Eat, Pray, Love

It’s a reminder—when you’re making a big deal out of explaining something, when you’re
searching for the right words—to keep your language as simple and direct as Roman food.
Don’t make a big production out of it. Just lay it on the table.
I take a deep breath and offer a heavily abridged (yet somehow totally complete) Itali-
an-language version of my situation: “It’s about a love story, Giovanni. I had to say good-bye
to someone today.”
Then my hands are slapped over my eyes again, tears spraying through my clamped fin-
gers. Bless his heart, Giovanni doesn’t try to put a reassuring arm around me, nor does he
express the slightest discomfort about my explosion of sadness. Instead, he just sits through
my tears in silence, until I’ve calmed down. At which point he speaks with perfect empathy,
choosing each word with care (as his English teacher, I was so proud of him that night!), say-
ing slowly and clearly and kindly: “I understand, Liz. I have been there.”
Eat, Pray, Love