eat pray love [part 1]

It was hard not to notice the parallels between my journey and that of Liz Gilbert, portrayed by Julia Roberts in the novel-turned-film Eat Pray Love.

In 2023, I explored Indonesia for a month, then India for another. Swap Italy with a fusion of Sweden and South America, and you can seamlessly immerse me into the narrative.

The book garnered greater acclaim than its cinematic counterpart, and opinions on the story itself tend to oscillate between love and hate. When others pointed out the similarities, I wasn’t sure if they were scoffing at my choice or genuinely elated for my journey.

Did it matter to me? Somewhat. I attempted to remain indifferent, but I recently discovered that my false idol is 'fame,' implying that I am driven by the approval and recognition of others. So, truth be told, I did care, albeit to a small extent.

I urge others to identify their false idol and discuss the insights with a friend. I did this in November, and it was eye opening for both of us. We also learned a lot about each other too, and we’ve been close for 10+ years.

There’s one in all of us. The crucial point is not to eradicate it but to acknowledge the idol’s presence and prevent it from influencing your overall life and your perception of success.

To put in a pin in my “EPL” season, the following three posts narrate my spin on Eat, Pray, and Love.

So without further ado, let’s eat.

I compiled a list of ten takeaways from my sabbatical. One of those lessons learned was “eat the croissant”. Essentially, it was to enjoy the food, and most importantly, without regret. What’s the beauty in experiencing Buenos Aires or Mumbai without indulging in a morning croissant with a little dulce de leche or soaking up your dal makhani with a plate-sized garlic naan?

As a kid, I loved food. My mom is a culinary maestro (iykyk) and we were blessed to always have a stocked pantry. Mexican pizza from Taco Bell? Easy. Oreos? Hell yes, I was the king of Oreos, and still am.

Sidebar, if she (or he) has Oreos in their pantry and they're not double-stuffed... red flag

However, one summer day going into ninth grade, I was playing in my front yard with friends from the neighborhood.

After achieving some kind of game-winning touchdown, I celebrated in the driveway with my fellow champions of the day. One of my friends, somewhat reluctantly, remarked, “Yeah, I couldn’t tackle you because you’re fat.”

I was cognizant of my 'baby fat.' Heck, I didn't shed it until 2019. Gotta appreciate a glow-up. However, the notion of 'being fat' never truly occurred to me, and hearing it that day from my friend resonated deeply. It's a chord that has lingered with me for an extended period.

It was like a switch went off in my head. It’s one of my initial memories of caring about others' opinions of me. Since that day, my association with food changed, and I became excessively attuned to what I consumed and how it would shape my body—not how it felt, but how it made me look.

Typing this now even makes me cringe, recognizing it's an undesirable relationship for a 14-year-old to harbor with food, let alone anyone.

For the remainder of the summer, I eliminated the indulgences from the pantry and started eating as if I were part of the next Baywatch cast. While it's crucial to maintain a healthy diet, my motivation at that time was less than ideal. There's a distinction between 'reducing sugar intake for health reasons' and 'limiting sugar out of fear of others' opinions.’

From my experience in the latter’s camp, I started cultivating a feeling of 'guilt' whenever I indulged in anything beyond the so-called 'health lane’.

This switch went off in my head again around ten years after that summer day, when I moved to Los Angeles. LA's rating of five on the attractiveness scale equates to another city's eight. With 70 and sunny weather throughout the year, there's a perpetual need to be 'beach ready'. For someone like me, navigating past detrimental relationships with food and grappling with a 'fame' false idol, it could potentially lead to disaster. Luckily, this time around I was able to adopt a different mindset.

The positive shift for me this time was realizing I could adopt a healthy diet while nurturing a positive relationship with food. This included putting an end to my 2 am Domino's pizza orders following nights at Townhouse in Venice and Santa Monica's renowned Bungalow beach bar.

Morning smoothies after a HIIT class brought a smile to my face each time I unscrewed the Nutribullet top. I took genuine pleasure in the ritual of meal prepping on Sundays before the workweek, experimenting with how different foods impacted my energy levels and microbiome. Through this exploration, I even discovered that excess dairy had an adverse effect on my skin.

This time around, I was driven by intrinsic motivation, deriving profound satisfaction from the way I felt. It was a departure from my teenage years when my actions were fueled by the fear of others' opinions about my body's appearance.

But false idols don’t go away. I became a creature of habit in the last 5 years of my twenties, especially when it came to food. I pretty much ate the same meal for breakfast and lunch during the workweek, with very little variation.

With the commencement of my travels, I soon acknowledged the impossibility of preparing the majority of my meals for the next six-plus months. The lack of control over my diet started to trigger anxiety as I envisioned scenarios of returning with added pounds or lackluster skin. The fear I had initially developed as a teenager began to resurface.

Few individuals in my life are aware of my past relationship with food, but my Mom, of course, is one who is. I chronicled a weekend trip to Berlin with my Mom, reminiscing about a perfect Sunday spent exploring the Mauerpark flea market and concluding the day with a delightful scoop of cookie dough ice cream on a homemade waffle cone from Jones’ shop.

The next morning we drank coffee, ate pastries from a local bakery, and recounted all the memories from the previous day's adventure. I remember taking this huge bite of a chocolate croissant. My mom laughed and smiled at me as chocolate was all up in my beard.

She didn't need to utter a word, but I could sense what she was thinking. For the first time in decades, she witnessed the kid she once knew, the one who would have to get on his tippy toes in the pantry to reach the Cinnamon Toast Crunch. On that day, and three feet taller, I believe I finally liberated myself from the guilt associated with consuming certain foods—a burden I had carried since that summer day.

The singular word that precisely captures that Tuesday morning moment in Berlin with my Mom is 'liberating.’

Don’t get me wrong, I still look forward to the morning smoothie and am always down to dabble with the occasional fad diet. However, shedding the guilt that tethered me, I found empowerment in relishing life's indulgences. A tremendous step forward for my long-term mental and physical well-being.

PS: Nobody wants to be around me after eating Taco Bell, so that’s out of the cards, but I’m down to crush a sleeve of Oreos from time to time.

P.S.S.: Not discussed was food poisoning in Indonesia. Bali belly is for real, friends; watch out for bad ice!

Part II, “Pray”, coming soon.