right path

Not attaining enlightenment after deciding to, oh, about three pages into Eat Pray Love, for instance, had me a little down on myself. I meditated a total of thirty-seven minutes in two separate sessions about two weeks apart and found myself wondering, where is my blue light? Which I know is, well I don’t want to say ridiculous, because I know in my budding wisdom that beating myself up is not the Right Path, as the Buddhists would say, but I could maybe give myself a little more time to achieve the heightened states of consciousness that Elizabeth Gilbert makes sound so enticing, that took her at least five months and however many pages to reach in her life. And if I can’t get to Italy or India, at least I can go to a good Italian restaurant, and sit in my living room listening to my mind. So far I’ve been to a good French restaurant (rack of lamb and potatoes au gratin anyone?) and have sat myself down, and even though it doesn’t last long, it does feel like a vacation from my usual life of eternally explaining to my three year-old son why we don't dance with a glass of milk on the sofa. For instance. So I'm hopeful. I also seem to recollect that it’s best not to talk about your meditation practice, or your yoga practice, New Years’ resolutions, etc. But talk I do, because that’s what I do. I love to share.

eat pray seethe

I never got be Madonna. Or Gwyneth Paltrow, or Amy Stein from camp, or Susan Amoroso from sixth grade. I have a history of wishing to be other people. And today it pains me that I am not Liz Gilbert. I am not an intrepid world traveler, I am not becoming fluent in Italian, or on the bestseller list, all before my thirty-eighth year. I am not tall and blond…Okay I like my dark hair, especially as I have usurped my Angelina Jolie girl-crush with Penelope Cruz after watching Volver on Netflix…