It seems that I can make anything into a challenge to fail, even vacation. It took me a few days to shed New York City, pressures at work, troubles with friends, and the man thing to allow my shoulders to drop, my thoughts not bounce from one thing to the next, and just be. And then, I buy Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert and tell myself, I can finish it all while I'm on vacation. Not enjoy it. Finish it.
I'm half-way through the book by grit. Eat, Pray, Love is not a story that makes my liberal heart bleed. She's in her early 30s, an author, with a career in writing, a country home, and a husband. She has a pretty enviable life by conventional standards. What's with the crying to God in the bathroom? I'm bad. I know. How can I judge? If all those years at Calvary has taught me anything it is that successful people and screw-ups alike seek out God, who is supreme, reassuring, affirming, and the origin of grace. I opened my heart up with each page and try not to look at her smiling, golden-haired photo on the back cover and smirk.
I'm on vacation and I have spent an entire week away from the office and the people, situations, and pressures that make it such an unpleasant place for me. What do I wake up thinking about today, the penultimate day of my vacation? Uh, huh, work. This sad realization has lead me to another realization that I must summon Nacho Libre - my chubby, slightly touched masked champion - to wrestle my control issues, my frustration, and my fear of failure to the ground. Andale!
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