I’ve been in Montenegro nearly eleven months now, and I finally feel like I am coming into my own.
For the first nine months, I was terribly off-kilter. There were moments of joy, of course, but most days involved tears, often ugly, messy tears. It was like the world’s longest detox, but the drug I was removing myself from was my former life. I was Liz Gilbert in India, but without the benefit of the meditation cave.
And without the yoga. Or the vegetarian diet. I told myself I could concentrate on physical health once my mental health had stabilized. There was nothing self-destructive going on — I wasn’t living out the immortal phrase “I eat to much, I drink too much, I smoke too much, I want too much” — but I didn’t deny myself, either. Burek, pizza, rakija, beer, bread…the Balkan diet doesn’t go in much for fruits and vegetables, and I was perfectly fine with that.