Love

I know what you’re thinking. Enough Eat, Pray, Love already.

Everywhere I go – subway, airport, bakery – someone is reading it. By someone I mean the 90% of the American female population.

Tomorrow, the movie comes out. And more women will be eating, praying and loving again.

But, in my opinion, popular does not equal trite. This book has had the power to change many lives, including my friends and my own. In fact, I actually know a man that read it. And loved it. (Though, admittedly, he did not read it in public for fear of being mocked by others).

Let’s take a look at the universality of this piece. Elizabeth Gilbert, at 31, realizes the American dream (husband, suburbs, children) is not what she wants. A faint internal voice murmurs this reality until it gets so loud that the voice is screaming – and she ends up on the bathroom floor wailing one evening, knowing that change is mandatory. Subsequent chapters describe her journey through Italy, India and Indonesia in an effort to challenge herself to find some inner truth.

Now, let’s back up to the bathroom floor part. I can guarantee with 100% certainty that 95% of the women I know have found themselves on the bathroom floor in a similar fetal position, bemoaning some aspect of their lives that is no longer tolerable. The other 5% are in denial.

This fact is what makes the book so inspiring and yes, popular.

But some people didn’t like it.

Some question it and cite comparative views to other inspirational books and women. I get it. Is finding your answer and purpose all about traveling the world? But what if we don’t have the money, resources or time to do so?

I think there are ways. In my view, the book’s popularity has only had positive repercussions. Women practicing yoga is at an all-time high. Gilbert’s book signings and readings are often sold out. I even wrote to her to let her know how the book changed my life and she wrote back personally, mentioning that the hundreds of letters she’s received have given her great comfort by sharing her truth.

And she dEat Pray Loveoesn’t claim to be the Sage For All Women. I saw her speak in Chicago last year and she admitted that since the book, she’s had many low times too. She’s what I might call a Regular Person.

And a Regular Person has the power to choose his or her own adventure and create their own reality in whatever way they are able. I’ve found that it just takes a dash of willingness to plant, tend to and grow your own juicy life, with or without an official passport.

I hesitate to write more about the plot, evolution of character or outcomes because it takes everyone’s personal filter to understand how it will impact you.

But take a look and decide for yourself.  If you’ve read it – or even if you haven’t – I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Did you like it? Why? Did you hate it? Tell all.

I’m proud to say, though, that Gilbert has been the inspiration for me to get off the couch, dust myself off and get writing again.

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From The Afghan Women’s Writing Project: I Am For Sale, Part II

During the past few weeks, I’ve been volunteering as a writing mentor for the Afghan Women’s Writing Project. The experience has been no less than amazing.

As many of you know, I’ve been actively vocal about AWWP, featured an interview with founder Masha Hamilton last year and re-posted (with permission) “I Am For Sale, Who Will Buy Me?” – one of the most fascinating, real stories I’ve ever read.

This is part 2 of that story, re-published with permission from Masha Hamilton and the AWWP team. Please also take the time to read the amazing words from the AWWP members on the site.

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I Am For Sale, Part II

Editor’s note: This is a follow-up from the essay that ran in January, I Am For Sale, Who Will Buy Me?, by one of our writers who faced a forced marriage. Thanks to an outpouring of help from readers and others, she was able to match the bride price and buy her freedom. This is what her life has been like since then.

I was for sale, and had three months to find a solution or accept my fate. I stood with helpless hands, but I was lucky, the luckiest woman in my country; with help, I was able to buy my freedom. Among millions of Afghan women, I stood up to our crazy culture and its violence against females. After I bought my freedom, I thought it was the end of violence against me, the end of torment in my life, the end of tears.

My family moved from the house where they were living, hiding their new location from Uncle. Uncle began searching for me, following me step by step. He did not know I had married another, but our disappearance posed a question. I was a wanted person for him. I had broken his pride and power; I stood in front of his money and wealth. Because of this, Uncle wanted one thing: revenge. He no longer wanted to buy me as a wife for his son. Now, he wanted to buy me as a slave.

He found my brother and kidnapped him, taking him to southern Afghanistan, and sent warnings. He wanted me, but my coward uncle held my brother to try to find me. Uncle sent word that if I didn’t appear before him and answer his questions in front of a jirga (a tribal assembly of elders that makes decisions by consensus), he would cut off my brother’s fingers. I didn’t know what to do, but I told myself it was my right to buy myself, to buy my freedom.

A month passed in this way. Then I learned Uncle had cut off three of my brother’s fingers. I can’t tell you the pain I felt. I didn’t think I had my own fingers. It was my fault because I know my country; I know my family.

Now Uncle knows I am married to another, and he can’t tolerate it, that a woman broke his pride and power. “How dare she escape from my decisions? How dare a woman do this? I don’t let a woman stand in front of me.” Uncle sent a message to my mother, ordering me to appear before him, to say I’m sorry, and he wants my husband to apologize too and give Uncle one of his sisters as a slave. Uncle wants another deal; he wants his pride back. He wants to continue enmity generation by generation, and he wants not only me, but my children and all my family to pay the price for my decision.

When I bought myself, I was proud of my success. I still am, but I also am not. I can’t forgive myself if all my family members are sad, disturbed and disabled for me. Did I deserve freedom so that another young girl must now give up hers? Did I deserve the freedom that cost my brother part of his body? Is it ever possible to bring a positive change when we struggle against forced arranged marriage?

I live with my husband, and we are happy, very happy, but we feel life is short. We wait to hear what Uncle will do next. To be honest, I sometimes feel I don’t have the energy to continue, but I think of a man who took my hands and taught me all men are not cruel. I am concerned for my husband, and I live for him and my sick mother and my dreams for my education.

I don’t see a solution. In my country, I am considered bad, and people blame me for standing against my family, failing to respect my elders, and rejecting a life serving the husband my uncle chose for me whom I didn’t love. Only my pen tolerates my choices. I bought my freedom, but violence still follows me, and I can’t escape, and I still wish I was not a woman.

By Anonymous

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Flying By The Seat Of Your Pants

This is another guest post by Andrea Preziotti. You can read more of  Andrea’s writing on her blog, Finding Your Own Voice, and follow her on Twitter.

Planning a leisure trip is just as much fun as going on one. While not for the faint of heart, it’s exciting. It’s the research and discovery mode that brings the dreaming and hoping to life. Where to go, what to see, how to get there, the planning is armchair traveling at it’s best.

Flying By The Seat of Your PantsJust think of how much time is spent online searching destinations, in the library or bookstore flipping through travel books, or with friends gathering travel advice and tips. We spend hours making lists, poring over maps, comparing hotel and restaurant reviews, deciding on what to pack. What if you threw all that cautionary planning to the wind and left it open to chance?

In a perfect (and cost-free) world, the idea of spinning the globe, eyes closed and finger pointed toward the sphere is one way to pick your next travel location. But let’s be realistic not every one has the means to travel to exotic places at the drop of a hat.

So what’s a person with wanderlust to do? Fly by the seat of their pants (not literally, that would hurt!) of course. The concept of last-minute travel is enticing. You choose a weekend, add a vacation day or two to make it a long one, then pick a place and go.

Flying by the seat of your pants travel planning is not for everyone. It requires a sizeable, sometimes excruciating amount of patience, and flexibility. It involves trolling airfare and travel sites for last-minute deals, conference call decision-making (when traveling with friends) and the ability to pounce on the enter key with amazing agility. Be forewarned that you may be required to make a last ditch attempt to procure vaccinations for archaic diseases like Typhoid fever.

The process invokes a racing heart of a different color that may include but is not limited to palpitations, nerves, anxiety and “what the hell am I doing” self-talk. If you can get past all that without suffering a breakdown or a hospital stay then you’re well on your way to reap the rewards of your efforts. Rewards you say? Yes rewards like affordable packages, deep discounts at luxury resorts, airfares for a song. With a plane ticket and accommodations in place all that’s left is to discover all the magic your next destination has to offer.

Last-minute travelers account for more than 30% of the leisure trips taken each year. When was yours?

Photo credit: http://www.giseleart.com

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