Book: I Am the Messenger
Author: Markus Zusak
Pages: 357
This is the second book I've read by Markus Zusak. The first one, The Book Thief, was an incredible read. I was prepared to be disappointed, but turns out I really liked this one as well. It was a lot different, but in a way, much the same.
Ed Kennedy is your average boring 19 year old who drives people around town in a cab that he lied about his age to get. His friends are equally as dull--on the outside--and they get together a few times a week to play cards.
After being present for a bank robbery and foiling the burglar attempt to escape, Ed is regarded as the local hero. A few nights later, the first ace card shows up in his mailbox with three addresses and times on it. He mulls over what to do and eventually finds his way to the three listed homes. It's here that he realizes he is suppose to help these people with reaching their true potential.
As he crosses each house off, Ed finally starts to evaluate himself and his life. His mom hates him for never leaving town. He hates himself for getting stuck there. Then the next ace card shows up with three more obscure clues and he's off on another hunt. Whereas Ed starts off helping other people, it's really himself he's saving.
The ending at first was a bit vague and disappointing but after contemplating it for a few days, I finally understand that it couldn't have been written any differently--or better. Sometimes, I get so involved in a story that I picture the ending somewhere in the middle of the story and then get thrown off track when it's not what I expect.
I thought this was a great story with a fun writing style. Zusak has a knack for introducing a different point of view into his books. While I didn't enjoy it as much as I did the Book Thief, it was definitely a good book. Word of caution though--while it's billed as a young adult book, the language is attrocious. For the most part, it doesn't distract from the overall meaning of the book, though I'm surprised that it would be classified as a young adult read. The Book Thief wasn't like that, so it's not the author's style per se, but perhaps his experience as a 19 year old boy.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Judgement Day
Today was the day I've been awaiting--dreading--since December when I received notification that I still had not passed the GRE math subject test.
I've been studying my little brain out for the last few weeks, though I probably could've studied more. You can always study just a little bit more, can't you? I don't ever want to see another math problem as long as I live.
So, the second time I took the test, I didn't tell anyone outside of my family. None of my friends knew. None of the neighbors knew. I was embarassed I was retaking the test. The third time, I told people afterwards. This time, I was much more open about it, actually soliciting prayers and well wishes from everyone around me. I hope it worked.
Initially, I was suppose to take Josh to my in-laws, go to the test, come back, pick up Josh, my mother-in-law and Wade's grandma and go to a baby shower down in Provo. However, Josh woke up with a really bad fever and so I didn't take him down to the shower. That meant an extra 40 minutes of sleep.
I arrived on campus with plenty of time to spare. I sat in the parking lot debating on whether I should go inside and wait and risk having people from my "former" life see me there...again. However, as I got to thinking, if they're seeing me it's because they haven't passed it either, so I didn't feel nearly as bad.
Sure enough, inside were two friends I studied with last year. We got kind of caught up. One just became a father a few months ago and the other one is marrying the other girl in the study group in June. I was blown away. When did that happen?
I think part of my problem with testing is that I can't effectively block out all outside interruptions. In fact, they seem to intensify while I'm taking a test. For instance, I go bonkers if someone has a cold and keeps sniffling. I'm not so much like that in other settings, but during a test, it's the only thing I can concentrate on. The other thing is temperature. I hate being too cold. And it seems that a lot of rooms at 8:30 on a Saturday morning at the University of Utah campus are cold. This time, though it was gorgeous outside, I wore layers and shoes, not flip flops. Every test, this one and all others I've taken, I can pinpoint the person who ruins it for me. The one person who breaks my concentration. Today it was the guy next to me with--and I'm dead serious--two bananas, an apple, a bagel, and an entire tub of cream cheese. He told the test proctors that he was diabetic. I'm no rocket scientist--this is my fourth time taking the test--but I can guarantee that no diabetic is going to keel over in the three hour test time. I mean, they have medication for the disease. People have learned to deal with it without carting in their entire pantry. The kicker was that just before the test started, he leaned over and said "do you want to know a secret?" I replied, "sure. What's your secret?" "I'm not really a diabetic. I'm trying to build muscle so I need to eat all the time." The logic is a little lost on me as well. But he did have some muscles for such a tiny little man. So throughout the test, I get to smell and listen to him "gain" muscle. Nice.
My stragedy for this go round was that I was going to go through the entire test and circle the problems I knew I could attempt and then do those first. That's how I did the first five problems (there's 66.) After starting over and more thoroughly looking over the problems, I was able to complete about 6 more. After that, it was a wing and a prayer. I was able to do 20 of them. I figure if I get half right, my raw score will be an 8 which might be good enough to pass. Laws of probability have my actual number right closer to 13, so that would be a raw score of 12 and I would definitely pass then. However, I felt much better about this test when I left than the other three. It's either I passed or I've grown ambivolent to the feelings of failure.
So when do I find out? I can find out if I'm pregnant in 3 minutes and I can get a firearm in three days, but apparently technology has not advanced to the point where I can find out if I passed the stupid test in less than 42 days--six weeks. Mind you, our house was built in a mere 56 days.
I came home and immediately felt a sense of...something. I can't quite place my finger on it. I've been so busy the last two years, that it seems almost sad that this could really be the end of this chapter. Before this last attempt, it was the cruise, and then attempt three, then the marathon and attempt two, plus finishing up school and attempt one and...There seems to be a void where this test has loomed over my head. I'm not in the clearing yet, but I have a really good feeling about this one. Now what?
I've been studying my little brain out for the last few weeks, though I probably could've studied more. You can always study just a little bit more, can't you? I don't ever want to see another math problem as long as I live.
So, the second time I took the test, I didn't tell anyone outside of my family. None of my friends knew. None of the neighbors knew. I was embarassed I was retaking the test. The third time, I told people afterwards. This time, I was much more open about it, actually soliciting prayers and well wishes from everyone around me. I hope it worked.
Initially, I was suppose to take Josh to my in-laws, go to the test, come back, pick up Josh, my mother-in-law and Wade's grandma and go to a baby shower down in Provo. However, Josh woke up with a really bad fever and so I didn't take him down to the shower. That meant an extra 40 minutes of sleep.
I arrived on campus with plenty of time to spare. I sat in the parking lot debating on whether I should go inside and wait and risk having people from my "former" life see me there...again. However, as I got to thinking, if they're seeing me it's because they haven't passed it either, so I didn't feel nearly as bad.
Sure enough, inside were two friends I studied with last year. We got kind of caught up. One just became a father a few months ago and the other one is marrying the other girl in the study group in June. I was blown away. When did that happen?
I think part of my problem with testing is that I can't effectively block out all outside interruptions. In fact, they seem to intensify while I'm taking a test. For instance, I go bonkers if someone has a cold and keeps sniffling. I'm not so much like that in other settings, but during a test, it's the only thing I can concentrate on. The other thing is temperature. I hate being too cold. And it seems that a lot of rooms at 8:30 on a Saturday morning at the University of Utah campus are cold. This time, though it was gorgeous outside, I wore layers and shoes, not flip flops. Every test, this one and all others I've taken, I can pinpoint the person who ruins it for me. The one person who breaks my concentration. Today it was the guy next to me with--and I'm dead serious--two bananas, an apple, a bagel, and an entire tub of cream cheese. He told the test proctors that he was diabetic. I'm no rocket scientist--this is my fourth time taking the test--but I can guarantee that no diabetic is going to keel over in the three hour test time. I mean, they have medication for the disease. People have learned to deal with it without carting in their entire pantry. The kicker was that just before the test started, he leaned over and said "do you want to know a secret?" I replied, "sure. What's your secret?" "I'm not really a diabetic. I'm trying to build muscle so I need to eat all the time." The logic is a little lost on me as well. But he did have some muscles for such a tiny little man. So throughout the test, I get to smell and listen to him "gain" muscle. Nice.
My stragedy for this go round was that I was going to go through the entire test and circle the problems I knew I could attempt and then do those first. That's how I did the first five problems (there's 66.) After starting over and more thoroughly looking over the problems, I was able to complete about 6 more. After that, it was a wing and a prayer. I was able to do 20 of them. I figure if I get half right, my raw score will be an 8 which might be good enough to pass. Laws of probability have my actual number right closer to 13, so that would be a raw score of 12 and I would definitely pass then. However, I felt much better about this test when I left than the other three. It's either I passed or I've grown ambivolent to the feelings of failure.
So when do I find out? I can find out if I'm pregnant in 3 minutes and I can get a firearm in three days, but apparently technology has not advanced to the point where I can find out if I passed the stupid test in less than 42 days--six weeks. Mind you, our house was built in a mere 56 days.
I came home and immediately felt a sense of...something. I can't quite place my finger on it. I've been so busy the last two years, that it seems almost sad that this could really be the end of this chapter. Before this last attempt, it was the cruise, and then attempt three, then the marathon and attempt two, plus finishing up school and attempt one and...There seems to be a void where this test has loomed over my head. I'm not in the clearing yet, but I have a really good feeling about this one. Now what?
Friday, April 11, 2008
Book Review Friday 4/11/2008
Book: When Friendship Hurts
Author: Jan Yager, Ph.D.
Pages: 220
I originally thought that maybe this book would help me deal with a friendship that has soured over the last few weeks. But the book was way too bizarre. It had a few redeeming factors about it--a description of the 21 types of negative friends and how to associate with them at their level as well as a few guidelines as to when to save a friendship and when to let it go. However, for the most part, the people surveyed about their friendships had really strange back stories involving screwed up childhoods filled with abuse and incest. Can you really generalize friendships based on the ones people who lived these hideous childhoods have? There has to be some lingering effects from continual abuse that overplays into social situations, right?
On that regard, I found the book a little off base. I think that in order to generalize a relationship as broad as friendship, you have to take a bigger and more diverse cross section of the general population. 188 people is not enough to gather inf0rmation, especially if you're population is slightly skewed by past issues. Also, the author tries to tie sibling and parental relationships in to why a friend acts like they do. I think that's a bunch of hooey. I know plenty of people with "bad" childhoods who turned out good, while those with "good" childhoods go off the deep end. I think we, as a society, tend to place blame on everyone around us for not cultivating the perfect speciman, but we don't ask ourselves what we're doing to better our lives. It shouldn't be anyone else's responsibility for you to be a good friend. And you shouldn't be able to use your sibling and parental relationships as scapegoats as to why you're not a good friend. If you're an adult, there should be some criteria dictating that you should act like an adult.
With that being said, I thought one particular chapter really touched home with how I was feeling at the moment. It was reaction stages to unexpected betrayal, patterned on the stages of guilt. When this particular incident happened involving a friend, I was in shock. I couldn't believe that this would happen. When things got a little better, I was in constant fear that something would happen again. When it did happen again, only this time much, much more serious, I alternated between apathy and anger. I was really angry I didn't see what was going to happen and then would change to a "I don't care" attitude. I'm finally at the resolution point where I can see past the initial incidents--and the incidents following--and decide what's best for me.
Other than this brief insight into the stages of what I was feeling, the rest of the book was pretty much a waste of time. If nothing else, it showed me how bad off I really could be.
Author: Jan Yager, Ph.D.
Pages: 220
I originally thought that maybe this book would help me deal with a friendship that has soured over the last few weeks. But the book was way too bizarre. It had a few redeeming factors about it--a description of the 21 types of negative friends and how to associate with them at their level as well as a few guidelines as to when to save a friendship and when to let it go. However, for the most part, the people surveyed about their friendships had really strange back stories involving screwed up childhoods filled with abuse and incest. Can you really generalize friendships based on the ones people who lived these hideous childhoods have? There has to be some lingering effects from continual abuse that overplays into social situations, right?
On that regard, I found the book a little off base. I think that in order to generalize a relationship as broad as friendship, you have to take a bigger and more diverse cross section of the general population. 188 people is not enough to gather inf0rmation, especially if you're population is slightly skewed by past issues. Also, the author tries to tie sibling and parental relationships in to why a friend acts like they do. I think that's a bunch of hooey. I know plenty of people with "bad" childhoods who turned out good, while those with "good" childhoods go off the deep end. I think we, as a society, tend to place blame on everyone around us for not cultivating the perfect speciman, but we don't ask ourselves what we're doing to better our lives. It shouldn't be anyone else's responsibility for you to be a good friend. And you shouldn't be able to use your sibling and parental relationships as scapegoats as to why you're not a good friend. If you're an adult, there should be some criteria dictating that you should act like an adult.
With that being said, I thought one particular chapter really touched home with how I was feeling at the moment. It was reaction stages to unexpected betrayal, patterned on the stages of guilt. When this particular incident happened involving a friend, I was in shock. I couldn't believe that this would happen. When things got a little better, I was in constant fear that something would happen again. When it did happen again, only this time much, much more serious, I alternated between apathy and anger. I was really angry I didn't see what was going to happen and then would change to a "I don't care" attitude. I'm finally at the resolution point where I can see past the initial incidents--and the incidents following--and decide what's best for me.
Other than this brief insight into the stages of what I was feeling, the rest of the book was pretty much a waste of time. If nothing else, it showed me how bad off I really could be.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Boys Will Be Boys?
Last night, we went the rounds with Josh. He's a funny kid. Not funny as in ha-ha, but more like funny in a I'm-going-to-wring-your-neck kind of way. He's really particular about his clothes. I've had to hide his pajamas--all of them--because he will not change out of them. Yes, I know, I'm the mother. But if you have never tried to change a kid out of pajamas who is adamant that they are not coming off, then you don't have a leg to stand on. Raging wars have ended with fewer negotiations then those proposed to a 3 year old boy to "please take off those stupid pajamas so we can go to lunch/walmart/bowling/grandma's/church."
So, back to last night...Josh is all ready to go to bed in underwear and a t-shirt. I have him change his underwear so we don't have a melt down in the morning. He insists on putting on two pair of underwear. It's a battle I'm not willing to fight at 11:00 at night, so whatever. He puts on his second pair. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he notices the half-used bag of diapers sitting on the top shelf of the closet. He hasn't been wearing diapers to bed for a while, but I haven't gotten around to putting them away. He quickly sheds his two pair of underwear and is insistent that I put a diaper on him. In walks dad.
Maybe it's that I've spent all day with this kid and I'm tired, or maybe I just don't care as much, but Wade is adamant that Josh wear one pair, and only one pair, of underwear. Of dad's choosing. So Wade wrestles Josh into a pair of underwear. Then into a pair of pants--not pajama pants because those have been outlawed. So our kid is now dressed to go out--which he was not dressed to do for the past 3 days. We go back to our room and get ready for bed.
After Wade gets done brushing his teeth, he peeks into Josh's room and notices that Josh's pants are on backwards. When he asks Josh about this latest development, Josh grins and says "Big boys all gone." Apparently, Josh took off his pants, took off his underwear and then put his pants back on just to show dad. Wade wrestles another pair on him, closes the door and it's the last we hear from Josh for the rest of the night.
Fast forward to this morning. I go to aerobics at 6 am, come home at 7 and dink around on the computer for a while as Wade is getting ready for work. As he's leaving, I peek in on Josh and notice his pants laying beside him on the bed. Out of curiousity, I peek under the blanket and here's what I find:
He's wearing something like 12 pair. Josh 1 Dad 0.Monday, April 7, 2008
A Tale of Two Running Shoes
This time last year, I was in the throngs of my last semester of classes, studying for the GRE math subject test, and trying to get my base running up to a manageable level before starting to train for the St. George Marathon.
This year, I'm still studying for the GRE math subject test, debating on doing the St. George again and trying to reenter the world of running.
For the record, I'm not a good runner. I have horrible posture and I tire easily. But, I really, really, really like to race. I don't ever win--well, in some of the smaller ones, I've won age category prizes because of lack of entrants--but overall, I don't win anything. I'm not fast by any stretch of the imagination. But I really like the competition of going out there on a Saturday morning and not having to rely on teammates to pull me through. That it's my own blood, sweat, and tears that gets me from the starting line to the finish line--sometimes the same line.
I realized in about November of 2006 that I am not a cold-weather runner. There is a group of runners in the neighborhood that run every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 6 am without exception. Rain, snow, sleet, hail...they run through it. Even the lady who's pregnant. I'm not like that. I don't like to run when it's cold. I especially don't like to run when it's wet and cold. However, during the summer when we're hit with a quick shower, I enjoy running through that, as long as it's not cold. I am definitely a fair-weather runner.
So last week was the first week that I've consistently run since the marathon. And I was pleasantly surprised. It felt really good. Like I've found a long lost friend. Good thing as I seem to be losing real, human friends left and right. Saturday, I awoke and left for a three mile jaunt to a neighboring township and back. It was the perfect length. Not so long that I would have to spend the rest of the day recovering. But not so short that it wasn't worth the time getting dressed. I even ran the whole thing, albeit slowly and painfully, something I haven't done in a long time. And I forgot the watch, so who knows how long it really took me. The air was crisp. The weather was perfect. It was right where I wanted to be at 8:30 on a Saturday morning. It even got me to thinking that maybe I could do the St. George again this year. I could conquer it and redeem myself from last year's disappointing finish (though, I do have to point out, I finished). I even thought about what I'd change in training and how to maximize my time on Saturday morning long runs. Then it was time to go inside, and it felt good to be done at 9:00 and not noon. And to not sit the rest of the day on the couch in a comatose state recovering. I guess the memories are still much too vivid to attempt it again so soon.
This year, I'm still studying for the GRE math subject test, debating on doing the St. George again and trying to reenter the world of running.
For the record, I'm not a good runner. I have horrible posture and I tire easily. But, I really, really, really like to race. I don't ever win--well, in some of the smaller ones, I've won age category prizes because of lack of entrants--but overall, I don't win anything. I'm not fast by any stretch of the imagination. But I really like the competition of going out there on a Saturday morning and not having to rely on teammates to pull me through. That it's my own blood, sweat, and tears that gets me from the starting line to the finish line--sometimes the same line.
I realized in about November of 2006 that I am not a cold-weather runner. There is a group of runners in the neighborhood that run every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 6 am without exception. Rain, snow, sleet, hail...they run through it. Even the lady who's pregnant. I'm not like that. I don't like to run when it's cold. I especially don't like to run when it's wet and cold. However, during the summer when we're hit with a quick shower, I enjoy running through that, as long as it's not cold. I am definitely a fair-weather runner.
So last week was the first week that I've consistently run since the marathon. And I was pleasantly surprised. It felt really good. Like I've found a long lost friend. Good thing as I seem to be losing real, human friends left and right. Saturday, I awoke and left for a three mile jaunt to a neighboring township and back. It was the perfect length. Not so long that I would have to spend the rest of the day recovering. But not so short that it wasn't worth the time getting dressed. I even ran the whole thing, albeit slowly and painfully, something I haven't done in a long time. And I forgot the watch, so who knows how long it really took me. The air was crisp. The weather was perfect. It was right where I wanted to be at 8:30 on a Saturday morning. It even got me to thinking that maybe I could do the St. George again this year. I could conquer it and redeem myself from last year's disappointing finish (though, I do have to point out, I finished). I even thought about what I'd change in training and how to maximize my time on Saturday morning long runs. Then it was time to go inside, and it felt good to be done at 9:00 and not noon. And to not sit the rest of the day on the couch in a comatose state recovering. I guess the memories are still much too vivid to attempt it again so soon.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
My Week in a Nutshell
Sometimes, when I'm going about my day and everything seems quite ordinary and happy, I'll think to myself, things are looking up. Then I'm always reminded that there is still at least one rung lower on the ladder of desperation I have yet to step upon.
Tuesday, I'm spending the day with my mom, like I do every Tuesday. We combine our errands together and then go out to eat as a reward. The errands are pretty much the same every week. Bank, Post Office, Library, Market. Things like that. So Tuesday, we have to stop at Staples. Our quest is to find a pen refill for my mom's pen that she got from a friend. It's a bizarre pen in that it's short and the refills have to be skinny. I had the ink filler that originally came with the pen in my hand, careful to keep the spring and the top doohickie all together. We find the perfect refills and we're looking around for whiteboard markers. I keep thinking to myself that I should hand back the ink filler to my mom so I don't lose the spring or the very, very, very small mechanism on the top, but I don't. I'm walking down the aisle towards the whiteboard markers when the mechanism pops off and disappears into oblivion. A very dirty, dusty oblivion somewhere beneath the shelves. I spend the next 30 minutes or so searching for this mechanism. Without it, the pen is rendered useless. Mind you, it's very, very, very small and black. To effectively search beneath the lip of the display shelves I actually have to sprawl out on my belly. Since I have no idea where the mechanism bounced to I end up belly crawling all the way down the aisle, multiple times. Since I have a three year old that is in the phase of copying everything that mommy does, there are two of us slithering along the floor. At one point a saleslady shows up at the end of the aisle and asks me if everything is okay. I tell her my plight. She mutters some encouraging words and moves along. No help there.
You would think that the gods of all things dusty, gross and full of dark recesses would look down on me and give me some sort of reprieve. But no. I never do find the mechanism and we leave the store defeated. The pen doesn't work without it and there's nothing with this mechanism on it.
And that, my friends, was the highlight of my week. Top that.
Tuesday, I'm spending the day with my mom, like I do every Tuesday. We combine our errands together and then go out to eat as a reward. The errands are pretty much the same every week. Bank, Post Office, Library, Market. Things like that. So Tuesday, we have to stop at Staples. Our quest is to find a pen refill for my mom's pen that she got from a friend. It's a bizarre pen in that it's short and the refills have to be skinny. I had the ink filler that originally came with the pen in my hand, careful to keep the spring and the top doohickie all together. We find the perfect refills and we're looking around for whiteboard markers. I keep thinking to myself that I should hand back the ink filler to my mom so I don't lose the spring or the very, very, very small mechanism on the top, but I don't. I'm walking down the aisle towards the whiteboard markers when the mechanism pops off and disappears into oblivion. A very dirty, dusty oblivion somewhere beneath the shelves. I spend the next 30 minutes or so searching for this mechanism. Without it, the pen is rendered useless. Mind you, it's very, very, very small and black. To effectively search beneath the lip of the display shelves I actually have to sprawl out on my belly. Since I have no idea where the mechanism bounced to I end up belly crawling all the way down the aisle, multiple times. Since I have a three year old that is in the phase of copying everything that mommy does, there are two of us slithering along the floor. At one point a saleslady shows up at the end of the aisle and asks me if everything is okay. I tell her my plight. She mutters some encouraging words and moves along. No help there.
You would think that the gods of all things dusty, gross and full of dark recesses would look down on me and give me some sort of reprieve. But no. I never do find the mechanism and we leave the store defeated. The pen doesn't work without it and there's nothing with this mechanism on it.
And that, my friends, was the highlight of my week. Top that.
Book Review Friday, April 4, 2008
Book: Eat, Pray, Love
Author: Elizabeth Gilbert
Pages: 352
For starters, I was a little skeptical reading a book that over 23,000 people have rated on Goodreads.com, but I've been interested in seeing what all the fuss has been about and so when I saw it on the library shelf, I picked it up.
It turned out to be really, really good. In fact, I want to take a year off and go to Italy (eat), India (pray), and Indonesia (love), but alas I have these things in my life called...responsibilities. I guess if you don't have kids or pets or an office job or a mortgage, you can afford to leave everything at 34 and go off to "find" yourself. In this respect, I found the book to be quite self-indulgent. How sad that she had to sell both houses when she was getting divorced. But lest I digress.
My favorite section of the book, surprisingly, was India. I thought for sure I'd hate the new age-meditation-yoga-part, but I actually really liked it. And I liked that Gilbert believes in God. I don't particularly care if an author believes in God or not, but when they mix in a lot of Eastern religion and culture, trying to make us "God-believers" see the error in our ways, I get a little standoffish. Gilbert was careful to bring her beliefs into harmony with the teachings of the Ashram she was staying at. In fact, it made meditation more approachable for me and I'm now trying to implement meditation into my daily life--with mixed results.
This was definitely a book I needed this week, so I'm glad I did bite back my skepticism and went ahead with reading it. I'd recommend it for anyone looking to make themselves better.
Author: Elizabeth Gilbert
Pages: 352
For starters, I was a little skeptical reading a book that over 23,000 people have rated on Goodreads.com, but I've been interested in seeing what all the fuss has been about and so when I saw it on the library shelf, I picked it up.
It turned out to be really, really good. In fact, I want to take a year off and go to Italy (eat), India (pray), and Indonesia (love), but alas I have these things in my life called...responsibilities. I guess if you don't have kids or pets or an office job or a mortgage, you can afford to leave everything at 34 and go off to "find" yourself. In this respect, I found the book to be quite self-indulgent. How sad that she had to sell both houses when she was getting divorced. But lest I digress.
My favorite section of the book, surprisingly, was India. I thought for sure I'd hate the new age-meditation-yoga-part, but I actually really liked it. And I liked that Gilbert believes in God. I don't particularly care if an author believes in God or not, but when they mix in a lot of Eastern religion and culture, trying to make us "God-believers" see the error in our ways, I get a little standoffish. Gilbert was careful to bring her beliefs into harmony with the teachings of the Ashram she was staying at. In fact, it made meditation more approachable for me and I'm now trying to implement meditation into my daily life--with mixed results.
This was definitely a book I needed this week, so I'm glad I did bite back my skepticism and went ahead with reading it. I'd recommend it for anyone looking to make themselves better.
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