God. Sex. And Yoga.
Mothers. Daughters. And Destiny.
Growing up. Giving up. Going Mad.
The juiciness no one is talking about. Yet.
Six months before my 30th birthday, my life as I knew it flopped. Dumped by my fiancé, fired from my dream job, dropped by my graduate program, and evicted by my Upper West Side landlord, I lost everything except the one thing I desperately wanted to:
My virginity.
Determined to gain back my love and lose my singleness cherry, I set sail on a spiritual quest. I honeymooned with my right-winged divorcee mother in Europe, vibrated into Om at a yoga training in Guatemala, and rubbed rosaries in California hotels on a crusade for holy sex. Crossing two coasts and five countries, I moved forward by crawling back, confronting the truth of my past, which clung as tightly as the quirks of my childhood faith and as intimately as my crown chakra. Where was my true love and can true love really wait into my 30s? On a journey as bewildering as it was sovereign, I got much more than I bargained for, in a tale where letting go and growing up was insatiably more orgasmic than I ever imagined.
