considered (a stake in the royalties of books I'd written during the marriage, a cut of possible future movie rights to my work, a share of my retirement accounts, etc.) and here I had to voice my protest at last. Months of negotiations ensued between our lawyers, a compromise of sorts inched its way toward the table and it was starting to look like my husband might actually accept a modified deal. It would cost me dearly, but a fight in the courts would be infinitely more expensive and time-consuming, not to mention soul-corroding. If he signed the agreement, all I had to do was pay and walk away. Which would be fine with me at this point. Our relationship now thoroughly ruined, with even civility destroyed between us, all I wanted anymore was the door.
The question was-would he sign? More weeks passed as he contested more details. If he didn't agree to this settlement, we'd have to go to trial. A trial would almost certainly mean that every remaining dime would be lost in legal fees. Worst of all, a trial would mean another year-at least-of all this mess. So whatever my husband decided (and he still was my husband, after all), it was going to determine yet another year of my life. Would I be traveling all alone through Italy, India and Indonesia? Or would I be getting cross-examined somewhere in a courtroom basement during a deposition hearing?
Every day I called my lawyer fourteen times-any news?-and every day she assured me that she was doing her best, that she would telephone immediately if the deal was signed. The nervousness I felt during this time was something between waiting to be called into the principal's office and anticipating the results of a biopsy. I'd love to report that I stayed calm and Zen, but I didn't. Several nights, in waves of anger, I beat the life out of my couch with a softball bat. Most of the time I was just achingly depressed.
Meanwhile, David and I had broken up again. This time, it seemed, for good. Or maybe not-we couldn't totally let go of it. Often I was still overcome with a desire to sacrifice everything for the love of him. Other times, I had the quite opposite instinct-to put as many continents and oceans as possible between me and this guy, in the hope of finding peace and happiness.
I had lines in my face now, permanent incisions dug between my eyebrows, from crying and from worry.
And in the middle of all that, a book that I'd written a few years earlier was being published in paperback and I had to go on a small publicity tour. I took my friend Iva with me for company. Iva is my age but grew up in Beirut, Lebanon. Which means that, while I was playing sports and auditioning for musicals in a Connecticut middle school, she was cowering in a bomb shelter five nights out of seven, trying not to die. I'm not sure how all this early exposure to violence created somebody who's so steady now, but Iva is one of the calmest souls I know. Moreover, she's got what I call 'The Bat Phone to the Universe,' some kind of Iva-only, open-round-the-clock special channel to the divine.
So we were driving across Kansas, and I was in my normal state of sweaty disarray over this divorce deal-will he sign, will he not sign?-and I said to Iva, 'I don't think I can endure another year in court. I wish I could get some divine intervention here. I wish I could write a petition to God, asking for this thing to end.'
'So why don't you?'
I explained to Iva my personal opinions about prayer. Namely, that I don't feel comfortable petitioning for specific things from God, because that feels to me like a kind of weakness of faith. I don't like asking, 'Will you change this or that thing in my life that's difficult for me?' Because-who knows?-God might want me to be facing that particular challenge for a reason. Instead, I feel more comfortable praying for the courage to face whatever occurs in my life with equanimity, no matter how things turn out.
Iva listened politely, then asked, 'Where'd you get that stupid idea?'
'What do you mean?'
'Where did you get the idea you aren't allowed to petition the universe with prayer? You are part of this universe, Liz. You're a constituent-you have every entitlement to participate in the actions of the universe, and to let your feelings be known. So put your opinion out there. Make your case. Believe me-it will at least be taken into consideration.'
'Really?' All this was news to me.
'Really! Listen-if you were to write a petition to God right now, what would it say?'
I thought for a while, then pulled out a notebook and wrote this petition:
Dear God.
Please intervene and help end this divorce. My husband and I have failed at our marriage and now we are failing at our divorce. This poisonous process is bringing suffering to us and to everyone who cares about us.
I recognize that you are busy with wars and tragedies and much larger conflicts than the ongoing dispute of one dysfunctional couple. But it is my understanding that the health of the planet is affected by the health of every individual on it. As long as even two souls are locked in conflict, the whole of the world is contaminated by it. Similarly, if even one or two souls can be free from discord, this will increase the general health of the whole world, the way a few healthy cells in a body can increase the general health of that body.
It is my most humble request, then, that you help us end this conflict, so that two more people can have the chance to become free and healthy, and so there will be just a little bit less animosity and bitterness in a world that is already far too troubled by suffering.
I thank you for your kind attention.
Respectfully,
Elizabeth M. Gilbert
I read it to Iva, and she nodded her approval.
'I would sign that,' she said.
I handed the petition over to her with a pen, but she was too busy driving, so she said, 'No, let's say that I did just sign it. I signed it in my heart.'
'Thank you, Iva. I appreciate your support.'
'Now, who else would sign it?' she asked.
'My family. My mother and father. My sister.'
'OK,' she said. 'They just did. Consider their names added. I actually felt them sign it. They're on the list now. OK-who else would sign it? Start naming names.'
So I started naming names of all the people who I thought would sign this petition. I named all my close friends, then some family members and some people I worked with. After each name, Iva would say with assurance, 'Yep. He just signed it,' or 'She just signed it.' Sometimes she would pop in with her own signatories, like: 'My parents just signed it. They raised their children during a war. They hate useless conflict. They'd be happy to see your divorce end.'
I closed my eyes and waited for more names to come to me.
'I think Bill and Hillary Clinton just signed it,' I said.
'I don't doubt it,' she said. 'Listen, Liz-anybody can sign this petition. Do you understand that? Call on anyone, living or dead, and start collecting signatures.'
'Saint Francis of Assisi just signed it!'
'Of course he did!' Iva smacked her hand against the steering wheel with certainty.
Now I was cooking:
'Abraham Lincoln just signed it! And Gandhi, and Mandela and all the peacemakers. Eleanor Roosevelt, Mother Teresa, Bono, Jimmy Carter, Muhammad Ali, Jackie Robinson and the Dalai Lama… and my grandmother who died in 1984 and my grandmother who's still alive… and my Italian teacher, and my therapist, and my agent… and Martin Luther King Jr. and Katharine Hepburn… and Martin Scorsese (which you wouldn't necessarily expect, but it's still nice of him)… and my Guru, of course… and Joanne Woodward, and Joan of Arc, and Ms. Carpenter, my fourth-grade teacher, and Jim Henson-'
The names spilled from me. They didn't stop spilling for almost an hour, as we drove across Kansas and my petition for peace stretched into page after invisible page of supporters. Iva kept confirming-yes, he signed it, yes, she signed it-and I became filled with a grand sense of protection, surrounded by the collective goodwill of so many mighty souls.
The list finally wound down, and my anxiety wound down with it. I was sleepy. Iva said, 'Take a nap. I'll drive.' I closed my eyes. One last name appeared. 'Michael J. Fox just signed it,' I murmured, then drifted into sleep. I don't know how long I slept, maybe only for ten minutes, but it was deep. When I woke up, Iva was still driving. She was humming a little song to herself. I yawned.
