Category: Preparation

Blessings await walking the Camino backwards

Published on by Jennifer Hofmann2 Comments

Having already walked the Camino westerly to Santiago and Finisterre two years ago, now the return awaits, as it once did for every pilgrim until modern travel came to whisk us away mid-journey. I feel excited about walking “backwards” next spring, retracing my own steps to the beginning where I started, when I was an eager, green peregrina in France.

Having already accounted for what makes me quake in my boots about this journey, now I’m sharing what gifts I imagine await on returning to this pilgrimage.

Blessing #1: Meeting LOTS of people

Despite my plans to walk alone, my path will intersect with thousands of west-bound pilgrims from all over the world. What will this be like? I’m genuinely curious about how this will impact me. I’ve thought about giving those who stop me a small token, like an angel card, or wearing a pin that says “free hugs/abrazos gratis” just to connect with them.

In the evenings, I’ll have a new opportunity to meet people who are at least sticking around for the night. Despite being an introvert, I still long for companionship, and I wonder how that will unfold. Will I ask to join a group for dinner at times? Will I invite someone to share a bottle of wine and snacks? This is a huge opportunity for me to stretch out of my comfort zone.

Blessing #2: Solitude

 

I’ll be going early in spring when there are fewer pilgrims and starting in Finisterre, where significantly fewer pilgrims go. In my experience, being alone makes space for reflection and conversations with the Divine. In solitude, I’ve found resolutions to some of my most difficult questions — like how to forgive what was previously unforgivable and how to make peace with suffering. Reflecting on these topics is so much harder amid the daily hustle and noise. Combined with being in nature, solitude brings me insight and nourishes me to the core. Bring it on.

Blessing #3: Practice asking for help

They say the Camino gives you what you need, and this particular lesson couldn’t be better timed. Since arrows, maps, and signage all point westward (not east, where I’m going), my fellow pilgrims and local residents will be my source for guidance. Since I know nothing terrible will happen if I get lost — it’s survivable — asking for help is just the practice I need to open myself up to receiving help, unspool my tightly-wrapped self-reliance, and experience daily gratitude for helpers on my path.

Blessing #4: Revisiting my first Camino

My pilgrimage in 2013 included many meaningful insights, awakenings, and synchronistic, life-changing events. My journey brought people who made me laugh, challenged my thinking, and helped me grow as a result. Although it’s not possible to walk the Camino again for the first time, I am looking forward to the opportunity to revisit those places and memories. I’m especially eager to walk from Finisterre to Santiago. Something significant was revealed to me there, and walking that ground again may help me solidify my understanding.

Blessing #5: It’s Spain, for goodness sake!

I mean, seriously! Friendly people, delicious food, amazing wine! And Fanta Naranja! (Man, that’s going to taste soo good!) The scenery is stunning. Fields will be green and blooming. Color me jazzed to be back in Spain and discovering new places, people, and provisions.

Blessing #6: Simplicity

In 2013, I stayed in hotels and private rooms in albergues about half the time. My parents didn’t call me Princess and the Pea for nothing — no one likes a good, luxe hotel more than I do. The sheets! The towels! The shower all to myself with hot water guaranteed! The bliss of complete quiet. Oh, yes! How I love a nice hotel!

However. The more I consider practicalities and listen to my heart, the more I sense this Camino will be different. I’m planning to devote a whole post about the call I feel to walk with the barest simplicity. What kind of insights would I have if I lived the way more than half the world lives?

Want to know why I’m doing the Camino in reverse — and how you can help?Read on!

A sticky messenger from Ireland

Published on by Jennifer Hofmann4 Comments

Have you ever noticed that when you set out to do something challenging, little messages and encouragements arrive from unexpected places?

This came in the mail over the weekend:

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A package from Ireland, complete with colorful stamps and handwritten letter sent by my dear friend and fellow peregrina, Geraldine. It arrived in direct response to my post about being diagnosed with osteoarthritis in my knees.

Note the little bundle tied up with silver ribbon. Mefix tape is a bit of a “thing” in my peregrina circle. Because it saved Carol from any blisters at all, she recommended it to me. When it reduced mine to nil, I became a believer. So when Ger was planning her Camino, I offered to send her some since it isn’t available in Ireland. Job done.

Her note read, “It’s madness that I’m posting it back to you. It’s even more crazy that I carried the weight of it all 500 miles on my back! I hope it serves you well on the next Camino otherwise it’s just an over-indulged tourist!” You can bet it’s going in my pack.

The best part was a card that reminded me to take one step at a time — through healing my knees, through training, through the myriad doubts. Her words brought me from laughter to truth.

I’ve been making myself crazy looking at airfares. The logistics of starting in Finisterre are complex at best, but it’s the financial tally at the bottom of the spreadsheet that’s my current nemesis. “Maybe you shouldn’t do this,” I think to myself. “Maybe it would be smarter to use that money for financial goals or a different trip. Maybe you should delay this.”

No. I hear a respectful but clear reply from the Source (wherever that voice of wisdom comes from). You’re meant to go on this journey in Spain. You just have to trust.

You can imagine how much I love that particular advice! 🙂

Blisters form when the same spot gets too much friction for too long. It’s the body’s defense. Eventually that blister will turn into a protective callous. Mefix stops the blistering and simulates a callous so the skin can heal underneath.

When the friction of my thoughts wears me down, I can’t slap a plaster on my skull (though it might be funny to try!). My first Camino taught me that worry changes nothing. All I can do is take the next step. And the one after that. The fact is, even without airline tickets in hand, I’m already on the path. Ger’s letter is the bandage I need to help heal what’s underneath and move forward with certainty and trust.

We should call it “we fix”!

Want to know why I’m doing the Camino in reverse — and how you can help?Read on!

Why I’m afraid of walking the Camino backwards

Published on by Jennifer Hofmann14 Comments

Let’s face it: the prospect of a 500-mile pilgrimage is not a field day for a control freak.

You’d think walking the Camino once already would teach me I could handle whatever the Way threw my way. Instead, I’ve only discovered new things to worry about as I prepare for my second pilgrimage.

Before my first journey two years ago, growing anxiety compelled me to write down my myriad fears. Surprisingly, only a few of them came to pass on my actual pilgrimage (peeing in the open air, loneliness, and dealing with bedbugs). In hindsight, none were that terrible. I survived.

Last weekend, I got together with a pilgrim friend and enjoyed reminiscing, swapping funny stories, and recalling its transcendent moments. Our conversations reminded me of how amazing it is to walk this sacred path. Although I’ve already found new deterimation to go, our talks started to get more excited to be back in Spain.

Today, though, it feels terrifying again. Here’s what I know for certain: I need to go. I feel called to go. I’m just plain scared of the unknowns. I can’t help that. But! Since I found listing my fears helpful the first time around, I’m going for it again in this updated version. Fears, take two!

Fear #1: Confusion

Although I know without a doubt I can transport myself to Finisterre by plane, train, and/or bus, I get profoundly overwhelmed thinking about starting the Camino eastward. I might have a map to use, for sure. If memory serves, I vaguely recall the path going along Playa Langosteira. But finding the actual route? Beyond me. Where do I go?

I just plain hate feeling confused and disoriented, and worse — looking stupid. Being certain and having the answers is my comfort zone, so I expect I’ll receive lots of lessons about getting comfortable with confusion as I bump headlong into it. Ugh.

Fear #2: Getting lost

Once, when I was a teenager playing hooky from science class, I nearly drove off the Connecticut map and across the border into New York state. In some unfamiliar and tranquil neighborhood, I pulled over to find out where I was (remember the days when you cross referenced the nearest street name with coordinates on a map?). At A5, I was on the very edge of the page, frighteningly close to — what? Not existing? Being obliterated? I flipped out, turned around, and high-tailed it back to school. In other words, I would rather fail a chemistry exam than be lost.

One of the things that makes the westward Camino Francès easier are the arrows on every post, tree, and wall. If in doubt about direction, just look for an arrow or — lacking that — pilgrims ahead of you. O just ask those you’re walking with. “This sign is confusing. Do we bear right here or just up ahead?” After a little convo, everyone walks together. If the consensus is wrong, at least we’re lost together.

Despite being afraid of getting lost, it only happened once on my first Camino. Meg and I took a wrong turn in the hills of Galicia en route to Finisterre. It was spooky not to know where we were, exactly, and walk for miles and miles with no one around. When we arrived in a town, it was siesta-time and not even the wind stirred. Creepy. Imagining that scene completely solo and alone positively gives me hives.

Walking east means there are no arrows for guidance. Some friend have jokingly offered to send me a bike mirror to see the arrows behind me. Others have suggested I ask people who are walking toward me for guidance. The fact is, I’m going to have to find my way without the ease I enjoyed on the westward journey and the risks of getting lost are higher. Bring on the chemistry exam!

Fear #3: Loneliness

Despite my brave declaration in 2013 to walk alone, I spent most of my Camino walking with other pilgrims I met on the way. Walking together passed the time and made hard, tiring, soggy, and long days much easier and enjoyable. Though I sometimes struggled to meet my desire for solitude, I loved the people I met and learned much from them. Some are still friends to this day.

While there are no official statistics on the number of pilgrims walking the eastward return trip, I encountered exactly three on my own springtime Camino. In other words, it’s very likely I’ll have no companions during the day. At albergues, I’ll be surrounded by people I’ve never met before. I fear feeling like an outsider.

I honestly don’t know what it will be like to hit an emotional low out there all alone. It will certainly be illuminating if it happens, but as you can imagine, I’d rather not find out.

Fear # 4: Emotional pain

Have you ever made a good decision, but later wondered where the road not taken might have led? Long-time readers know that I fell hard for Meg, a fellow pilgrim, while we walked from Santiago to Finisterre together. This happened though I was (and still am) married. As you can imagine, this experience brought up a lot of emotional conflict. Even as I inwardly agonized over what to do about my feelings, I loved every step of the way with Meg and remained faithful to my beloved partner.

Though I survived, I was a mess when my Camino ended — and remained so for a good year after. I wonder if part of returning to Spain is about transforming this partially-resolved, emotional jumble into something whole and even healed. I honestly don’t know what I’m looking for over there, but I trust the call I feel.

As I set foot in the very scene of that difficult, jubilant experience, I anticipate deep feelings will arise. Oh, how I dread this! And oh, how I need it! Something powerful awoke in me on my final days on the path. I feel pulled to return to that holy ground to discover what it was.

Fear #5: Funds

Finally and truthfully, I am not in a position to afford European travel at the moment. I saved for two years for my last Camino. This time I have about nine months. As someone who likes a good hotel splurge to restore the spirit, I already dread staying in only public albergues, eating bread every meal, and foregoing cafés con leche. I’m exaggerating, of course. I’m sure it won’t be that bad.

While I don’t subscribe to the God-is-an-ATM philosophy so popular in positive-thinking circles these days, I do believe in faith. I do believe that when someone is called to something significant, support arrives. Not in cash, necessarily, but in connection, encouragement, a gift of an apple, or a fountain for filling one’s water bottle.

Abundance is everywhere if we’re open.

I’m not naive, though. I do believe in planning. Because of this, I’m writing a budget for my Camino so that I have a savings goal.

I also believe in trusting. What if I’m meant to do a bare-bones Camino? What if I do ask for lodging in exchange for cleaning toilets? What could I learn from desperately *wanting* a hotel room, but choosing the most basic accommodation instead?

The possibilities are, of course, humbling and scary, but the part of me that is eager for inner change. The personal challenge of it is — dare I say it? — a little exciting.

To be clear

We live in a culture that does not handle emotion well — especially messy, unresolved ones. Reading about my fears may evoke concern or discomfort in you. In turn, you may need to feel the need to reassure me or offer suggestions for managing mine. No need.

Instead, I’d love to hear about what scares you or what you were afraid of before your own Camino. Learning to walk with our fears, rather than overcome them, is a path to wholeness.

Love,
Jen

Want to know why I’m doing the Camino in reverse — and how you can help? Read on!

A daunting diagnosis: Can I walk the Camino?

Published on by Jennifer Hofmann6 Comments

“Well, the first thing you’ll want to do is thank you parents for passing this on to you,” my doctor smiled ironically. “Osteoarthritis is usually inherited.”

“I’ll be sure to show them some gratitude,” I grinned back.

“Now, I don’t mean to sound negative,” she continued. “I know you like hiking, but I think you’re going to need to find a new hobby. Your knee just can’t take it.”

*   *   *

A few months ago, I lay in the reverberating MRI chamber wondering what the heck was wrong with my knee. A squishy feeling persisted any time I walked or hiked. Sometimes it ached a bit, so I finally got it checked out. The results came today: arthritis. At forty-two.

This wouldn’t normally be a big deal for this world-class couch potato. I could merely have used the diagnosis as an excuse to take my laziness to the next level.

But, given my recent announcement, these times are anything but “normal.” I’m planning to walk the Camino de Santiago again in nine months! That fact alone would be concerning, but the truth is hiking has become a lot more to me than what my doc called a hobby. Being out in nature is what got my life back on track after falling apart post-Camino. Hiking is what saved me from the most paralyzing depression of my life. Later, when I was whole again, it’s what saved my relationship with Mary. Simply put, hiking is what I do to encounter the Divine and restore my soul.

For this reason and many others, I can’t stop walking. I simply won’t.

“As you know, I walked across Spain two years ago,” I reminded my doc. “I’m planning to go back again next spring and do at least part of it again.”

“Well…” she started slowly, a cautious look crossing her face. “In that case, we need to focus on strengthening the weaker muscles in your quads and loosening your hamstrings. I also have some supplements I want you to start on that can help reduce swelling and support the cartilage.”

Her thought is if these interventions don’t help with my pain and swelling by December, we’ll explore a more aggressive strategy to help the knees become healthier so I can still walk in spring.

I never imagined this — of all things. To be told that I’m physically incapable of walking — or that doing so would be unwise. The craziest part about today’s revelation is that, up until now, I’ve been feeling scared, resistant, and mildly apathetic about the call to walk the Camino again. I haven’t exactly been jumping for joy about going. But now there’s this hurdle. There’s someone looking over my lab reports evaluating whether I should go. I want to spit nails. Find another hobby, my ass!

This new information is changing my formerly-reluctant assent into a defiant just-try-and-stop-me! Something deep within is rising to the challenge.

*   *   *

My mindset is pumped, but the reality of what I’ll have to do to prepare is daunting. I’m one of those excitable types who starts out all gung-ho about a project and then rapidly loses steam — twenty-four hours is a generous window. I have to do exercises every day: Wii balance board games, leg extensions, rolling on a foam thing to stretch my hamstrings (painful!), and a little move I call the stork leg. Daily. Twice daily for extra credit. How on earth will I find the resolve to do this for nine months?

Taking the supplements diligently will be easy enough with breakfast, but it’s the final challenge that fills me with undeniable dread: I have to lose weight. If I’m honest, I need to lose at least forty pounds (and keep it off) to take the strain off my knee. Losing weight takes diligence I do not inherently possess. Oh, that my arms and legs and torso were like Legos, and I could just pull off the bits I don’t need, piece by piece.

Oh, that I didn’t medicate every shift in my mood with sugar, fats, and carbs. Losing weight might be easy if it were just about my meals, but what keeps me overweight is what I eat in secret, in between meals, when no one is watching. Me and food are thick as thieves.

The arthritis was coming, one way or the other. What I didn’t know was saying yes to this Camino meant facing the inherited, intertwined issues of food and feelings. I can curse my fate or deny it, but there that wound is still there, waiting for me to heal it. Further proof, as if I needed any, that the Camino gives you what you need.

So, dear reader, here I am. As you know, I’m embarking on a physical journey in Spain nine months from now. To prepare for that walk, I begin another journey now toward healing and getting healthy in unexpected, potentially-transformational ways. I am equal parts daunted and eager, but one thing is for certain: I’m keeping my hobby.

Want to know why I’m doing the Camino in reverse — and how you can help? Read on!

Announcing my next journey

Published on by Jennifer Hofmann12 Comments

After two years of thinking that walking the Camino de Santiago once should be enough for anyone for a lifetime . . . After six months (at least) of actively resisting a clear call to return, I’m finally saying aloud (or writing, if you want to be literal) it’s going to happen, God willing.

When I first heard the call, it was a tiny little whisper that said, Go back.

“Nonono!” My inner control freak raged. “No! Not doing it!”

I’ve been chewing on it ever since. Mostly, I’ve thought a lot about ancient pilgrims who, without the aid of modern travel, got to Santiago (or even earlier, Finisterre), spent a few days or weeks celebrating, then turned around to start walking home again. This walk back was an entirely separate journey! Even the Iliad has the Odyssey — the story of return.

After sitting in discernment (okay, actively arguing with Whoever Does The Calling), I began to realize that my next walk isn’t to repeat the journey in the same order. I’m not going back to Saint Jean Pied de Port. My call is to begin at the end and walk to the beginning. I hope to start in Finisterre and then walk back — to Santiago at least, but maybe farther — as far as I need to go.

The reason why I want to answer this call is the symmetry of it. “To arrive where we started,” as T.S. Eliot famously wrote, “and know the place for the first time.” Just as ancient pilgrims did, I’m intrigued by the possibility of revisiting so many powerful places of personal significance to me. Even though I’ve had closure on the intense feelings and have integrated many experiences the Camino brought up, I want to stand on the piece of earth where I woke up. I want to walk that sacred ground again, remember, and resolve on a very deep level to keep being the person I discovered there.

My resistance has been about time and money, of course, and conflicting travel desires. It’s also about control and not trusting the process. I’ve not written about it until now because of the fear it brings up. I didn’t want to say anything until I said Yes. Unlike the first journey, the logistics of this call are about walking against the stream, very likely alone, and with much less clear direction (no yellow arrows!). After the camaraderie of my Camino, this sounds like a very lonely experience. My mind can be my worst enemy out there all alone.

On the other hand, just like my first Camino, answering the call gave me exactly what I needed. I received many more gifts than I could ever have imagined. I don’t know how many times the Divine needs to bonk me on the head with this lesson, but eventually I’d like to believe with all my heart that answering with an unhesitating YES will give me exactly what I need to grow and evolve. In the never-ending duel between trust and control, I want to choose trust.

So here I go. Again. I’m preparing to walk the Camino.

Can I get a witness?

Want to know more about why I’m doing the Camino in reverse — and how you can help? Read on!

The shade at my right hand

Published on by Jennifer HofmannLeave a comment

Miles walked today: 0mi /0km
Total training miles to date: 137.97mi /222.04km
Days left ’til I leave: 2

I’ve been visited by friends and received calls and letters the last 2 days — and feel so touched to be on peoples’ minds in the midst of their *own* busy lives. Prayers are being said for me, candles lit, good vibes coming my way… It’s so helpful and generous and appreciated.

I’m feeling pretty good. The trip to the chiropractor yesterday helped with the back tweak from last week (hey, that rhymes!). I felt great during the killer walk around Silver Falls State Park with Carol with my real, full backpack. Until the next day when my calves were so sore I had trouble walking. Wow. That’s what so much flat ground training will do. The park was gorgeous though and all 10 waterfalls were supremely beautiful and full. It was magical!

Continue reading “The shade at my right hand” →

Losing my cool

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Miles walked today:0mi /0km
Total training miles to date: 125.37mi /201.76km
Days left ’til I leave: 5

When I was in junior high school right before a concert performance, I’d get so worked up and nervous I’d break out into hives and snap at anyone within a 20-foot radius. I’d like to say I manage stress better today, but I really don’t.

If I told you just how much I’ve accomplished this week in preparation to leave my business, it might shock you. It has shocked me. It’s also stressed me out.

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A bank full of strangers

Published on by Jennifer Hofmann7 Comments

Miles walked today: 8.16mi /?km
Total training miles to date: 125.37mi /?km
Days left ’til I leave: 8

Had a lovely walk this morning with Elaine and a new friend around Staats Lake in Keizer. It was loaded with ducks and geese and beautiful plantings all around — I don’t know why I haven’t been walking there before. The cloudy sunrise looked lovely reflected in the water and it was soooo quiet except for birdsongs echoing off the buildings that surround the lake.

We had a great talk about walking in ancestral lands and those that call our spirits. It was my first time saying an official goodbye — to Elaine — that when they left (and I continued for another turn around the lake) I felt moved and teary. Reminded that I’ll be walking alone, I think. And that I’m loved. That too.

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