Enlightenment... for Sale?

Today, I was introduced to a truly marvelous term that gives voice to a deep feeling of discomfort I have experienced in response to reading Gretchen Rubin's book, The Happiness Project: "Priv-Lit." That's right, priv-lit, as in privilege-literature. Maybe I am the last person to get to the party and hit upon this apt term that describes a new-ish genre of non-fiction that has emerged and become hyper-glamorized over the last few years. But today I found out that our culture's glorification of these types of narratives is making others uncomfortable, too.

In the article "Eat, Pray, Spend," Joshuanda Sanders and Diana Barnes-Brown totally nail the unease I have been feeling in the run up to this Friday's release of Eat, Pray, Love, the movie, starring America's sweetheart, Julia Roberts. I should preface my thoughts by admitting that I enjoyed reading the book. I also sort of enjoyed Rubin's Happiness Project. And, I do think that the core message of both authors and others in the priv-lit arena is this: take the time to invest in self-improvement. That is totally a gospel I can preach.

But what makes me wildly uncomfortable is the medium through which these authors preach the message of self-worth, improvement, and the search for meaning: money. Sanders and Barnes-Brown sum this up pretty directly, by claiming that Eat, Pray, Love could be retitled, "Wealthy, Whiny, White." While I am sure Elizabeth Gilbert would argue, if confronted, that her message goes beyond her wealth and privileged place in American society and calls women to recognize their own worth, but how can they really? How can that message be seen through the fog of wild spending, career suicide, and complete self-indulgence the protagonist deals in during her journey across three countries over the course of a year? What percentage of women who have read Eat, Pray, Love (note: there are 5 million copies currently in print) can afford to take a full year away from home, their lives and families to go on a journey of self-enlightenment that would cost tens of thousands of dollars?

My guess is not many, and that is what makes me squirm the most. And not because I think every woman walks away from the book feeling as though she has to do yoga on a mountaintop in India in order to be "whole." But because I worry that in reading priv-lit, in pondering the extraordinary journeys of their wealthy female protagonists, readers may not gauge the value of the many millions of little things one can do to be happier, healthier, and more fulfilled.

The lives of these authors are not comparable to the lives of the average reader. I thought this constantly while reading The Happiness Project because often it was very difficult for me to hear the core message over the visual of Yale-educated, best-selling author Rubin sitting in her luxe New York City apartment, offering me kernels of wisdom about how to better organize my closets. I cannot empathize with Gilbert, even though I have suffered my share of loneliness, self-loathing and heartache, as she takes a year away from work to travel the world in search of, well, herself. These women are not kindred spirits to me, simply because we are light years apart on the social and financial hierarchy.

I am glad to have stumbled across Sanders and Barnes-Brown because their discussion of priv-lit gives context the creepy-crawley sensation I sometimes felt reading each book; the insidious message that the road to being "whole," independent and content comes only through rampant spending and worship at the altar of materialism. Scarier yet to me is that even if more people were able to embark on a pricey search for self, my guess is many would come to a painful conclusion. Trips, food, yoga class and lavish vacations can be bought. Happiness and contentment cannot.