Spain awaits, and I really can’t believe I’m going back!
Total km on foot: Officially 0. Navigating through airports was probably a mile or two.
Towns traveled through: Chicago
2013 Camino contrast: How this day went 3 years ago
“Why are you walking the Camino backwards?”
Even with a year of planning and seven weeks to hone my answer, nothing rolled off my tongue when people asked. And they asked a lot.
It’s a really hard question to answer.
* * *
In the front of my journal, pasted next to my emergency contact information is a note from Nancy. Written in her hand on pink paper, it became both a touchstone and a rallying cry for my second journey across Spain:
Your steps will be your words,
The road your song,
The weariness your prayers,
And in the end
The silence will speak to you.
Taken from a longer message written on a monastery wall in Majorca, every time I opened my journal, I saw these words and knew their truth. Some days the empathy brought tears to my eyes. Sometimes in astonished silence under a silvery sky, answers came. Now, as I prepared to leave, this message filled me with excitement. I’m going! I’m setting out!
* * *
The cats blinked at us incredulously as we rose in the dark. We spoke little as I tied my shoes and tossed my pack in the trunk. Just before turning the ignition, I remembered: my altar!
I raced inside to retrieve the worn-smooth, grey scallop fossil Mary had found on the coast. Its presence at our back door would anchor my return. I paused to set the fist-sized fossil on the cool concrete step, then added two pieces of frosty teal beach glass from Finisterre and a soapstone carved with the word FAITH from Nancy. When I touched them again in seven weeks, they would confirm that I had walked the full circuit, and my pilgrimage was truly complete.
I took a deep breath to focus. I asked for blessings on Mary and peace in my absence. Then, turning toward the garage, I walked with purpose into the darkness.
These are my first steps. I’m on the Camino now.
* * *
At the airport, backpack checked with time to spare, we held hands and said the kinds of things you say when a long journey is just beginning, and no one knows how it will turn out:
I hope you have an amazing time and get exactly what you need from this.
– Thank you. So much. Me too.
Nothing terrible will happen, but if it does, know that my last thoughts will be of you.
– Yes. (pause) But you’ll be fine. Better than.
Thank you for supporting me in doing this. It means the world to me.
– Of course. I love you.
I love you back.
It’s hard to say who started crying first. We hugged a really long time, my face pressed to her freshly-washed hair, and then she let me go. Through security, waving through tears until I was out of sight.
It was so so so hard to leave this time.
I didn’t expect that. On my last Camino, I was so excited to go—scared too—and eager to be on my own. Her emotion annoyed me then, but now I feel blessed and grateful. How much things have changed between us in three years.
* * *
Finding Chicago’s international terminal is like running a human-sized rat maze. I looked around as I deplaned and was immediately confused. I needed help.
A TSA agent passed me. I stopped her for directions.
“Oh, yeah. That’s hard,” she said in a Chicago accent. “Whatchew do is follow the signs to baggage claim? Then you gonna take the elevator up, cross the bridge, and then take the tram to the International Concourse.”
“Okay.” I summed up to be sure, “Elevator, bridge, tram.”
“Yup. That’s it.”
I repeated this three-part phrase as I navigated the maze. Elevator, bridge, tram. Elevator, bridge, tram. I didn’t care if anyone thought I was a muttering nut. Elevator! I found it! Bridge! There it is! Tram? No problem!
I’m on my way. I’ve set out!
In the air toward Dublin, the reality of it hit me. I’m really doing this. I’m really going back. I was returning to the place where my false shell of a life crumbled apart. The place where joy awoke and strength coursed within me—until I abandoned them on the rocky shores of Finisterre, disbelieving and afraid. And although I now feared the emotions that might arise in seeing these places again, somehow I was returning to reclaim the authentic self I’d left behind three years before.
That’s the reason I walked the Camino backwards. I would walk myself home at last. It was finally time to be whole.
8 thoughts on “Reverse Camino Day 1: Portland to Dublin”
I love the way the real you pours off the page.
Thank you so much, Alison. It’s a work in progress, as they say. 🙂
I feel deeply touch by this post. It’s not just that I’m in it, which is really cool by the way! Through your words I feel your process of beginning. It’s really lovely.
I love that you’re in it. So so so much. What a blessing you are to me!
Jen… Reading your words evokes strong emotions within. Always need Kleenex close by! Thank you for sharing. My pre-camino pilgrimage begins in less than two weeks (four weeks in Europe with my husband visiting family and friends, and sprinkling ashes of my late father-in-law). My own Camino begins in StJPP August 19 (without the hubby). At the moment it feels like I’m running a marathon every day just trying to “get it all done” before I go. I think of you often and anxiously await more posts. Be sure to let us know about your speaking dates.
Thank you so much for your encouraging words… and please accept my wishes for a beautiful and moving journey this summer. I’ll be thinking of you! Buen camino! ❤
Your writing is so personal. What you’re writing is so personal. Emotional. Tender. Precious.
I’m in awe of your journey. That journey to reclaim your authentic self. There’s power in them steps.
Thank you for sharing. I love you.
Thank you, dear heart. Hard as hell sometimes, but worth the risk. The words are my staff, notes, and rhythm and playing them a little differently each time helps me make a song others understand. I love you too, inspiring woman!