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So very true. No matter how much time I spend trying to prettify my past, it n…
So very true.
No matter how much time I spend trying to prettify my past, it never seems to change in the least!
But the future…ah, the future. The future we can work with…
ONWARD,
LG
#TBT — Kenya, 1989 Dear Ones – Here I am with a friend in Africa, in 1989. I w…
#TBT — Kenya, 1989
Dear Ones –
Here I am with a friend in Africa, in 1989. I was twenty years old. I had saved my money for two years to go on this trip to Kenya for a month, where I worked on a wild game refuge, studying the habits of scavenging birds.
That's where I met this cheetah, who had been discovered as a baby (its mother killed by poachers) and who had adopted the human family who owned the game ranch.
The cheetah's name was Duma, and he was absolutely lovely. Cheetahs tend not to be very aggressive, because they basically have no predators and no serious competitors. (If they don't like a situation, trust me, they can just LEAVE…really fast. And if another animal takes their kill, they can just go catch another one. Must be nice, being the fastest animal in the world. Makes for a relaxed life.)
What I remember about this moment was that I had just gotten the courage to pet Duma, and he had just started purring, and it had scared the shit out of me. (A cheetah's purr sounds alarmingly like a growl.) But all he wanted was more petting. Pretty soon he was rubbing his head against me, like a domesticated tabby. It was one of the great encounters of my life.
Years later, I discovered that the owners of the ranch had written this book about Duma:
My cheetah friend — like me — had gotten into publishing!
It's a small and wonderful world.
ONWARD,
LG
“Hi. Do you love to laugh? I’m Liz Gilbert, and I’m here to recommend a book.”…
"Hi. Do you love to laugh? I'm Liz Gilbert, and I'm here to recommend a book."
Dear Ones –
Please go buy yourself a copy of TEXTS FROM JANE EYRE, written by Mallory Ortberg, who is such a genius that I can barely even handle it.
It's hilarious, but it's especially hilarious if you 1) love literary classics, and 2) you spend a lot of time texting.
(Which describes me perfectly. And maybe also describes you?)
So here's what Mallory does: She takes famous literary classics and re-imagines them as text conversations.
Which is how you suddenly get Edward Rochester desperately texting Jane Eyre, begging her to come back to him, and to run off to France with him. She refuses. He texts:
"I KNEW IT.
DID YOU LEAVE BECAUSE OF MY ATTIC WIFE
IS THAT WHAT THIS IS ABOUT?"
Jane's reply:
"yes.
absolutely"
Rochester:
"BECAUSE MY HOUSE IN FRANCE DOESNT EVEN HAVE AN ATTIC
IF THATS WHAT YOU WERE WORRIED ABOUT"
You also have Scarlett O'Hara texting to Ashley Wilkes: "where r u? guess what kind of corset im wearing"
You also get Lord Byron texting a friend: "uuuuuuuggggghhh my life."
Or Cathy, texting Heathcliff: "I love you SO MUCH i'm going to write your name all over my books and then i'm going to have someone else's baby and then DIE"
Or Hamlet: "he's not my real dad why do you even like him"
Or Eponine to Marius, from Les Miserables: "marius where are you i am at the barricade with your note" (His reply: "sorry new phone who is this")
OK, it's probably a copyright violation that I'm quoting so much of this book but it's brilliant and funny and I want you to know how brilliant and funny it is. Just know that it's awesome, and it seems right up your alley…so many of you beautiful book geeks whom I love so much, OMG.
Go get it.
Love,
LG
Dear Ones – For me, the negotiating begins every day at dawn. I mean, the neg…
Dear Ones –
For me, the negotiating begins every day at dawn.
I mean, the negotiating begins the MOMENT I wake up. The very first conscious thought I have is, "I'm not doing it today."
"It" = exercising.
The very first thought of my day = NOT DOING IT.
Absolutely not. Not today. Too tired. I exercised yesterday, so that's good, right? Anyhow, it's the holidays. I'm busy writing – writing is more important than exercise, right? My ankle is sore. It's the wrong time of the month. I didn't sleep well. I just washed my hair yesterday and I don't want to have to wash it again today after I get sweaty I have that phone meeting at 10am. I don't have time.
NOT DOING IT, I tell myself. NOT TODAY.
The problem is, I made a promise to myself that I would exercise every day. Not because of how I want to look, but because of how I want to feel. Because one day, a few months ago, I put my hand on my heart when it was beating hard after a session of dancing around my living room, and I realized: "Here it is. This is where my very life abides — right here inside this miraculous machine beating inside my chest. And this thing, this heart of mine, wants nothing more than to be strong."
So I made a promise: EVERY DAY. I will honor the gift of my life by making that heart beat hard and strong every day. For at least twenty minutes. Whether it's through dancing, running, swimming, biking, or doing jumping jacks in a hotel room after I get off the airplane. Let that life source beat strong.
But at 6am, I don't want to. I never want to. As I brush my teeth, the negotiation continues. I say to myself, "How about we just go for a brisk walk, just for ten minutes?"
By the time I'm lacing up my running shoes, the negotiation has advanced: "I will run today, but not far. I will run slowly. Maybe only fifteen minutes."
As we start running, the negotiation moves forward: "Twenty minutes. But slow. Really slow. And I will hate and resent every moment of it."
I plod forward, frowning. I put the earbuds in my ears. I start listening to the ridiculous gangster rap and hip-hop that seems to be the only thing that can get my legs moving. I know that today it won't work. Today I will quit.
It's cold out. I hate it.
I go anyhow, and as I begin moving, I blame everyone in my life somehow for making me do this miserable thing. I am sour and stiff.
Then it happens, somewhere around the ten-minute mark. The heart opens, the lungs open, the legs loosen. My eyes suddenly get sparked by these little tears of gratitude and awareness: I AM ALIVE. I get to be alive! In a human body! I get to feel all this — the air, the ground beneath my feet, the music in my ears, the gratitude in my soul. I shake out my arms. I sing along aloud with my good friend, Mr. 50 Cent, and I don't care who hears me.
One arm up in the air. Hand to God. Thank you for this life. I say it aloud. Thank you for this life.
My heart beats strong: THANK YOU FOR THIS LIFE.
It's going to be a beautiful day.
Tomorrow morning, I know, the negotiation will begin all over again.
But I made a promise. And I will not talk myself out of this promise. I will not talk myself out this gesture of reverence for the life I have been given.
Thank you, heart. Thank you, feet. Thank you, lungs. Thank you, arms. Thank you, Nelly and Jay Z and Kanye. Thank you, LIFE.
Let your hearts beat strong, Dear Ones. Let's go. Don't talk yourself out of it.
ONWARD,
LG