Years ago, when Elizabeth Gilbert’s “Eat, Pray, Love” came out and everyone was obsessing over that book and then the movie, I, honestly, could not care less. I was far from being thirty-something, experiencing a mid-life crisis, or interested in a self-discovering journey across the world. More so, I was turned away by the title that sounded too “privileged, rich, devoted Christian, American” to me, when I was neither of those things.
I made assumptions about the author and her books and steered away from both.
Once “Big Magic” came out, it seemed as if it was everywhere: in stores, on people’s Instagram accounts, on recommendations lists. I was getting tired of being recommended the book by the author, who was so very much unlike me.