EAT, LOVE, DRIVE

Early on in life, I discovered that there are few things more satisfying than reading a great book. For lit fans, this is like having temporary possession of the Holy Grail. When I have one of these precious treasures in progress, I can’t wait for the kids to go to bed, so I can get back to it and stay up way past my bedtime, ensconced on a journey to worlds real and imaginary. Though I may regret in the morning, I can’t stop from doing it again the next night either. I can see me standing up at a 12 Step Program someday, “hi, my name is Paul, and it’s been thirty days since my last reading binge.”

But even with my ardor for all things written, for some strange reason, I have never taken to books on tapes or CD’s, even for long car trips. Maybe it was because my initial experience many years ago was with a Robert Ludlum novel, which had so many twists and turns it felt like I needed a road map just to get through the first few chapters. Having to choose between observing the speed limit and dissecting plot points, I opted for staying alive and stuck with the radio. I figured I was just meant to be a reader.

But I recently took on a project that required a commute of three hours per day and with no public transportation available, books were out of the question, not that I haven’t seen a few drivers perusing the newspaper in their cars, a clear case of Reckless Reading. In preparation for my excursions, I began assembling supplies as if embarking on an expedition to the deepest reaches of the Amazon (no, not amazon.com), including an extensive snack menu, ergonomic seat cushion, new headset, potable drinking water and malaria tablets.

Even with satellite radio, sports talk shows and music CD’s, I realized I would need additional entertainment options. We’re talking major rush hour here, the kind where you masochistically tune in the traffic report every ten minutes, just to see just how much misery still awaits you. I believe this is the origin of the term drive you crazy.

I happened to be in the public library the weekend before this job started, and walked by Audio Books section, which I usually pass by without thinking. But for some reason that day, it called out to my base senses, like when your neighbor is grilling up a steak in his backyard and the aroma wafts over the fence. While I can’t say I was starving at that point, I was hungry enough to try something new on the menu.

At first, it seemed like slim pickings and it was even harder to read the damn titles sideways on such little boxes (what’s with the stacking system at libraries anyway, do they have some kind of secret deal with the chiropractor’s union?). I didn’t recognize anything in fiction, other than of course, a Robert Ludlum novel and non-fiction choices like Overcoming Life’s Disappointments seemed a bit too somber. I was looking for some lighter diversion to fill the role of co-pilot.

Suddenly, I recognized the spine of a book I’d just finished, one of the best reads I’d had all year. It was Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, who unfortunately, is no relation, although I’m scouring the family tree to see if there is some distant connection in the gene pool, since I’d like to believe that best-selling writers run in the family.

My wife had recommended the book. She knew I was desperately searching for a good one and like a junkie trying to score a fix, been calling friends and asking, “you got anything?” Taking pity on me, she shared her reading stash, which turned out to be some serious smack and soon, I was drifting along on one of my blissful, page-turning highs.

For those of you who haven’t read EPL, the subtitle is One Women’s Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia. Gilbert (feels weird to write my own last name here, can I just call you Liz?) stayed four months in each country, immersing herself in the people and cultures. Throughout the excursion, she bares her soul, letting loose the family of voices in her head, which as in many families, ranges from dysfunctional to enlightened.

In many ways, I enjoyed the CD’s even more than the book. Coming through a different pipeline, I heard things I’d either missed or skimmed over and Liz gives an inspired reading. The spoken word magnified her suburban street smarts as her cynical optimism gradually yielded to a deeper sense of spirituality. Orchestrating language like a maestro, her voice filled in the blanks so much more descriptively and movingly than the one in my head I use to translate the written word. Vocalizing a colorful menagerie of stories and personalities, she wasn't so much an author as an alchemist, bringing a rich cast of memorable characters to life, idiosyncrasies, accents and all.

Here’s my encapsulated review of the Book on CD. Loved it, Devoured It, Prayed It Wouldn’t End. It was wonderfully satisfying, honest, intelligent, insightful, funny. Make that very funny and like many writers who like to think their own work is rather amusing, I’m no cheap laugh. First, I found myself smiling, then, an occasional chuckle and finally, just plain laughing out loud. Now, that’s the kind of person you want to carpool with.

Most days, I couldn’t wait to hear some new chapters and found myself rationing them to stretch out our time together. During those morning and evening rush hours, we became partners on the most private of passages; a turkey-less Thanksgiving in Rome filled with heartwarming words of gratitude shared by intimate strangers, many excruciatingly-long meditations at an Indian ashram searching for God and the meaning of life, and much to our relief, the end of an 18 month period of abstinence in Bali. Liz’s journeys became my journeys, although I bet that drought-breaker was better for her, than me. And just so you don’t get the wrong idea, it turned out to be love.

I managed to string out the 12 hours, 40 minutes of our audio excursion for roughly one month, finishing up our sojourn today, crawling home in one last rush hour mess. It was a sad, sweet moment and I took a second to mark her departure. Liz was truly excellent company and unlike other close relationships, when I got tired of hearing her talk, I simply hit stop. We were like two old friends who really get one another and can just pick up conversations wherever they leave off.

As sad as I was to see her go, she did leave me with a lovely parting gift. Now, whether I’ve actually read the book or not, I know I can always pick a writer up hitchhiking and hit the highway with no particular destination in mind. We’re just in it for the ride. Meanwhile, I’ll look forward to the return portion of my trip with Liz, the sequel.

One of my favorite people in the book was an old Balinese medicine man, who always spoke in eloquently fractured English. As the ancient healer might say, “hear you later, alligator.”