Eat, Pray, Love

I keep thinking about something Mr. Monroe said sometime my junior or senior year in high school. He was talking about how connected he felt with God when reading or experiencing some things, but when he went back to them later, the connection wasn't there. He described frustration, but then the realization that the things themselves weren't the point - that God can use almost anything to commune with us.

I'm reading a beautiful book called Eat, Pray, Love. When Elizabeth describes her trip to India and her talks with a crinkly-eyed Balinese Medicine Man who reads her palm, I cried. As soon as I had finished, I went back to re-read it, and nothing. Not a drop. Not that I necessarily wanted to cry again, but it somehow wasn't as achingly beautiful and I needed to feel that again. It is frustrating.

But I love this woman. I'm something like 30 pages in and want to call her up and go to her cozy, warm colored apartment and drink tea and talk about books and life and the new shoes she just bought and my newest installment of weird boy-related follies. She is so real life that I want her to know that I'm here too. I exist! I also get too emotional, I also am sometimes happy-confident, sometimes desperately needy.

Woman. We need to talk.