I’ve been meaning to write a blog post a week, but when I open up my computer, I feel immediately exhausted by everything else I should be doing. That whole I’m-at-the-precipice-of-this-incredible-new-life feeling is a little overshadowed by the whole Getting-a-job-and-life-and-apartment-is-like-really-freaking-hard feeling.
It doesn’t hurt that I’m also feeling pressure from classes (which are amazing), my sorority (also amazing), and a long-distance relationship (you guessed it—amazing). I’m complaining about all these incredible things because I’m an over-stressed emotional cutter who’s never read Ekhart Tolle a day in her life and likes to ruin happy moments (in the now) by writing color-coded lists about things that need to be done (in the future), and also casually forgetting rules about run-on sentences.
But I digress…
In this fluster-cluck of a week, I’m returning to my (inspirational) roots. I’m cuddling up with decaf green tea and chatting about life and the pursuits of pleasure, devotion and (perhaps most importantly) balance with my girl, Liz. Ladies and gents, I’m reading me some Eat, Pray, Love.
Say what you will about the commercialism of Gilbert’s book (it’s Oprah-endorsed, and the beloved topic of many-a-book club), but this story means so much to me. You could argue that EPL taught me how to write, how to read, how to travel, and how to chill the fuck out and be for once in my life. Homegirl’s my guru. Homeguru. Whatever.
My copy is aged and torn and loved and covered in notes and what might be a PB&J sandwich from my sophomore year of high school. But I’m hoping that revisiting those discolored old pages will bring me more than pleasure, devotion, and balance. I’m hoping it’ll bring me inspiration. Okay, and maybe a job.
And (so long as we’re discussing it) a studio apartment in Manhattan for less than $1,000 a month.
Okay, I think I’m done now.