When I first left my marriage, I began a journey.

The journey has been physical: moving from one place to another. The journey has been relational: moving from being identified as being part of a couple to being alone. The journey has been financial: moving from being taken care of by someone else to taking care of myself. And there have been other less consequential or outstanding journeys. But then life is a journey, isn’t it?

One of my journeys that was the most arduous, the most physical and the most transforming was walking the Camino de Santiago in Spain. I walked this journey in May of 2017 when I had been divorced about 18 months. The Camino is a very ancient and revered Christian pilgrimage that began ten centuries ago. There are many routes, many Caminos, but the route I walked is the Camino Frances.

This journey began for me when I was still married. And it began with a book: The Way is Made by Walking by Arthur Paul Boers. I had never heard of the Camino de Santiago but I enjoy books about travel so when it was recommended to me I bought it. From the first moment of reading, I was captivated. Even before I finished reading it I knew I wanted to go. The Camino described in this book is a 500 mile trek across northern Spain from east to west beginning in St. Jean Pied de Port, France, and ending in Santiago, Spain. Pilgrims, which is what everyone walking the trail is called, carry a backpack that holds all the worldly goods they will need for a month. When I told Butch I’d like for he and I to do it, he said he didn’t want to. I didn’t argue–or at least I don’t remember arguing or even trying to talk him into it–and I didn’t ask or tell him I’d do it by myself. In fact, it didn’t even occur to me to do it by myself. I put the book away. But the journey stayed in the back of my mind popping up every now and then without me giving it much consideration. 

In 2015 when I was packing for the journey of moving out of the house we had shared, I came across the book again. Instead of dropping  it into a box with a lot of other books, I set it aside and told myself “I’m going to read that again”. And so I did. Another step in my journey. 

After the second reading I was determined to go and I decided to go alone. I had hiked many times but they were always short hikes much less than 10 miles long. And I had traveled by myself but never to a place where I didn’t know the language or someone who was already there. This was like stepping off the edge of the world. All I had to do was get ready.

My getting ready plan was training which included carrying a loaded backpack on trails around Austin for multiple miles at a time. Researching and purchasing clothing and gear. And fielding questions from family and friends who thought I was a little crazy and some thought I was brave. What I knew was that I was afraid, very afraid. But determined.

Besides the walking thing, the backpack is the most overwhelming obstacle about the trip. There is a lot of gear and personal items to pack for a month and still keep the weight manageable. Full disclosure: there are services that will, for a very affordable fee, transport backpacks or luggage from one starting point in the morning to the afternoon’s ending point. But in 2017 most pilgrims carried their own backpacks unless they were hurt and not carrying their pack allowed them to continue. The transports were sort of for emergencies only. My pack weighed about 13 or 14 pounds I think. I weighed it the first time I had it all packed and I was stunned. I was trying to keep it to 12 pounds. Then I took things out and put things in and did not weigh it again. I figured what I didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me. And I figured that as time went on my pack was likely to get lighter as I used things up and it would feel lighter as I got stronger. But no matter how I looked at it, that pack was heavy. Every time I picked it up, I gave a little groan, not loud but I heard it. After a couple of days on the trail, I told myself–I do talk to myself a lot, don’t I?–that I needed to stop the groaning. After that I made a concerted effort not to groan and you know what? My pack didn’t feel as heavy. A lesson of the Camino. 

Well, that was 2017. I have walked two more Caminos since then, one every year. In 2018, I walked the Camino de Portugues with Robert Deming.  He and I met on my first Camino which was also his first. Then in 2019, I walked the Camino de Frances again by myself because I wanted to do it better. Robert was in Europe at the same time traveling and walking with some friends. We met in Santiago and walked to Finisterre together. Even to this day each Camino continues to teach it’s lessons. And planned and unplanned journeys continue.

A couple of weeks ago an unplanned journey started during a planned journey. Confused? Here’s what happened.

Robert and I live about an hour and a half from each other, he in Fredericksburg, me in Lakeway near Austin. Robert is also lives near Enchanted Rock State Natural Area which is one of the many Texas state parks. The main attraction is a pink granite dome 1800 feet in the air. It is a very popular hiking and climbing site. On August 6, I met him at Enchanted Rock for a hike.

First we hiked to the top of the main dome and then down to ground level to a part of the park that not many people know about. He has hiked the park for 25 years and is the president of the Friends of Enchanted Rock. So going to a little-visited part of the park is normal for him. We were having a great hike, not too strenuous, although it was just as hot as we expected. As we descended a low but steep hill, I stepped into a soft place, twisted my ankle, felt a snapped and fell to the ground. Suddenly our pleasant hike was changed into an emergency. Luckily we were under a stand of trees with shade and a nice breeze. Robert called on all his backpacking experience and applied first aid to my foot. He made contact with the park ranger and got us transported out. He even carried me on his back to meet the four-wheeler. It was quite the adventure. And, yes, my ankle is broken. Not the journey we were expecting.

Back home my journey continued. I live alone in a two-story condo with my bedroom upstairs. From the moment I fell the thought uppermost in my mind–well, maybe second-most under how to get out of there–was how to manage at home. Ever since I bought and moved into my condo I’ve wondered what would happen if I couldn’t get up and down the stairs. Now that it is reality, what I do is crawl on my knees going up and down on my butt moving my crutches and a bag with my belongings in it as I progress up or down. It’s inconvenient to say the least, but it works and it’s good exercise.

However, with crutches everything takes 3 times longer to accomplish. It’s exhausting! I’ve stumbled a few times on my crutches and even fallen once when I didn’t have my crutches set quite right. But they are always within arms reach. I rely on them to get me from one place to another even if it’s one or two steps. There’s no hopping and certainly no weight put on my broken ankle. Always the crutches. I cannot manage any journey without them. Even with how important they are to me, I don’t like them. I wish they weren’t here. I wish I could walk without them. I wish I didn’t need them. Frankly, I realize I thought I was Superwoman* and now I learn I am not. Kinda hurts my feelings.

A couple of nights ago I woke up, slowly sat up, got my crutches and stood, pausing to get my balance, and started crutching to the bathroom. Suddenly I had the feeling I had done this same sort of action for some other reason in some other place and time. After I finished my in-the-middle-of-the-night errand and was crutching back to bed I realized that what I was feeling was my backpack. Not the weight of it but the ever-presentness of it, the life-sustaining of it, the dependence of it and yet also the independence of it.

On the camino, I needed my backpack. All my worldly goods were in it. My life was in it. I didn’t want to carry it. It was heavy and cumbersome. It certainly was not a good look. But I grew to love it for the life and freedom it gave me. Suddenly my crutches became life-giving, beautiful inventions of mobility. Yes, they are clunky and inconvenient and not a good look. But I am able to live and move around because of them. They remind me of a Bible verse that I latched onto when I started living alone. The verse is Acts 17:28: For in him we live and move and have our being.’ As some of your own poets have said, ‘We are His offspring.’ 

Yes, the Camino continues at home. Backpack or crutches, both help me to live and move and have my being. Maybe inconvenient, maybe not a good look, but life nevertheless.

Buen Camino from Woodpile Kitty ATX

*My sons realized very early on–maybe they were about 12 or 13–that I was not Superwoman. But they kept the secret to themselves until now. They have all three rallied to help me. Even though I’m not Superwoman I have super kids.