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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."
我试图说服自己这很正常。我推断，每个女人在尝试怀孕的时候，都一定有过这样的感受。（我用的词是“情绪矛盾”，避免使用更精确的描述：“充满恐惧”。）我试着安慰自己说，我的心情没啥异常，尽管全部证据都与此相反 ——比方上周巧遇的一个朋友，在花了两年时间、散尽大把钞票接受人工受孕，刚发现自己第一次怀孕后。她欣喜若狂地告诉我，她始终梦想成为人母。她承认自己多年来暗自买婴儿衣服，藏在床底下，免得被丈夫发现。她脸上的喜悦，我看得出来。那正是去年春天在我脸上绽放的那种喜悦；那一天，我得知我服务的杂志社即将派我去新西兰，写一篇有关寻找巨型鱿鱼的文章。我心想：“等到我对生孩子的感觉，像要去新西兰找巨型鱿鱼一样欣喜若狂的时候，才生小孩。”
I don't want to be married anymore.
我不想再待在婚姻中。
In daylight hours, I refused that thought, but at night it would consume me. What a cata-strophe. 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 . . .?
白天的时候，我拒绝想及这个念头，但到了夜幕降临，这念头却又啃噬着我。好一场灾难。我怎么如此浑蛋，深入婚姻，却又决定放弃？我们才在一年前买下这栋房子。我难道不想要这栋美丽的房子？我难道不爱它？那我现在为何每晚在门厅间出没时，嚎叫有如疯妇？我难道不对我们所积聚的一切——哈德逊谷（HudsonValley）的名居、曼哈顿的公寓、八条电话线、朋友、野餐、派对、周末漫步于我们选择的大型超市的过道、刷卡购买更多家用品——感到自豪？我主动参与创造这种生活的每时每刻当中——那为什么我觉得这一切根本就不 像我？为什么我觉得不胜重担，再也无法忍受负担 家计、理家、亲友往来、蹓狗、做贤妻良母，甚至在偷闲时刻写作……？
I don't want to be married anymore.
我不想再待在婚姻中。
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.
我先生在另一个房间里，睡在我们的床上。我一半爱他，却又受不了他。我不能叫醒他，要他分担我的痛苦——那有什么意义？几个月来，他见我陷于崩溃，眼看我的行为有如疯妇（我俩对此用词意见一致），我只是让他疲惫不堪。我们两人都知道“我出了问题”，而他已渐渐失去耐心。我们吵架、哭喊，我们感到厌倦，只有婚姻陷入破裂的夫妇才感受的厌倦。我们的眼神有如难民。
The many reasons I didn't want to be this man's wife anymore are too personal and too sad to share here. Muchof 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.
我之所以不想再做这个男人的妻子，涉及种种私人、伤心的原因，难以在此分享。绝大部分涉及我的问题，但我们的困境也很大程度和他有关。这并不奇怪；毕竟婚姻中总是存在两个人——两张票，两个意见，两种相互矛盾的决定、欲求与限制。然而，在我的书中探讨他的问题并不妥当。我也不要求任何人相信我能公正无私地报道我们的故事，因此在此略过讲述我们失败婚姻的前因。我也不愿在此讨论我真的曾经想继续做他妻子、他种种的好、 我为何爱他而嫁给他、为何无法想象没有他的生活等一切的原因。我不想打开这些话题。让我们这么说吧，这天晚上，他仍是我的灯塔，也同时是我的包袱。不离开比离开更难以想象；离开比不离开更不可能。我不想毁了任何东西或任何人。我只想从后门悄悄溜走，不惹出任何麻烦或导致任何后果，毫不停歇地奔向世界的尽头。
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.
这部分的故事并不快乐，我明白。但我之所以在此分享，是因为在浴室地板上即将发生的事，将永久改变我的生命进程 ——几乎就像一颗行星毫无来由地在太空中猝然翻转这类天文大事一般，其熔心变动、两极迁移、形状大幅变形，使整个行星突然变成长方形，不再是球形。就像这样。
What happened was that I started to pray.
You know—like, to God.
Eat, Pray, Love
发生的事情是：我开始祈祷。
你知道— —就是向神祷告那样。
