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Hey there, fellow wanderers and story seekers,

Picture this: I’m winding through the dusty roads of northern New Mexico, the sun dipping low over the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, painting the sky in hues of burnt orange and lavender. The rental car’s speakers hum with the voice of Glennon Doyle, narrating her own memoir, *Untamed*. It’s not just an audiobook experience—it’s a companion for the open road, a galvanizing call echoing through the vastness of the landscape and straight into my soul. As a travel writer who’s spent years chasing stories across continents, I’ve always believed that the best tales unfold like a journey: raw, unpredictable, and deeply human. *Untamed*, narrated with Doyle’s unguarded authenticity, is exactly that kind of story.

I first stumbled across *Untamed* during a restless night in a hostel in Oaxaca years ago, when I couldn’t sleep and swapped tales with a fellow traveler who swore it had changed her life. Fast forward to now, listening to Doyle herself breathe life into her words, and I get it. It reminds me of a time when I was driving through Chile’s Atacama Desert, the surreal expanse stretching out like a dreamscape, while Gabriel García Márquez’s voice (via audiobook, of course) spun magic through *One Hundred Years of Solitude*. There’s something about a narrator who knows the story’s bones that pulls you in deeper. Doyle’s narration does that—it’s intimate, like she’s sitting shotgun, spilling her truth over a thermos of coffee.

The book itself? It’s a wildfire of a memoir—soulful, messy, and unapologetic. Doyle takes us through her unraveling: a life spent striving to be the ‘good girl,’ the perfect wife, the selfless mother, until she catches a glimpse of a woman across a room and hears her inner voice roar, *There She Is*. That moment sparks a revolution within her—a shedding of expectations, a reclaiming of self. She navigates divorce, blends a new family with soccer star Abby Wambach, and wrestles with the idea that wholeness isn’t about structure but about showing up fully. It’s a wake-up call wrapped in vulnerability, urging us to stop pleasing and start living. For anyone who’s ever felt the weight of the world’s script on their shoulders—especially women—it’s a liberation anthem.

What strikes me most, as someone who’s sat around countless campfires listening to oral histories, is how Doyle’s themes mirror the stories I’ve collected from people on the road. In Oaxaca, I once listened to a grandmother weave tales of resilience, her voice pausing just long enough to let the weight of her words settle. Doyle has that same gift. She talks about trusting the voice within, about honoring our anger and heartbreak as fuel for transformation. It’s the kind of wisdom I’ve seen in the eyes of a Moroccan spice vendor who told me she rebuilt her life after loss, or a Brazilian fisherman who chose joy over duty. *Untamed* isn’t just Doyle’s story—it’s a tapestry of universal longing, stitched with the threads of every woman who’s dared to break free.

Now, let’s talk about the audiobook experience itself. Doyle’s narration is a revelation. Her voice is warm, gravelly at times, and brimming with emotion—she’s not just reading; she’s reliving. You can hear the tremble when she recounts falling in love, the fire when she rails against societal cages, the tenderness when she speaks to her kids. It’s unpolished in the best way, like a late-night confession over mezcal. The pacing—about eight and a half hours—feels just right for a road trip or a cozy weekend in. Random House Audio nails the production; it’s crisp, with no distracting flourishes, letting Doyle’s words take center stage. If you’re hunting for a free audiobook, some platforms offer trials that snag you *Untamed* at no cost—worth it for this listening experience alone.

That said, it’s not flawless. At times, the memoir veers into self-help territory, with mantras like ‘the braver we are, the luckier we get’ that might feel a tad prescriptive for cynics. As someone who’s trekked through enough markets and mountains to know life’s messier than maxims, I occasionally wanted more raw reflection over polished takeaways. And while Doyle’s humor shines—uproarious anecdotes pepper the tenderness—the intensity of her revelations can feel relentless, like a marathon with few breathers. Still, these are quibbles in a work so fiercely honest.

How does *Untamed* stack up? It’s got echoes of Elizabeth Gilbert’s *Eat Pray Love*—both are quests for self amid chaos—but Doyle’s is grittier, less wanderlust and more wrestle-with-the-soul. Compared to Mark Manson’s *The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck*, which I’ve listened to while sipping mate in Argentina, *Untamed* swaps Manson’s blunt pragmatism for a softer, fiercer call to feel everything. It’s memoir meets self-development with a dose of health and wellness, perfect for fans of women’s stories that don’t shy from the wild.

Who’s this for? Anyone craving a jolt of courage—women especially, but really, anyone who’s ever muted their own voice. It’s a must-listen for those who love biography and memoir with a side of transformation, or who savor an audiobook narrated by the author’s own heartbeat. If you’re on a journey—literal or figurative—this one’s a trusty guide.

Reflecting on it now, *Untamed* feels like those evenings in Oaxaca with that storytelling abuela: intimate, wise, and alive. It’s left me pondering my own silences, the times I’ve played small to keep the peace. Doyle’s voice—both on the page and through my speakers—has me itching to peel back my own layers, to say *There He Is* to the truest parts of myself. That’s the magic of a great audiobook experience: it doesn’t just tell a story—it hands you a mirror.

Until our paths cross again,
Marcus Rivera