Divine nods

Published on by Jennifer Hofmann11 Comments

I believe in signs.

Since I avoid walking under ladders and throw spilled salt over my left shoulder, I probably should. But deciding to take a seven-week journey halfway around the world makes me look for affirmations—Divine nods—that I’m making the right choices.

Maybe I shouldn’t put this in print, but things are going really well.

Flights!

I bought my airfare! I have a flight to Dublin and will soon purchase connections to Santiago and Biarritz. Oh, my Lord, was that scary! At my request, Mary held my hand in support as I clicked “purchase,” and now it’s done. I’m going! Good sign? The price jumped up the day after I purchased and hasn’t gone down since. Granted, I know there’s a corporate algorithm that makes this happen, but signs are in the eye of the beholder. (And, in case you’re wondering, the fare was $1077 from PDX to DUB.)

Muriel!

Second, after a few emails and a Skype call to talk about details, Muriel emailed me last week to confirm that she will be arriving in Pamplona for us to cross the Pyrenees together. “Just in time for pintxos,” she wrote. I am beside myself with glee that this sage soul and I will walk together over those mountains while having deep talks and laughs about life.

I feel the need to knock wood right now!

Camino connections!

Third, I’ve met three separate people in two weeks who have Camino dreams. Totally random places. Totally joyful conversations. I encouraged them to trust the call they hear. “Our meeting was not a coincidence,” one said gratefully. Exactly my point.

More Camino connections!

Fourth, a local peregrina friend invited me to attend a huge Camino-themed holiday potluck put on by the Portlandia Chapter of APOC. Our hour-long car ride was fun and meaningful (why have we not done this before?). As an introvert, groups overwhelm me, and I feared sitting alone awkwardly with no one to talk to.  I should not have worried! We pilgrims know how to connect with almost anyone. More than one hundred people were in attendance and at least half had walked the Camino. One peregrina I met had completed her pilgrimage a mere month before. Her sparkling eyes and relaxed jaw reminded me: you too will feel this way soon.

Reconnections!

Fifth, two of my favorite Camino bloggers, Nadine and Elissa, both did Caminos this past summer. Both have been in post-pilgrimage processing mode and understandably quiet since they returned. In the last few weeks, they’ve both come out of the woods, reaching out and writing. This delights me as I’ve missed them (while understanding the need to take time to process the journey) and look forward to more reading and connecting with them both.

A draft!

Sixth, I spent time at my favorite mountain retreat center for five days of writing and—lo and behold—I finished a very rough draft of my Camino book. Good omen? You bet!

Happy knees!

Seventh (it just keeps going!!), I saw my awesome doc last week to talk about my knee progress. She didn’t say a word about hobbies or hiking. Instead, she was really encouraging and thrilled to hear that the supplements and exercises are working. I’m thrilled too. I’m not pain-free, but the pain is less and bearable. Now if I could just stop eating holiday goodies (I just learned how to make my own egg nog chai), I might make progress on the weight-loss side of things I’d be even happier. All in all, I’m thrilled my body is healing!

A serious one!

Finally, there is one sign I’m still sorting out. Since my post about risks on the Camino, the world’s axis seems to have shifted a few degrees in the wake of inexplicable violence. More than one caring person in my life has questioned whether it’s safe to travel in Europe right now. The US government advises caution. Here’s what I know in my gut: If I change my life or plans one iota because of fear, the evil side wins.

I mention this issue because signs don’t always confirm what we want to hear. Sometimes they challenge us to question how devoted we are to our call. Are you ready, they ask. Are you sure you’re up for the risks? Are you willing to lose others’ respect, your comfort, even your life to follow your heart? 

Yes. I am. Like life, the Camino may not be bed of rose petals, but nothing worth loving ever is. I’m trusting my conviction as a Divine nod—and proceeding with willingness, caution, and joy. May you do the same in order to follow what you love.

This might be the week…

Published on by Jennifer Hofmann7 Comments

This might be the week I actually buy airfare. Committing to those non-refundable, staggeringly-expensive tickets is quite possibly the scariest part of the journey for me.

At present, I am watching no fewer than eight possible itineraries on Google Flights.

flight price graph

Conventional wisdom holds that the best prices are 171 days from departure from the US to Europe. Sadly, everything took a jump last week while I bit my nails and second-guessed myself. I hope I don’t regret that.

In spite of my nerves, the most amazing generosity has been pouring my way. I don’t have adequate words to describe my feelings about this. Stunned comes close. Humbled too. I’ve wept in astonished gratitude more than once. The faith of supporters in my purpose invites me to trust the Divine plan at work in all of this.

 *   *   *

 

In quiet moments, I hear two messages about this journey. One of them is a constant companion, my old chattery brain with its hair-trigger worry reflex. It sets off without stopping to take a breath, “What if you’re doing the wrong thing? What if you’re not supposed to go? Don’t you have better things to do with your time and resources? This is ridiculous. Why are you doing this to yourself?” All reasonable concerns.

But. If I pat this hyper messenger on the head and send it off with a cookie, it settles down. Only then can I hear a second one, a truth-telling guide who whispers gentle, one-word messages in basso profundo, “Go.”

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Trust.”

Though I lack a strong conviction about the identity of that messenger, its simple statements make my jaw unclench, my shoulders relax, and my body takes a deep, refreshing breath. This gets my attention.

 *   *   *

Tuesday mid-morning is the best time to buy airfare, so I’ll likely be hovering over the “Purchase” button with sweaty palms this week.

With everything happening in the world right now, I hesitate to ask for prayers when so many suffer and endure extreme uncertainty. My struggle seems so small by comparison. What compels me back to Spain is a calling into deeper relationship with the Divine and to be on the path, both literal and spiritual. With my whole heart, I hope to be a beacon of peace wherever I go.

I’d be grateful if you can send up a flare or a prayer for this one pilgrim’s next step.

Risks and sticks — Safety on the Camino de Santiago

Published on by Jennifer Hofmann6 Comments

“I’m worried about you going back there,” Steve tells me.

“You are?” This is news to me. “I’ve already been there once, you know.”

“It just doesn’t seem safe for a woman alone,” he explains. Steve is twenty-ish years my senior and former military, so I respect his opinion. His words of concern echo my dad’s worries three years ago, when I was planning my first Camino.

“You know, Steve, I have two walking sticks with pointy tips. I’ve thought of at least eight ways to kill someone with those suckers.”

He cracks a smile, “What if there’s more than eight of them?” I burst out laughing.

Steve’s fears about my solo journey aren’t completely unfounded. Last April, when an American pilgrim Denise Thiem disappeared en route, her frantic family turned to social media to try to locate her. Sadly, this fall we learned she was murdered by a local man–now in jail. However, her disappearance sparked unprecedented sharing online about other accounts of harassment, particularly of penis-exposing and groping by older men.

Then, a few months after Denise disappeared, a local Spanish woman was almost abducted by two men in a car while she was out for a walk outside Astorga. This really spooked me. My response was to spend hours online reading about organized crime, the organ trade, and sex trafficking in Europe. It turns out that eastern Europe is where the really scary stuff happens whereas Spain’s organized crime focuses primarily on trafficking tobacco. In other words, it’s just like everywhere else.

For all the creepy details that have emerged from these events, it’s important to view the information about crimes in perspective: over a hundred thousand pilgrims walk the Camino each year without being killed or accosted. In my opinion, it comes down to odds–and the odds of completing this pilgrimage without incident are very favorable.

That said, travelers would do well to prepare for worst-case scenarios in the unlikely event they do occur. For example if you’re traveling internationally, it’s a good idea to learn how to get in touch with your country’s consulate for aid (not the embassy) and know the region’s emergency response number. For pilgrims, it’s important to take precautions en route; don’t let yourself get too tired, hungry, or distracted, making you less able to respond to danger. I spent time online after the near-abduction report came out learning how to prevent an abduction or escape from one. Necessary? Probably not. Good to know? Definitely.

Not to go all Girl Scout on you, but being prepared is a great way to not get hurt or injured. Be prepared, and you’ll be able to deal with the unexpected.

In terms of odds, the real peril comes from the terrain itself since the chances of falling, injury, or breaking a bone are good. The path is sometimes nothing more than a long, downhill swath of loose cobbles. Be alert. Don’t walk while eating, reading, texting, or anything that takes your eyes off the terrain. Historically, one of the biggest killers of pilgrims is of getting struck by oncoming traffic.

As a naturally high-strung person, I am inclined to hear a comment like Steve’s and join him in the fear. As if I don’t already have my own worries! The truth remains that not going on this journey doesn’t make me safer. I could just as easily be accosted or killed by an intruder in my own home, blinds drawn and doors locked. But what kind of life would that be? I can’t wait in fear of an unlikely worst-case scenario. I want to live, to challenge myself and grow!

So I’ve made peace with this fact: it’s not unsafe to be a solo peregrina, but it’s unsafe to travel unprepared. That’s a big difference. I’ve got a good brain and some pointy hiking sticks–and I know how to use them both.

Ultreia!

 

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

Exciting almost-news about my 2016 pilgrimage

Published on by Jennifer Hofmann4 Comments

Oh, wow. I have news! Well, it’s almost news. Technically, it’s not-quite-for-sure-yet news, but a conversation today took a next step into discussing actual dates and locations. A thing! It’s moving from the realm of “wouldn’t that be nice?” into “OMG, this might actually happen.”

What on earth are you talking about, Jen?

Well, I had a lovely catch-up Skype session with one of my camigas today who lives in Europe. I shall not name her since it may all fall through, but she is a wise soul who was part of my little Camino family early on in the journey in 2013. I adore her. And I learned she might be able to join me for the tail end of my walk.

OMG! I’m so excited!

And you know what? We had this great discussion about how one of the key lessons of the Camino is to Trust How It Turns Out, whatever it may be. Stay Open. Refrain From Being Attached. Her reminding me of this pivotal insight was so great, because I am now free to just enjoy the possibility of shared walking plans without worrying about what ifs. It may happen or not, but I’m at peace with any outcome. That’s living the Camino, right there.

If it does work out, I will still get to walk alone in Galicia, which I very much want to do. I will get to have the experience I’m supposed to have as I make my way towards France and the Pyrenees (it’s still so strange to think of the big mountain pass coming at the *end* of my journey, rather than the beginning). And if she and I can rendezvous in Pamplona, I will have a companion of the most delightful kind at the very end of my journey back to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port.

The very idea!

I’m so excited about this development, I just had to tell you.

Gratitude:

I want to thank Mary Ellen for the perfect thermometer/compass key fob (which I mentioned needing in a previous post) and also to Nancy for my newest pair of Injinji liner socks! I am so blessed and grateful for your thoughtfulness and generosity!

Finally, I will likely be buying airfare in the next week. With the risk of such a big purchase and so much room for error, any good energy or prayers for “the best possible outcome” are welcome. Here I go!

Finally, finally, I wanted you to know about a new page on this site which is back after a three-year hiatus. Also exciting!

Stay posted for a new post soon!

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

What’s in my pack for the Camino de Santiago 2016

Published on by Jennifer Hofmann7 Comments

I learned from my first pilgrimage what’s essential on the Camino and what isn’t. Packing for my second (return) journey will be agony-free and much easier based on what I learned. I hope it helps you too!

Here’s what I plan to pack for the Camino de Santiago 2016

Pack:

  • Deuter Women’s Futura Vario 45L+10 (same)

Sleeping gear:

  • Sea2Summit pyrethrin-treated sleeping bag liner (same)
  • Homemade blanket of silk fabric and Primaloft (same)

Clothes:

  • 1 quick-dry sports bra (same)
  • 4 pair quick-dry underwear (same)
  • 2 pair medium weight REI wool socks (same)
  • 2 pair Injinji liner toe socks (adding a pair – I love them)
  • 2 lightweight quick-dry running t-shirts (same)
  • 1 huge cotton t-shirt for evenings and bedtime (same)
  • 1 REI running pants (one fewer than last time)
  • 1 Patagonia zip-off pants/shorts (swapping these for the pants above in case it’s hot)
  • 1 zip-up fleece with hood (same)
  • 1 wool hat (same)
  • 1 REI sun hat (same)
  • 1 fleece gator (mostly used as an eyemask, but good for warmth)
  • 1 pair micro gloves (same)
  • 1 pr Brooks Cascadia trail runners (same, technically a new pair)
  • 1 pr black Crocks (now with holes! I may swap these for flip flops)

Documents

  • Printed flight confirmation (same)
  • Passport (same)
  • Photocopy of passport, ID, and bank cards (same)
  • Driver’s license (same)
  • Compostella (same)
  • Scallop shell (same)
  • Camino de Santiago guidebook (same, updated version)
  • Cash (600 euro – more than last time)
  • 2 credit/bank cards (same)

Handy stuff/first aid

  • Folding scissors (brought a utility tool last time — too heavy)
  • Plastic fork, knife, and spoon (same)
  • Keychain LED squeeze light (same)
  • 1 16oz Nalgene bottle (same)
  • 1 32oz collapsible Platypus bottle (same)
  • Reusable fabric sack for groceries, laundry, and my carry on (same)
  • 1 gallon Ziploc bag for first aid supplies (same)
  • Small antiseptic cream (same)
  • 3 sewing needles and case (same)
  • Bandaids (same)
  • Mefix blister wrap (same)
  • Ibuprofen (20ct) (fewer than last time)
  • Immodium (3ct) (same)
  • Chewable antacids (10ct) (needed them and didn’t have any last time)
  • Allergy pills (for sleeping) (30ct) (same)
  • Calms Forte (100ct) (same)
  • Cranberry pills (30ct) (same)
  • Acidophilus pills (50ct) (same)
  • Wellness formula (20ct) (bringing many more this time)
  • Anti-inflammatory supplements for arthritis (added since last trip)
    • Vitamin D (5oct)
    • Turmeric (150ct)
    • Glucosamine (150ct)
  • Night guard and case (same)
  • 10 pairs of Hearos earplugs (same)
  • 6 feminine pads (same)
  • Bandana (same)
  • 15ft of line & 8 clothespins (twice as many clothespins this time)
  • 10 safety pins (same)
  • Leki walking sticks (same)

Shower bag

  • 1 gal baggie for shower stuff (same)
  • sarong to use as a towel (I brought a chamois washcloth last time – terrible idea with long hair)
  • Mini hair brush (same)
  • 3 ponytail holders (same)
  • 6oz shampoo in two hanging bottles (new – I plant to put them on a lanyard to hang from the showerhead. I also use shampoo as soap and for laundry)
  • Tiny “rock” deodorant (same)
  • Small toothpaste (same)
  • Toothbrush and flosser (same)
  • Pink scrubbie (same)
  • 2 disposable razors (same)

For the Spirit

  • 100-page art journal with: (all the same)
    • List of emergency contact numbers
    • Friends’ addresses for post cards
    • 1 Pilot V5 black pen (THE BEST!)
    • Pentel ICY .7mm mechanical pencil
  • St. Christopher’s medal (same)
  • Scallop shell necklace from Mom (same)

Still need to purchase…

I’m amazed how prepared I am! Here are the only things I want to get…

  • Poncho
  • Keychain with temperature gauge (in F and C) with mini compass
  • Lanyard for hanging shampoo in the shower
  • Dr Scholl’s arch-supporting shoe inserts
  • Second pair of Injinji runners’ toe socks

What I’m not bringing (that I brought last time)

Experience taught me that anything packed “just in case” can be left at home and purchased in Spain if really needed. No sense carrying what you don’t need! (True in Spain and in life!)

Here’s what I brought last time that I’m leaving home

  • 1 Patagonia Nano-Puff jacket (I’m on the fence about this one. It’s great for evenings, but is too hot to wear when hiking)
  • Utility tool (too heavy, not useful enough)
  • Long sleeve cotton t-shirt (too heavy and took too long to dry)
  • 1 pair thin wicking socks (didn’t use them as much as the toe socks)
  • 1 pr of thick wool socks (they were too thick for my swollen feet)
  • Fabric money belt (too awkward to use and it got all sweaty and gross)
  • Disposable camera (too heavy and didn’t use)
  • Sunglasses (the sunhat was cuter and worked fine keeping the sun out)
  • Powdered sunblock (a good idea that didn’t work)
  • Night guard case (my night guard got crushed on the way home – $400)
  • Silk long underwear top (too hot to wear when walking and too see-through to wear to bed)
  • Sucky, pain-inducing shoe inserts (my arches needed WAY more support)
  • Stupid Rick Steeves leaking poncho
  • Spork (not necessary – a plastic fork is fine)
  • Tupperware (took up too much room, and I didn’t use it enough)

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

 

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:

20150928_084012

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!