Tyler Morgan, the film industryâs most promising producer, is reeling from a recent breakup with his long-term boyfriend. In the midst of heartbreak, Tyler receives what he believes to be a divine sign, urging him to quit his coveted job and embark on a recreation of Eat Pray Love. Yes, recreate the Eat Pray Love.
After experiencing the highs and lows of love in Italy, Tyler comes to a realizationâhis emotional issues run deeper than any pilgrimage can cure. By the time he reaches the "Pray" phase, his savings are drained, leaving him penniless and stranded outside the gates of an ashram in rural India. With no other option, he must confront what he's truly running from.
Eating & Praying delves into themes of grief, family, the romance and tragedy of being young and queer in the modern world, internet-age narcissism, and the necessity of making peace with one's past to make sense of the present.
Tyler Morgan, the film industryâs most promising producer, is reeling from a recent breakup with his long-term boyfriend. In the midst of heartbreak, Tyler receives what he believes to be a divine sign, urging him to quit his coveted job and embark on a recreation of Eat Pray Love. Yes, recreate the Eat Pray Love.
After experiencing the highs and lows of love in Italy, Tyler comes to a realizationâhis emotional issues run deeper than any pilgrimage can cure. By the time he reaches the "Pray" phase, his savings are drained, leaving him penniless and stranded outside the gates of an ashram in rural India. With no other option, he must confront what he's truly running from.
Eating & Praying delves into themes of grief, family, the romance and tragedy of being young and queer in the modern world, internet-age narcissism, and the necessity of making peace with one's past to make sense of the present.
Tyler Morgan had never expected to have his heart broken on a Tuesday. Tuesdays were all about business, cold and structured. Heartbreaks were messy, a roiling pot of emotionsâsomething to endure on a weekend. Especially if one had to confront the blinding hangover that had now overtaken Tyler. There was no doubting it: Leo had left him. But couldnât he at least have given Tylerâs assistant a heads-up? Amber could have scheduled the heartache and saved Tyler all this mid-week misery. Instead, he sat alone in his apartmentâthe apartment he had shared with Leo!âand shook from a rush of adrenaline. The breakup had happened so suddenly. It was as if his mind had just begun to process the shock his body was already experiencing. The soft hairs in his inner ear had absorbed the overflow of alcohol, amplifying his tinnitus to a piercing pitch. Tornado sirens, he thoughtâhis head blared at the same frequency of those sirens from his youth. Where had everything gone wrong?
Through the fog, Tyler could see how all the signs of a foreboding breakup were there. Leo had been sorting through his belongings for weeksâmaybe monthsâand Tyler hadnât even thought to notice. Leo had removed the downtown artistâs portrait of Demi Lovato, a painting inspired by an unflattering paparazzo shot. The bookshelf was cleared of Leoâs favorite titles, including the first edition copy of Pretty Little Liars, a quasi-ironic gift to commemorate a television series they quasi-ironically binged. Even the unwashed extra set of Boll & Branch sheets that had sat in the corner of the foyer for months was removedâTyler hadnât been home enough to pick up on it. Two stuffed duffle bags were the last of Leoâs possessions, and they, too, went out the door with him.Â
âTyler, Iâm leaving you.âÂ
Those were Leoâs words. So definite. So absolute. Tyler didnât even know what to thinkâat first. His mouth opened and he wore an incredulous half-grin.Â
âWhat?âÂ
âIâm leaving, Tyler.âÂ
âButâ but why!â he cried, reality setting in. âI donât understand.âÂ
He did his best not to slur his words. His nightly afterwork outing had devolved into several rounds of gin and tonics with friends. The acid in his stomach churned the cocktails, prompting spasms deep inside him. He collapsed to the floor and found himself crawling on his hands and knees toward Leo, begging him not to go. Tyler suddenly thought of the scene in Sunset Boulevard in which Norma Desmond begs her younger lover not to leave her palatial lair. Tyler had loved her extravagance, the camp of Gloria Swansonâs performance, but here he was now, beseeching his lover, on his knees, and this shit was in no way amusing. Â
âLook at you, Tyler. I donât even know the last time I saw you laugh! Or kiss me! Or tell me you love me!âÂ
âI love you,â Tyler pleaded. He reached out to Leo. âI love you!â
Leo wasnât having it. âWe have no relationship,â he said, exasperated. âAnd we havenât for a long time. And what about the future? Iâve known you for four years, and itâs clear you donât care about me. You come home wasted every night. I mean, falling-down, get-some-fucking-help, full-blown-drunk. Every night! And when youâre not drunk, youâre working. Or youâre drunk and working. And all for what? To produce some little movies that a bunch of Letterboxd-obsessed teens watch? Youâre a shell of the man you used to be.âÂ
That word hit especially hard. Shell. It made Tyler sound like a dried-out carcass. Whoa! Sure, he was getting older, and on some days he desperately needed moisturizer, but now he couldnât get the image of a wrinkled Mother Teresa out of his head. He looked up into Leoâs emotionless eyes.Â
âIâ I donât know what to do⊠Leo! You canât do this!âÂ
âI loved you, Tyler. I loved you so much. But I donât anymore. And you donât love me either. Youâll see. You just need some distance.â
Leo turned the doorknob and pulled the door open. The hallwayâs ghastly fluorescent lighting burned into the dark apartment.Â
âI will do anything. Leo! Please. Please just give me a chance! You canât end it like this!âÂ
âYou made this decision for us long ago. Iâm just the one whoâs going to see it through. I hope you get what you need.âÂ
And with that, he closed the door.Â
âŠ
The next hours seemed impossibly long, measured only by P!nkâs âJust Like a Pill,â which Tyler kept replaying on his stereo as he laid on the floor in the foyer. On the nose, yes, but the song conveyed everything Tyler was wrestling with that night. It wasnât supposed to hurt like this. He was proud, almost indignant, about how little he needed from Leo, emotionally. That was part of the draw. His career was in chaos, but he was able to come home every night to the one thing in his life that was stable: that six-foot swimmer he fell in love with all those seasons ago.Â
Now, the breakup spelled an uncertain future. All those dreams he and Leo had ceased to exist. The summer house in Woodstock they talked about buying. The vacations to Bora Bora. Having childrenâthey even went over names that they liked. All gone. This gutting of possibility was what ripped through Tylerâs body, leaving him unable to move.Â
When Tylerâs phone died, drained by P!nkâs incessant heartbreak, he didnât dare plug it in. He was afraid to see that the world had carried on without him while he was immobilized on the floor. The days passed, and Tyler drew the curtains throughout the apartment, sealing himself in his misery. He got by on microwaved popcorn and frozen pierogies, letting them barely thaw in the oven before pulling them out with his bare hands. Bathing was the first daily routine to fall by the wayside. Tyler also found himself no longer speaking. He didnât utter a word after Leo shut the front door. He wondered what itâd be like never to speak again. How loud his life had become over the past several years. How loud he had become. Maybe there was something to it, the quiet. As quickly as the thought entered his mind, it left. Ding! His tinny door bell made him jump. Ding!Â
He stood frozen in the living room, scared of who could be on the other side of the door. The bell rang a third time, followed by a fist rapping on the solid wood of the door. Oh my God, he thought. It must be Leo! But wouldnât Leo have his key? Maybe he left it behind, too proud to take it with him. A key found its way into the lock and turned. I really need to find a therapist and get this drinking under control, he thought, his hopes rising. He would finally figure out a work-life balance. He would make it work with Leo. He was ready!Â
But it wasnât Leo who stood in the doorway. It was Alexa. He was ashamed. His physical appearance had deteriorated during the past few days, but he had also fooled himself into believing that Leo might actually come back to him. It had felt like just a few weeks ago when Alexa stood in that very spot, helping Leo and him move into the apartment almost three years earlier. Tyler stubbornly refused to hire professional movers, insisting that he possessed the physical strength and the friendships required to move unassisted in New York City. Alexa was assigned the thankless task of lifting the boxes out of the U-Haul, then carrying them up the four flights of stairs to the apartment door where Tyler, lofty as ever, had ordained himself with the mighty task of opening boxes and occasionally unpacking them. The three christened the apartment that day, passing around some indica that Tyler had brought back the previous week from work in Los Angeles, where he had begged (and failed) to acquire Lea Micheleâs life rights for a biopic. Settled down by the marijuana, they rested their exhausted bodies on the hardwood floor, reveling in the cool of the overworked window unit. Dehydrated and soaked in sweatâit was Tylerâs brilliant idea to move in Manhattan in godawful August, when everyone they knew had the sense to be on Fire Islandâthey wolfed down some delivered pad Thai, accompanied by a middling bottle of rosĂ©. Tyler thought the free meal was sufficient compensation for an entire dayâs work. Alexa didnât complain, knowing that Tyler would probably return the favorâif she asked when he was in the right mood. Three years later, Alexa stood at that same doorway, letting herself in to help her helpless friend yet again.Â
âAre you okay? Why havenât you called!â Alexa rushed into the living room with the urgency of a best friend. She extended her arms around his shoulders, hugging him for what felt like minutes. Tyler had forgotten how good it could feel to be embraced.Â
âTalking about this would have made it real,â he said. âAnd I really donât want it to be real.â He tucked his head under her arm.Â
âHoney, I know you live your life all out of sight, out of mind, but that just might not be the best way of handling a major crisis.â She was right, Tyler knew. He had gotten pretty far while keeping his skeletons buried in a closetâthat one in the corner would serve as an apt metaphor, its mess of linens forever pressing up against the door. There was a certain shame in secrecy, but there was an even greater shame in denial.Â
âHow did you know?âÂ
âYour phone calls kept going straight to voicemail. So I called Leo. And he told me.â Tyler kept his head snuggled under her arm.Â
âHow did he sound?â
âHe sounded heartbroken, Tyler.â This soothed him. He had imagined Leo happily gallivanting about town, a man once again on the make, freed from his tormentor.
âWhat do you need?â Alexa asked.Â
âI say this with my entire being: I donât know.âÂ
âThatâs perfectly understandable,â she said. âBut what are you going to do?â
He looked at her.Â
âI have no idea. Itâs too much him, even with all his shit gone. I can see him everywhere, and I canât take it.âÂ
There was something else, something he was too embarrassed to admit: losing the apartment would mean losing the lifestyle he had grown accustomed to. Sure, Tyler made pretty good money, especially compared to the paltry sums that so many of his contemporary millennials loved to complain about on Twitter. But he had grown to rely on Leoâs financial stability. The apartment would be ludicrous to pay for on just his salary aloneâit was already over-budget for Leo and him as a couple.Â
âPlease,â said Alexa. âNo more hiding. If you need something, just ask. Okay? And no more hiding. I found out: youâre single. No shame.â She collected her purse from the coffee table, where she had tossed it.Â
âOff so soon?â Tyler asked.Â
âWell, now that I know you arenât dead, Iâm going to get home to my own life. Call me.âÂ
âOkay, love you.âÂ
âI love you,â said Alexa, closing the door behind her.Â
Tyler felt lucky to have Alexa in his corner, no matter the circumstances. He saw so many people around him who were truly aloneâno friend, no lover, no child, no family. So many other friends had come and gone: there was Blair, his freshman roommate at NYU. The two had been fast friends, terrorizing the city together, never saying no to an open bar or an open bottle of poppers. They would harmonize lesser-known Reba McEntire songs and watched The Real Housewives of New York City every week with the fervor of devoted congregants. And then they slowly drifted apart. Blair had always been a bit unstable. Heâd have one drink too many and pick a fight with random strangers. And so Tyler kept his distance, and soon they stopped speaking altogether. There were so many other friends with promising beginnings and fizzled out endings that Tyler couldnât possibly remember them all.Â
With Alexa gone, the silence was far from comforting; it felt suffocating. He had no immunity against the quiet. He felt drained and was pale and beaded with sweat. He grabbed his Tumi purse from the ottoman and scavenged through it for the Xanax bottle.Â
Shit! He forgot to call his doctorâs office for a refill. The room began to contort and lengthen while his chest grew heavier. The dreaded, familiar yellow spots began to cloud his vision, and his knees buckled. He pressed his forehead into the floor in something like child pose, arms stretched out in front of his body. He shuddered as he gasped for air, eyes closed. He was desperate to find some semblance of breath. Missouri tornado sirens blared in his ears. The ringing continued to build as his anxiety swelled. Until ⊠silence.Â
âŠ
Speak.
He heard it so clearly.Â
Speak.
The voice was familiar. Tiny, yet still familiar. Was it his own?
Speak.Â
Uh, God? Hello? Itâs been a long time. And Iâm sorry about that. But I could use your help. Actually, I desperately need your help. Please. Iâve never felt so lost in my life. Nothing is right. I canât keep going on like this. You probably know that already. I need Leo. I need him more than anything else, God. Heâs my everything, and now heâs gone. And now I feel completely lost. So please, God, Iâm asking for some guidance. Because, uh, because, I just really need a sign, please. I know, I know, you havenât heard from me in a while, and this is such a needy request. So, thank you? Uh, goodbye for now. Oh, right. I should say âamen,â right? So⊠Amen.Â
Where the fuck did that come from? He hadnât ended up in a prayer-like pose on purposeâit was his anxietyâs doing. But before he knew it, the words were coming forth, not even concealed within the privacy of his own thoughts. They were spoken aloud: a definite call upon the Energies of the Universe for some divine intervention. What did he even know about prayer? He was raised Southern Baptist, but it was more of a community gathering spot for other families in his hometown of Dexter, Missouri. Nothing more than some free babysitting on Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights. He grew up reciting the Lordâs Prayer and other archaic, hollow ramblings, of course, but Tyler had never spoken directly to God. At least not that he knew of.Â
Waiting for something, anything, Tyler opened his eyes and pulled himself up to his knees. The anxiety had released its choking grip from around his throat. Dust and crumbs from the unswept floor were pressed into his cheeks. He wiped the residue away and placed his hands at his hips, finally able to take in deep breaths.Â
Finding the strength to stand up, Tyler walked over to the couch and slid into its comforting cushions. Finally, some relief. He picked up his phone and swiped to pull up Doodle Jumpâthe best way to recover after one of his attacks. In the process, he saw a notification on the Facebook app. How gauche! Why did he even still have Facebook? Itâs not like he was just dying to know his aunt Tina was promoting alt-right conspiracies that Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was trafficking children on behalf of the Bidens and Obamas. Nevertheless intriguedâironically!, he insisted to himselfâhe clicked on the app and saw the notification was a memory from ten years ago. He tapped on the notification. It was a photograph. There he stood, ten years ago, in all his nineteen-year-old, one-hundred-and-twenty-five-pound gloryâwith his Mom. Oh Mom, he thought, she was so beautiful. They stood under a marquee whose bright, red letters read EAT PRAY LOVE - PREMIERE - 8 PM, both pointing up with cheesy smiles reaching across their faces. The photo was from the 2010 Traverse City Film Festival, which his family attended every summer during their three-week stays at his grandmotherâs lakeside cabin in Leland, Michigan. The place allowed the family to have a free little vacation between the farming season (which kept his father away most of the year, thankfully) and the upcoming school year. Two thousand and ten was his last year to join his parents in Michigan as he was leaving for NYU the following week. He and his mother were so thrilled by the idea of maybe meeting Julia Roberts that they stood in a standby line for six hours, begging passers-by for tickets.Â
Tyler felt a pang in his chest and clicked out of the app, afraid of what might come.Â
The movie had sparked a watershed moment in American culture. He remembered it so clearly. Women left their families, their careers, and their homes, all in the name of transformationâdesperate for a taste of what Julia Roberts experienced in bringing Elizabeth Gilbertâs memoir to the big screen. It had enraptured him as a teenager, the Oprah-ness of it all. He saw himself so clearly in that story, even if he was an unmarried, underweight twink reared in Americaâs heartland. It was a time of unmatched change, unmatched possibility. There was a tangible hope that spread throughout the land. Years later, when Tyler would dabble in ancient Jewish mysticism at the Kabbalah Centre (thanks to Madonnaâs Ray of Light), he couldnât help but feel connected to that moment in which so many women had started over. There was something so resonant about Elizabeth Gilbertâs story. His heart skipped a beat and he gaspedâthe signature gay gasp! Wait a minute. This was it. Oh my GodâGod! This was the sign he prayed for!Â
We've all had one of those moments when we wanted to improve ourselves; new year's resolutions exist, and often fail, for a reason. But few of us talk about what really happens when our plans for improvement... don't really work out.
Davis Summers wrote an incredible, funny, and unflinching story in Eating & Praying, which finds Tyler Morgan doing the steps to Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love alllllllll out of order. The book opens with Tyler in a tight spot: the love of his life has packed his bags and is leaving Tyler after falling out of love with him, due largely to his emotional absence in their home and relationship, and with his not-so-new habit of getting drunk right after work at any pub that will have him.
After his long-term boyfriend exits the scene, Tyler internally begs for a sign and receives what he believes is a divine sign, guiding him to quit his job and recreate the path of Eat Pray Love. For those who have not read or seen the film adaptation of Elizabeth Gilbert's incredible novel, that would loosely translate to enjoying food, fun, and love in Italy; immersing oneself in prayer and the power of physical, hard work in India; and making new, important relationships and learning even more about oneself in Bali.
The problem for Tyler is that he begins his journey in Italy and experiences the incredible food, as well as the highs and lows of quick-turnover relationships in Italy, and he quickly realizes that there's more to healing from his long-term relationship than some fancy and hot rebound trysts. Rather, he needs to dig deep and figure out the emotional issues that propelled his relationship into failure. And by the time he's reached India and is ready to "pray," he's completely without money and comes to the brutal realization that there is nothing left to distract him from what the trip really called him to do: to look within, to hold himself accountable, and to heal, so that he can love himself and allow others to love him.
This will sound really niche, but I've always loved books that address other well-known books conversationally and then take a critical look at the message of that book, and Eating & Praying does just that for Eat Pray Love. You can't just drop everything and try to recreate Julia Roberts' most beloved scenes from the movie and expect it to work out! It takes planning, money, and a LOT of introspection, self-awareness, and willingness to hold oneself accountable, to really gain from the journey what the journey offers.
Eating & Praying is an incredible reminder of the importance of a person's intention and willingness to work hard to meet their intention. Throw in memorable moments, laugh-out-loud funny, and cry-your-way-through-a-kleenex-box moments, and you have a book that's perfectly in conversation, though imperfectly in step (in an endearing way, though) with Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love. If you loved Eat Pray Love the movie, and especially if you loved Eat Pray Love the book, you cannot, and I do mean CANNOT, miss this one.