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eat pray love by elizabeth gilbert full, Eat Pray Love ch2

Eat Pray Love ch2

And since I am already down there in supplication on the floor, let me hold that position as I reach back in time three years earlier to the moment when this entire story began—a moment which also found me in this exact same posture: on my knees, on a floor, praying.

Everything else about the three-years-ago scene was different, though. That time, I was not in Rome but in the upstairs bathroom of the big house in the suburbs of New York which I'd recently purchased with my husband. It was a cold November, around three o'clock in the morning. My husband was sleeping in our bed. I was hiding in the bathroom for something like the forty-seventh consecutive night, and—just as during all those nights before—I was sobbing. Sobbing so hard, in fact, that a great lake of tears and snot was spreading before me on the bathroom tiles, a veritable Lake Inferior (if you will) of all my shame and fear and confusion and grief. I don't want to be married anymore. I was trying so hard not to know this, but the truth kept insisting itself to me. I don't want to be married anymore. I don't want to live in this big house. I don't want to have a baby. But I was supposed to want to have a baby. I was thirty-one years old. My husband and I—who had been together for eight years, married for six—had built our entire life around the common expectation that, after passing the doddering old age of thirty, I would want to settle down and have children. By then, we mutually anticipated, I would have grown weary of traveling and would be happy to live in a big, busy household full of children and homemade quilts, with a garden in the backyard and a cozy stew bubbling on the stovetop. (The fact that this was a fairly accurate portrait of my own mother is a quick indicator of how difficult it once was for me to tell the difference between myself and the powerful woman who had raised me.) But I didn't—as I was appalled to be finding out—want any of these things. Instead as my twenties had come to a close, that deadline of THIRTY had loomed over me like a death sentence, and I discovered that I did not want to be pregnant.

I kept waiting to want to have a baby, but it didn't happen. And I know what it feels like to want something, believe me. I well know what desire feels like. But it wasn't there. Moreover, I couldn't stop thinking about what my sister had said to me once, as she was breastfeeding her firstborn: “Having a baby is like getting a tattoo on your face. You really need to be certain it's what you want before you commit.” How could I turn back now, though? Everything was in place. This was supposed to be the year. In fact, we'd been trying to get pregnant for a few months already. But nothing had happened (aside from the fact that—in an almost sarcastic mockery of pregnancy—I was experiencing psychosomatic morning sickness, nervously throwing up my breakfast every day). And every month when I got my period I would find myself whispering furtively in the bathroom: Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you for giving me one more month to live . I'd been attempting to convince myself that this was normal. All women must feel this way when they're trying to get pregnant, I'd decided. (“Ambivalent” was the word I used, avoiding the much more accurate description: “utterly consumed with dread.”) I was trying to convince myself that my feelings were customary, despite all evidence to the contrary—such as the acquaintance I'd run into last week who'd just discovered that she was pregnant for the first time, after spending two years and a king's ransom in fertility treatments. She was ecstatic. She had wanted to be a mother forever, she told me. She admitted she'd been secretly buying baby clothes for years and hiding them under the bed, where her husband wouldn't find them. I saw the joy in her face and I recognized it. This was the exact joy my own face had radiated last spring, the day I discovered that the magazine I worked for was going to send me on assignment to New Zealand, to write an article about the search for giant squid. And I thought, “Until I can feel as ecstatic about having a baby as I felt about going to New Zealand to search for a giant squid, I cannot have a baby.” I don't want to be married anymore. In daylight hours, I refused that thought, but at night it would consume me. What a catastrophe. How could I be such a criminal jerk as to proceed this deep into a marriage, only to leave it? We'd only just bought this house a year ago. Hadn't I wanted this nice house? Hadn't I loved it? So why was I haunting its halls every night now, howling like Medea? Wasn't I proud of all we'd accumulated—the prestigious home in the Hudson Valley, the apartment in Manhattan, the eight phone lines, the friends and the picnics and the parties, the weekends spent roaming the aisles of some box-shaped superstore of our choice, buying ever more appliances on credit?

I had actively participated in every moment of the creation of this life—so why did I feel like none of it resembled me? Why did I feel so overwhelmed with duty, tired of being the primary breadwinner and the housekeeper and the social coordinator and the dog-walker and the wife and the soon-to-be mother, and—somewhere in my stolen moments—a writer . I don't want to be married anymore. My husband was sleeping in the other room, in our bed. I equal parts loved him and could not stand him. I couldn't wake him to share in my distress—what would be the point? He'd already been watching me fall apart for months now, watching me behave like a madwoman (we both agreed on that word), and I only exhausted him. We both knew there was something wrong with me, and he'd been losing patience with it. We'd been fighting and crying, and we were weary in that way that only a couple whose marriage is collapsing can be weary. We had the eyes of refugees. The many reasons I didn't want to be this man's wife anymore are too personal and too sad to share here. Much of it had to do with my problems, but a good portion of our troubles were related to his issues, as well. That's only natural; there are always two figures in a marriage, after all—two votes, two opinions, two conflicting sets of decisions, desires and limitations. But I don't think it's appropriate for me to discuss his issues in my book. Nor would I ask anyone to believe that I am capable of reporting an unbiased version of our story, and therefore the chronicle of our marriage's failure will remain untold here. I also will not discuss here all the reasons why I did still want to be his wife, or all his wonderfulness, or why I loved him and why I had married him and why I was unable to imagine life without him. I won't open any of that. Let it be sufficient to say that, on this night, he was still my lighthouse and my albatross in equal measure. The only thing more unthinkable than leaving was staying; the only thing more impossible than staying was leaving. I didn't want to destroy anything or anybody. I just wanted to slip quietly out the back door, without causing any fuss or consequences, and then not stop running until I reached Greenland. This part of my story is not a happy one, I know. But I share it here because something was about to occur on that bathroom floor that would change forever the progression of my life—almost like one of those crazy astronomical super-events when a planet flips over in outer space for no reason whatsoever, and its molten core shifts, relocating its poles and altering its shape radically, such that the whole mass of the planet suddenly becomes oblong instead of spherical. Something like that. What happened was that I started to pray. You know—like, to God.

Eat Pray Love ch2 Eat Pray Love ch2 Eat Pray Love ch2 Jedz módl się kochaj rozdz. 2 Comer Rezar Amar cap. 2 Їсти Молитися Любити ч2

And since I am already down there in supplication on the floor, let me hold that position as I reach back in time three years earlier to the moment when this entire story began—a moment which also found me in this exact same posture: on my knees, on a floor, praying. 이미 바닥에 간구하고 있었기 때문에이 이야기 전체가 시작된 순간부터 3 년 전까지의 시간에 도달 할 때 그 위치를 유지하겠습니다. 무릎, 바닥에기도. И поскольку я уже нахожусь там, внизу, в мольбе на полу, позвольте мне занять это положение, когда я вернусь назад во времени на три года назад, к тому моменту, когда началась вся эта история — момент, который также застал меня в точно такой же позе: на моем колени, на полу, молится.

Everything else about the three-years-ago scene was different, though. Однако все остальное в сцене трехлетней давности было другим. Yine de üç yıl önceki sahne ile ilgili diğer her şey farklıydı. That time, I was not in Rome but in the upstairs bathroom of the big house in the suburbs of New York which I’d recently purchased with my husband. В тот раз я была не в Риме, а в ванной наверху большого дома в пригороде Нью-Йорка, который недавно купила вместе с мужем. It was a cold November, around three o’clock in the morning. My husband was sleeping in our bed. My husband was sleeping in our bed. I was hiding in the bathroom for something like the forty-seventh consecutive night, and—just as during all those nights before—I was sobbing. 나는 일흔 일곱 밤 연속으로 화장실에 숨어 있었고, 그 전날 밤과 마찬가지로 나는 몸을 담그고 있었다. Я прятался в ванной где-то сорок седьмую ночь подряд и, как и все предыдущие ночи, рыдал. Sobbing so hard, in fact, that a great lake of tears and snot was spreading before me on the bathroom tiles, a veritable Lake Inferior (if you will) of all my shame and fear and confusion and grief. Рыдала так сильно, что передо мной на плитке в ванной разлилось огромное озеро слез и соплей, настоящее Нижнее озеро (если хотите) всего моего стыда, страха, смятения и горя. I don’t want to be married anymore. I was trying so hard not to know this, but the truth kept insisting itself to me. Я так старался не знать этого, но правда продолжала настаивать на себе. I don’t want to be married anymore. Я больше не хочу быть замужем. I don’t want to live in this big house. I don’t want to have a baby. But I was supposed to want to have a baby. Но я должна была хотеть иметь ребенка. I was thirty-one years old. My husband and I—who had been together for eight years, married for six—had built our entire life around the common expectation that, after passing the doddering old age of thirty, I would want to settle down and have children. أنا وزوجي - الذي كنا معًا لمدة ثماني سنوات ، وتزوجنا لمدة ستة أعوام - بنينا حياتنا بأكملها حول التوقع المشترك بأنه بعد تجاوز سن الثلاثين ، أريد الاستقرار وإنجاب الأطفال. Мы с мужем, прожившие вместе восемь лет и женатые шесть, построили всю свою жизнь на общем ожидании, что после тридцатилетнего возраста я захочу остепениться и завести детей. Sekiz yıldır birlikte olan ve altı yıldır evli olan kocam ve ben, tüm hayatımızı otuz yaşımı geçtikten sonra yuva kurmak ve çocuk sahibi olmak isteyeceğim ortak beklentisi üzerine kurmuştuk. By then, we mutually anticipated, I would have grown weary of traveling and would be happy to live in a big, busy household full of children and homemade quilts, with a garden in the backyard and a cozy stew bubbling on the stovetop. 그때까지, 우리는 서로를 예상하면서, 여행에 지친 상태가되었고, 뒤뜰에는 정원이 있고 스토브에는 아늑한 스튜가있어 아이들과 집에서 만든 이불로 가득한 크고 바쁜 가정에서 사는 것이 행복 할 것입니다. К тому времени, как мы оба ожидали, я устану от путешествий и буду счастлива жить в большой, занятой семье, полной детей и самодельных одеял, с садом на заднем дворе и уютным тушеным мясом, кипящим на плите. (The fact that this was a fairly accurate portrait of my own mother is a quick indicator of how difficult it once was for me to tell the difference between myself and the powerful woman who had raised me.) (حقيقة أن هذه كانت صورة دقيقة إلى حد ما لأمي هي مؤشر سريع على مدى صعوبة معرفة الفرق بيني وبين المرأة القوية التي ربتني). (Тот факт, что это был довольно точный портрет моей собственной матери, является быстрым показателем того, как трудно мне когда-то было различать себя и влиятельную женщину, которая меня воспитала.) But I didn’t—as I was appalled to be finding out—want any of these things. Но я не хотел — как я был потрясен, когда узнал — ничего из этого. Ama ben -öğrendiğimde dehşete kapıldığım gibi- bunların hiçbirini istemiyordum. Instead Вместо as my twenties had come to a close, that deadline of THIRTY had loomed over me like a death sentence, and I discovered that I did not want to be pregnant. Когда мои двадцатые годы подошли к концу, крайний срок ТРИДЦАТЬ маячил надо мной, как смертный приговор, и я обнаружила, что не хочу быть беременной.

I kept waiting to want to have a baby, but it didn’t happen. Я все ждала, что захочу завести ребенка, но этого не произошло. And I know what it feels like to want something, believe me. И я знаю, что значит хотеть чего-то, поверь мне. Ve bir şeyi istemenin nasıl bir his olduğunu biliyorum, inanın bana. I well know what desire feels like. Я хорошо знаю, что такое желание. Arzunun nasıl bir his olduğunu iyi bilirim. But it wasn’t there. Moreover, I couldn’t stop thinking about what my sister had said to me once, as she was breastfeeding her firstborn: “Having a baby is like getting a tattoo on your face. Более того, я не могла перестать думать о том, что однажды сказала мне моя сестра, когда кормила грудью своего первенца: «Рождение ребенка — это как татуировка на лице. You really need to be certain it’s what you want before you commit.” How could I turn back now, though? 커밋하기 전에 원하는 것이 확실해야합니다.”어떻게 지금 되돌릴 수 있습니까? Вы действительно должны быть уверены, что это то, чего вы хотите, прежде чем совершить». Но как я мог вернуться сейчас? Everything was in place. Все было на месте. This was supposed to be the year. Это должен был быть год. In fact, we’d been trying to get pregnant for a few months already. На самом деле, мы пытались забеременеть уже несколько месяцев. But nothing had happened (aside from the fact that—in an almost sarcastic mockery of pregnancy—I was experiencing psychosomatic morning sickness, nervously throwing up my breakfast every day). Но ничего не произошло (кроме того факта, что — почти саркастическая пародия на беременность — я испытывала психосоматическое утреннее недомогание, каждый день нервно срыгивая свой завтрак). And every month when I got my period I would find myself whispering furtively in the bathroom: Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you for giving me one more month to live . I’d been attempting to convince myself that this was normal. Я пытался убедить себя, что это нормально. All women must feel this way when they’re trying to get pregnant, I’d decided. Все женщины должны чувствовать себя так, когда пытаются забеременеть, решила я. (“Ambivalent” was the word I used, avoiding the much more accurate description: “utterly consumed with dread.”) I was trying to convince myself that my feelings were customary, despite all evidence to the contrary—such as the acquaintance I’d run into last week who’d just discovered that she was pregnant for the first time, after spending two years and a king’s ransom in fertility treatments. (كانت كلمة "متناقضة" هي الكلمة التي استخدمتها ، متجنبة الوصف الأكثر دقة: "استهلكت الرهبة تمامًا.") كنت أحاول إقناع نفسي بأن مشاعري كانت مألوفة ، على الرغم من كل الأدلة على عكس ذلك - مثل التعارف "أنا" واجهت الأسبوع الماضي التي اكتشفت للتو أنها حامل لأول مرة ، بعد أن أمضت عامين وفدية ملك في علاجات الخصوبة. («Амбивалентный» — это слово я использовал, избегая гораздо более точного описания: «полностью поглощенный страхом».) Я пытался убедить себя, что мои чувства были обычными, несмотря на все доказательства обратного, такие как знакомство, которое я d столкнулась на прошлой неделе, которая только что обнаружила, что беременна в первый раз, проведя два года и огромный выкуп в лечении бесплодия. She was ecstatic. Она была в восторге. She had wanted to be a mother forever, she told me. She admitted she’d been secretly buying baby clothes for years and hiding them under the bed, where her husband wouldn’t find them. Она призналась, что годами тайком покупала детскую одежду и прятала ее под кроватью, где муж ее не нашел. I saw the joy in her face and I recognized it. Я увидел радость на ее лице и узнал ее. This was the exact joy my own face had radiated last spring, the day I discovered that the magazine I worked for was going to send me on assignment to New Zealand, to write an article about the search for giant squid. Это была именно та радость, которую излучало мое собственное лицо прошлой весной, когда я узнал, что журнал, в котором я работал, собирается отправить меня на задание в Новую Зеландию, чтобы написать статью о поисках гигантского кальмара. And I thought, “Until I can feel as ecstatic about having a baby as I felt about going to New Zealand to search for a giant squid, I cannot have a baby.” I don’t want to be married anymore. И я подумал: «Пока я не буду испытывать такой же восторг от рождения ребенка, как я испытывал от поездки в Новую Зеландию на поиски гигантского кальмара, я не могу иметь ребенка». Я больше не хочу быть замужем. In daylight hours, I refused that thought, but at night it would consume me. В светлое время суток я отказывался от этой мысли, но ночью она пожирала меня. What a catastrophe. Какая катастрофа. How could I be such a criminal jerk as to proceed this deep into a marriage, only to leave it? 어떻게 결혼 생활을 깊게 진행하고 떠나는 것만으로도 범죄에 빠질 수 있습니까? Как я мог быть таким преступным придурком, чтобы зайти так глубоко в брак, только чтобы расстаться с ним? Nasıl olur da bir evliliğin bu kadar derinine inip sonra da onu terk edecek kadar suçlu bir pislik olabilirim? We’d only just bought this house a year ago. Мы только что купили этот дом год назад. Hadn’t I wanted this nice house? Разве я не хотел этот хороший дом? Bu güzel evi istememiş miydim? Hadn’t I loved it? Разве я не любил его? So why was I haunting its halls every night now, howling like Medea? Так почему же я каждую ночь бродила по его залам, воя, как Медея? Wasn’t I proud of all we’d accumulated—the prestigious home in the Hudson Valley, the apartment in Manhattan, the eight phone lines, the friends and the picnics and the parties, the weekends spent roaming the aisles of some box-shaped superstore of our choice, buying Разве я не гордился всем, что мы накопили — престижным домом в Гудзоновской долине, квартирой на Манхэттене, восемью телефонными линиями, друзьями, пикниками и вечеринками, выходными, проведенными в проходах каких-то коробчатых супермаркет по нашему выбору, покупка ever more appliances on credit? المزيد من الأجهزة على الائتمان من أي وقت مضى؟ 신용에 더 많은 기기? еще больше техники в кредит?

I had actively participated in every moment of the creation of this life—so why did I feel like none of it resembled me? Я активно участвовал в каждом моменте создания этой жизни — так почему я чувствовал, что ничто из этого не похоже на меня? Why did I feel so overwhelmed with duty, tired of being the primary breadwinner and the housekeeper and the social coordinator and the dog-walker and the wife and the soon-to-be mother, and—somewhere in my stolen moments—a writer . 왜 내가 일차적 인 빵꾼이자 가정부, 사회 조정자, 개 보행자, 아내, 곧 어머니, 그리고 내 도난당한 순간에 작가가 된 것에 지쳤을 때 나는 의무에 압도 당했다고 느꼈다. Почему я чувствовал себя таким перегруженным обязанностями, усталым быть главным кормильцем, домохозяйкой, социальным координатором, собаководом, женой, будущей матерью и — где-то в украденные минуты — писателем… I don’t want to be married anymore. My husband was sleeping in the other room, in our bed. I equal parts loved him and could not stand him. 나는 동등한 부분이 그를 사랑했고 그를 견딜 수 없었습니다. Я в равной степени любил его и терпеть не мог. I couldn’t wake him to share in my distress—what would be the point? Я не мог разбудить его, чтобы он разделил мои страдания — какой в этом смысл? He’d already been watching me fall apart for months now, watching me behave like a madwoman (we both agreed on that word), and I only exhausted him. Он уже несколько месяцев наблюдал, как я разваливаюсь, наблюдая, как я веду себя как сумасшедшая (мы оба согласились с этим словом), и я только утомила его. We both knew there was something wrong with me, and he’d been losing patience with it. Мы оба знали, что со мной что-то не так, и он терял терпение. We’d been fighting and crying, and we were weary in that way that only a couple whose marriage is collapsing can be weary. Мы ссорились и плакали, и мы устали так, как может быть утомлена только пара, чей брак рушится. We had the eyes of refugees. У нас были глаза беженцев. The many reasons I didn’t want to be this man’s wife anymore are too personal and too sad to share here. Многие причины, по которым я больше не хотела быть женой этого человека, слишком личные и слишком печальные, чтобы делиться ими здесь. Artık bu adamın karısı olmak istemememin birçok nedeni burada paylaşılamayacak kadar kişisel ve üzücü. Much of it had to do with my problems, but a good portion of our troubles were related to his issues, as well. كان الكثير من ذلك يتعلق بمشاكلي ، لكن جزءًا كبيرًا من مشاكلنا كان مرتبطًا بقضاياه أيضًا. Многое из этого было связано с моими проблемами, но большая часть наших проблем была также связана с его проблемами. That’s only natural; there are always two figures in a marriage, after all—two votes, two opinions, two conflicting sets of decisions, desires and limitations. Это естественно; в конце концов, в браке всегда две фигуры — два голоса, два мнения, два противоречивых набора решений, желаний и ограничений. But I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to discuss his issues in my book. Но я не думаю, что мне уместно обсуждать его проблемы в моей книге. Nor would I ask anyone to believe that I am capable of reporting an unbiased version of our story, and therefore the chronicle of our marriage’s failure will remain untold here. Я также не стал бы просить кого-либо поверить, что я способен изложить непредвзятую версию нашей истории, и поэтому хроника нашего краха брака останется здесь невыразимой. Kimsenin hikayemizi tarafsız bir şekilde aktarabileceğime inanmasını da istemem, dolayısıyla evliliğimizin başarısızlığının öyküsü burada anlatılmadan kalacaktır. I also will not discuss here all the reasons why I did still want to be his wife, or all his wonderfulness, or why I loved him and why I had married him and why I was unable to imagine life without him. Я также не буду здесь обсуждать ни всех причин, по которым я все-таки хотела быть его женой, ни всей его чудесности, ни того, почему я любила его и почему я вышла за него замуж и почему я не могла мыслить жизни без него. I won’t open any of that. Я не буду открывать ничего из этого. Let it be sufficient to say that, on this night, he was still my lighthouse and my albatross in equal measure. Достаточно будет сказать, что в эту ночь он по-прежнему был моим маяком и моим альбатросом в равной мере. The only thing more unthinkable than leaving was staying; the only thing more impossible than staying was leaving. Единственное, что было немыслимее отъезда, это остаться; единственное, что было невозможным, это уйти. I didn’t want to destroy anything or anybody. Я не хотел ничего и никого уничтожать. I just wanted to slip quietly out the back door, without causing any fuss or consequences, and then not stop running until I reached Greenland. Я просто хотел незаметно выскользнуть через черный ход, не вызывая никакой суеты и последствий, а потом не прекращать бежать, пока не доберусь до Гренландии. This part of my story is not a happy one, I know. But I share it here because something was about to occur on that bathroom floor that would change forever the progression of my life—almost like one of those crazy astronomical super-events when a planet flips over in outer space for no reason whatsoever, and its molten core shifts, relocating its poles and altering its shape radically, such that the whole mass of the planet suddenly becomes oblong instead of spherical. Но я делюсь этим здесь, потому что на полу в ванной должно было произойти что-то, что навсегда изменит ход моей жизни — почти как одно из тех сумасшедших астрономических суперсобытий, когда планета переворачивается в открытом космосе без какой-либо причины, и ее расплавленное ядро смещается, перемещая свои полюса и радикально изменяя свою форму, так что вся масса планеты внезапно становится продолговатой, а не сферической. Але я ділюся нею тут, тому що на підлозі у ванній мало статися щось, що назавжди змінило б хід мого життя - майже як одна з тих божевільних астрономічних суперподій, коли планета перевертається в космосі без жодної причини, і її розплавлене ядро зміщується, переміщуючи свої полюси і радикально змінюючи форму, так що вся маса планети раптом стає довгастою, а не сферичною. Something like that. What happened was that I started to pray. Случилось так, что я начал молиться. You know—like, to God. Вы знаете, типа, к Богу.