Am I the next cliché?


A writer impulsively buys a Tuscan villa in order to change her life after a divorce. Under the Tuscan Sun.

A writer travels to three countries over the course of one year after a divorce and a breakup. Eat, Pray, Love.

A writer leaves her city, job, and boyfriend in order to pursue the unknown. My unpublished manuscript.

Ok, let’s get one thing straight: I’m a cliché. Yes, I read Under the Tuscan Sun and yes, I read Eat, Pray, Love–and yes, I loved every fucking minute of imagining myself in those women’s shoes. It was me in another life, me as a famous author, and me traveling the world on the inexplicably generous salary of a writer.

I’m a 34 year-old woman who recently moved and banished the string of Leos I had unsuccessfully dated. Astrologically, they were all wrong for me but physically, they felt pretty damn right. Emotionally, those Leos taught me about unconditional love.

Especially the last one. He captured my love like a fisherman catches a big, slippery fish  (something unimaginably large and mythic by all accounts). Nonetheless, he caught it, held onto it, then proceeded to train it. Then he proceeded to train me–nay, manipulate me. Then that love transformed into something different, something dark, something scary and entirely unwieldy. I was sick and mentally bruised, registering a mere 101 lbs. by the end of it all.

But I guess in the end it didn’t matter because in the end, I wasn’t really ready to settle down; I wasn’t ready to be caught.

So this is my new chapter. And if it reads like it fell out of the pages of some divorcée’s memoir, then don’t say I didn’t warn you.


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