Eat, Pray, Live.

Now, instead of running all over the place, Liz is bringing people to her. She and José bought a house in Frenchtown, and she invites artist friends who need a retreat to use that converted church in Little York. She used EPL money to buy a second house in town, where two friends she’s recruited to work at Two Buttons now live.
 
Liz and José continue to weave themselves into the town’s fabric: He pedaled an Iraq vet on a bicycle cab in the last Memorial Day parade; she started a program to collect food baskets for locals in need. She might buy more ­property to encourage other pals to move here. “We’re kind of colonizing the town,” Liz says. “It’s 12 square blocks, with one main street — a place this size, you can really have an impact.”
 
She already does. Liz seems to know every man and dog. She might as well be mayor. Who knows? Tom Junod, a longtime Esquire writer who worked with Liz at GQ, says there are two writers he’s met whom he can imagine as president. Dave Eggers is one. Liz is the other. Junod isn’t kidding — but of course he’s talking about their presence, their largeness, not the likelihood. The largeness to attract followers, and to be comfortable having them.
 
For Liz Gilbert, at least for the moment, that’s enough.