Notes from a Cathedral

I went to a fascinating lecture on Friday night by the author of the NY Times best seller Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert. I knew it was going to be great…first, because it was held in the National Cathedral, a place where I expected to feel uncomfortably awestruck (like an atheist who accidently ends up in an evangelical revival) but instead felt absolutely comfortably awestruck. It is a beautiful, beautiful place. Secondly, because Eat, Pray, Love is one of the best, most honestly written books I’ve ever read; a book that clearly touched the heartstrings of American women in a way they wish their men would (there were over 2,000 people in the audience, 99% women).

Gilbert is effortlessly clever, unrehearsed, and refreshing in her honesty. She didn’t talk much about the book that made her famous. Instead she talked about being a writer and being a woman. After her journey through Italy, India, and Indonesia to try to reclaim mental health, she predictably returned to the U.S. relaxed and confused by American’s sense of unnecessary urgency, relentless self-criticism, and exhausting work schedules. (If you’re an American who has spent real time abroad, you have returned confused as well, wondering how your own priorities got so off-kilter.) She smartly disclaimed that she didn’t want to come off as one of those people who spends 3 months in Bali and then asks all her neighbors in the U.S. why they are so stressed. But she did wonder why we feel compelled to “reduce stress” or “manage stress.” Why not instead “eradicating stress,” eliminating stressful thing altogether. Easier said than done, obviously, but it is a nice mantra.

She also talked about having kids, an issue that presented itself to me several times over the last few days. My beau’s sis had a baby, I found out my ex’s family are expecting a new member, I hung out with new parents who were grateful to have a night without the little one, among other events.

I’ve always been of the strong opinion that momhood isn’t for me. Kids scare me. They have big soft heads that bobble around, swinging dangerously towards objects like the corners of tables. Not to mention being prego for ages…your body is taken over by a sizable parasite, your hormones go ape shit, and you can’t even have a drink to calm yourself. All that work and what do you get for it? You get flipped the bird by an angry teenager and sucked dry of money. Then you get a mother’s day card. My terror of childbearing is real, however misinformed and dramatized.

According to Gilbert, 10% of women historically don’t have biological children. Though these women don’t leave a genetic legacy, they support those that do financially, emotionally, babysitter-wise. More than once an aunt has saved the day by sending money to an impoverished college student. More than once a godmom has been the understudy of the lousy babysitter who canceled last minute. It seems that those women who don’t have their own kids might be an evolutionary requirement, vital to the survival (or at least, the mental stability) of the species. That takes a load off me. Just in case I really can’t swallow the jagged little pill that is motherhood, I can still be a kick-ass godmom and Auntie Rach. It isn’t selfish and it isn’t abnormal. It is just a decision like any other.

Also, Gilbert said that she saw a study that said that women who don’t have kids are actually just as happy as those who don’t in their old age. Turns out, the things that really determine a women’s happiness in old age is poverty and health. So as long as I save for retirement and eat healthy, I should be fine either way, thank goodness.

Anyway, whether you’ve ended up on the bathroom floor in a puddle of your own tears before or not, I highly recommend reading Eat, Pray, Love.