I remember picking up Eat, Pray, Love more than a decade ago – and shutting it after a few pages. Back then, I couldn’t quite understand what was happening to Elizabeth Gilbert, or why her words felt so heavy.
Years later, after going through my own personal turmoil (different in reason, but familiar in feeling), I returned to this book. And this time, it felt like reading my own story. As Gilbert says in the book – “I was there.” And for the first time, I could say it back to her: I was there, too. Now I understand.
This famous memoir follows Gilbert’s journey across three countries in search of pleasure, spiritual peace, and balance after a painful divorce and inner crisis. She leaves behind a seemingly perfect life in New York to spend almost a year across Italy, India, and Indonesia – each country offering her a distinct kind of healing.
Italy gave her pleasure – through language, laughter, and food. Her joy in learning Italian, discovering cities, and forming connections was infectious. India offered spiritual grounding. This is the heart of the book, where her real transformation unfolds. Amid silence, routine, teachers, and the chaos of the ashram, she slowly starts piecing her life back together. Her journey toward stillness and oneness deeply resonated with me. It reminded me of my time in Rishikesh, and my own experience of silence captured in Rishikesh Diary.
Indonesia, the final stop, aimed at finding balance. But as a reader, I found this part less engaging – perhaps because the intensity of India lingered too deeply. It felt like nearing the end of a japa mala, where the mind becomes impatient for closure.
One unexpected moment was when I caught myself staring at the book’s cover – something I rarely pay attention to. For the first time, I noticed the thoughtful symbolism: “Eat” crafted from pasta, “Pray” with rudraksha beads, and “Love” shaped with vibrant tropical blooms. The cover beautifully mirrors her path through the three countries.
Gilbert’s brilliant decision to encapsulate her experiences in each country with the words “Eat,” “Pray,” and “Love” truly captures the essence of her journey. This clever thematic structure, perhaps inspired by her friend Giulio’s theory that every person or place has a defining word (like “Sex” for Rome or “Fight” for Naples), is remarkably effective. After much contemplation, Gilbert herself settles on “Antevasin,” a Sanskrit word meaning “one who lives in between,” to describe her own transitional state. This concept resonated deeply with me, prompting my own introspection, and after much thought, I settled on “Minimalistic” as my defining word.
What makes Gilbert’s writing so powerful is her honesty. She openly speaks about her chattering mind, her inner dialogues, her spirals of overthinking – things many of us feel but rarely express. I saw myself in her vulnerability. The narratives our minds create, the way they magnify pain, the victimhood – it all felt too familiar.
She is brave – not just for making the journey, but for telling it with such depth, humor, and sharp observation. The Italy section sparkles with lightness and wit, while the India part slows down, becomes inward and philosophical, shaped by the wisdom of her teachers and fellow seekers.
This isn’t just a travel memoir. It’s a story of falling apart – and gently putting oneself back together. A story about listening – to food, to silence, to the heart.
