this morning i started a new book that i have been wanting to read for months. eat, pray, love. it is a story of one woman's journey to self-healing and balance. with each vibrantly painted sentence the simmering ambition i hold to be a writer myself breaks free from it's tranquility into an uncontrollable boiling pot of fanciful sexiness. just as the author of eat, pray, love hungered to share her life story with the world, so too i crave to expose the wild (wild to me at least) travels of my life.
if i were to write a book on my life, it would have a similar raw transparency to that of jack kerouac in his book on the road - a novel that inspired millions to hop in their rusty 4-wheeled piece of jalopy and drive across the u.s. i would write of my own solo road-trips and the colorful thoughts that decorated the winding narrow lanes i drove along.