Zen Bender

Has meditation left you thinking: Ohhmmmm my God this isn’t working?

Has Marie Kondo left your brain cluttered?

If the Universe calls, do you listen or worry it’s just drunk-dialed you?

When the recession turned her world upside down, news producer Stephanie Krikorian had to reinvent herself…and fast. So she started ghostwriting self-help books for celebrity experts. Soon, she wasn’t just writing the books, she was living them, embarking on an exhaustive quest for the ultimate self-help high. And then things went next level. After years of dealing only in facts, Stephanie drank the green juice, falling down the rabbit hole of neo-spiritualism and into a Wonderland of tarot card readers and aura healers, visionary gurus and vision boards, crystals and cleanses. Heeding the advice of self-help books, life coaches, and Pinterest boards, she tried to “follow the signs” in the midst of navigating all the oh-so-earth-bound issues of bills, dating, aging, earning a living, and dieting.

A laugh out-loud funny, ultra-relatable story of soul-searching that is more self-heal than self-help, Zen Bender finally answers the question, “Does all this stuff really work?” as Stephanie ultimately finds herself, and the totally unexpected, delightful truth. Pour a glass of wine, skip meditation class, and curl up with this book.

 

Excerpt from Zen Bender

I’ll Never Be Saved

Once, while eating lunch in the cafeteria in high school, a friend of mine was telling me her family went to church more than just on Sundays. Over sandwiches that my frugal father had packed in recycled milk bags (in Canada, milk comes in bags), this girl explained that Jesus Christ was our Savior. I didn’t know what that meant, but I didn’t dare ask.

She asked me what church I went to.

“None,” I said. “I have never been baptized.”

She was horrified.

“If you’ve never been baptized, you will never be saved,” she said.

I didn’t know what that meant then (or now), but it was still upsetting. I was un-save-able. Nothing about that sounded positive.

It was so disturbing it stuck with me even thirty-plus years later.

So, when I was being blocked from entering a party in LA and someone told me they had to save me before I went in, I was thrilled. That girl had been wrong. I was going to be saved in a stranger’s driveway in West Hollywood. Praise the Lord!

Sadly, I had misheard. Unfortunately, I had to be saged before I could enter the house. Not saved. I didn’t know what saged meant either. But I quickly learned.

 

Announcements

Press

Praise

About the book