All posts by Vic

Las Vegas, NV, Veteran

Universe, Synchronicity, and the past

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It’s so strangely beautiful the way the universe works. There is a synchronization that occurs when we lean in and trust the journey. We can reflect on our past and see the connections that existed to now, even knowing that back then we had no clue. This day 12 years ago I’d been medevac’d from Iraq for a colluded airway, Tonsillitis. I was in the midst of my trauma, struggling to find meaning and connection. I chose to go back to Iraq rather than have my tonsils removed (and go home) and for a long time I held that decision against myself. I’ve since forgiven myself, but not forgotten. Facebook helps me remember and find healing from my trauma. The following “note” from this day 12 years back is no less true today.

Las Vegas, NV

We’re All Just Stories in the End

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Several times this week I’ve found myself thinking “If only others could read this blog I’m writing in my head, they’d be inspired!” So here I am, taking myself back to the blog to take things out of my head, and maybe… just maybe… inspire others.

The Strip, Las Vegas, NV

When I last left you I was telling the story of my wandering across Spain on the Camino de Santiago, almost 2 years ago. A lot has happened in that time. I now find myself in Las Vegas, a place I would’ve preferred to never return. It brings back the week after my miscarriage, drunken and grieving on the very steps I’m sitting on now, 8 years ago. This time I’m here for growth, for learning, for connecting.

I’m attending a conference where the courses I’m taking focus on leadership, team building, and strategy. I’m still a wanderer, but now I wander the stories of those in close proximity to me. I wander the lives of those struggling to survive, hoping to impart wisdom and able to impart financial assistance. It’s a role that empowers my inner wild woman, while simultaneously being wrought with struggle and anxiety. This is the culmination of years of wandering and hearing the stories of others.

We are, after all, just stories in the end. A series of short stories, chaotic chapters, and lengthy novels. The journey to wander is the longest inside us.

1 of 14 Life Labyrith “Seek”

We are, inside each of us, a winding labyrinth that continues to move through ourselves over and over, developing the next step. If you’ve been lucky enough to buy one of this series you know that you’re endlessly connected to the others, known and unknown, who have also purchased one of these pieces.

People watching is almost as interesting as hearing their stories. So here I sit in vegas, wondering about all of the many stories I watch walk past. The Indian gal who picked up a diaper from the path to throw it away. The couples dressed to the nines, gorgeous and grand. The families and couples. The mother and daughter signing words to each other. So many stories untold to me, but lived every day.

I want to put up a sign that says “Tell me a story” and see who stops. On the Camino we were always telling our stories to each other. As a leader I hear the stories of my team and of the households they help. I have my own story, so often untold, until a kindred spirit insisted. I’m a human body full of so many stories, my own and others. Many get locked deep in a chest to respect and honor the storyteller. Many I get to pass on in tidbits of wisdom shared by others. Many are stories of how I’ve encountered my own wisdom.

This conference has such a focus on taking time to hear the stories of those in our agencies. They talk about development, about GROWTH, and how that means we can’t one-size fits all our leadership. It may seem easier to project my own motivations, desires, and needs on others… but easier is not connective, healing, “agape” love.

So I’ve wandered into a new space of introspection and extrospection. I watch people in the world around me a little closer. I make eye contact with love in my eyes and if I’m lucky enough to have someone impart their story on me… well I try my hardest to love them, see them, and honor them.

After all, we’re all just stories in the end, and stories are beautiful.

Camino de Santiago Frances, Spain

Finding New Life

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I’m struggling on this journey with habits and patterns that I have created at home to manage myself and my PTSD.
If I were home right now I would be sleeping, because it’s still morning. I might go out to work at Starbucks today. I may spend time painting or drawing. I would likely sit outside at the picnic table, enjoying the last days of summer with Janelle before she goes back to work. I’d have made a coffee, and then another, and likely a third. I wouldn’t have eaten anything yet. I’d likely spend a lot of time indoors, binging Netflix or reading a novel. Possibly, I would do some household chores and rearrange the living room for the millionth time. Tomorrow I would do the same, just as this is what I did yesterday. Life became stale. I was complacent in my maximum isolation. So full of thoughts, and hopes, and desires, but not moving towards anything, just talking it in circles and writing down ideas.
This morning I had one cafe con leche and a ham and cheese sandwich. I packed my bag and I hit the road. I greeted others in kindness and compassion for our mutual journey and struggles up hills. I drank lots of water. I stopped and meditated in my surroundings, not concerned with those going past at faster speeds than I. I drank more water and ate a small muffin. I heard music and I stopped to sing along as the Guitarist played Stand By Me (Ben E. King). I encouraged myself to keep moving on the hills, but to stop, look around, and look up. I discovered that what I thought were dates were actually almonds. Who knew they grew on trees in green pods? I didn’t, nor did the three French women who showed it to me, explaining in French. I don’t speak French, but we understood each other all the same.
I found an old cistern on the top of a hill and I stopped to meditate again. Maybe someone took my picture, or they were just catching the view. Someone walked by and told me “Namaste”. I continued to meditate and breathe. When I opened my eyes everything was brighter, my sight was clearer. Even the ants on my bag didn’t ruin my day. I wondered why it is that I avoid meditating regularly. Is lack of peace such a comfortable place?
I arrived at my destination and felt as if I had not come far enough today, but I’m learning I must make myself pause, even when my body insists it can go further. I fed, cleaned, and embraced my body for its strength and resilience. I interact with others through smile and greeting, feeling akin. This is a life one cannot find binging netflix in the living room. I do believe this is a life we can find by stepping out our front door. There is no need to travel, though I highly encourage it. Seeing and experiencing other cultures gives us perspectives to grow and love better. I hope and believe that everyone can take their own journey and not only finds new ways to embrace life, but like I have on this trail, find that life is embracing you back.

Camino de Santiago Frances, Spain

Buen Camino, Good Afternoon – Day 2

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I don’t think there will be enough pages in this journal to tell my whole story. Apparently on paper I am as wordy as in person, maybe to make up for the lack of human interaction yesterday. At dinner last night no one spoke enough English, it just added to my exhaustion.

So today I didn’t make myself get up early. I set my alarm for 7:00 a.m. and when it went off I was the only one left. I took my time getting ready, repacking, eating breakfast, and doing foot care. I was going 15 km (11ish miles) and was fine talking all day. I hit the trail and met with Rosa and Empara again. They had stayed in Roncesvalles and received a blessing at mass. They passed it on to me through a hug. My feet were feeling a bit better thanks to my panaway oil. I was moving slow though, so they went on head of me. I was walking and enjoying the last coolness of the day when I heard an Australian accent behind me, it was Alice. I had met her the previous day, but then forgotten in my exhaustion. She was chatting with an American from California, Jack. Allen, Canadian, and Izzy, British, came along shortly and we made an interesting group of native English speakers. The fun thing about traveling in a group of many strangers is that at different points we would fall into different walking groups. The trail didn’t really allow for us to walk side by side all the time. It allowed us to have individual conversations and get to know each other based on mutual interests. It’s a good reminder that not everyone will always be interested in ever topic, and that is okay! It was interesting conversation within the group. It was interesting to get to know more about the respective locations they each live in. We all came from different backgrounds, but still felt connected because of our mutual desire to walk the Camino.

Back home, Jack, had worked for a poitician as an aid. Allen drives a Ferry Boat in Vancouver. Izzy was working for an NGO. Alice is currently in between positions. It is interesting the diverse work backgrounds we come from, in addition to the diverse countries and cultures. We discussed all kinds of life situations. I shared about my time in the military. So far I hadn’t mentioned my veteran status to anyone on the trail. I also hadn’t interacted at any length with too many people. I felt awkward and like it was inappropriate to identify myself as a veteran. This sensation came from my uncertainty about the response that individuals around the world have towards veterans of the Iraq and Afghanistan War. Through discussing NGO’s, I brought up Team Rubicon and how it is in the USA, UK, Canada, Australia, and continuing to grow. This led to identifying as a veteran which led to discussion about my time during the wars and in the military. They were sensitive to how I felt discussing it, but I told them what I most often say. “It’s never easy, but I feel it’s valuable to discuss it in order to destigmatize it.” Most often when I say this I mean it. This time though, something inside of me felt like a robot. I think the nature of this pilgrimage has had me on edge. The emotions are moving to the surface. Eventually the subject changed naturally and I was glad to move on. Also at one point I literaly found 20 Euro.

Despite the physical pain from yesterdays walk, I made great time. It helps to walk with other people because my stride just naturally matched theirs. They were moving quite fast, but as long as we were talking I didn’t feel it. When we reached the bridge that crossed into Zubiri we all sat down, exhausted. I took my shoes and socks off and was so blissful to be barefoot. Only a portion of the group planned to stop in Zubiri. At that point we kind of parted ways, because I was not yet ready to stand up and go look for the room I had booked. The others hadn’t booked ahead like me, so they went off to search for their own bed in an Albergue that wasn’t full yet. It was still early in the afternoon, about 1pm, so there was a lot of time to fill our days. The day had grown quite hot, typical for early August in Spain. Upon crossing the old roman bridge that led into the town the evidence of an ongoing festival laid before me. Many of the establighments were closed not only because it’s Sunday, but also because of the festival. The square had families with children, just lounging. The kids were wearing these human size puppet costumes and running around. The costumes reminded me of a life sized Punch and Judy show.

The Albergue I stayed at was a small space for eight people in four bunk beds, located just off the square called Albergue Zaldiko. Today was the first day of laundry, seeing as I only have two changes of clothes. I thought I would use the washer in my Albergue, but it was 6 Euro for the wash and no dryer. Lots of people were coming into the Albergue and I had yet to each lunch, so I made my escape from the crowded space. Just down the block was an open bar that appeared filled with Pilgrims. I figured that was as good a shot and I didn’t have to hunt another option down. Upon entering the bar I ran into the French girl I met yesterday coming down the mountain. You remember, the one I yelled “Because I’m Dumb!” at? Well she didn’t hold my outburst against me and invited me to sit down with her and eat lunch. We had great conversation over mediocre food serve with french fries. She had started her Camino further back in France on one of the French routes to Saint Jean. For her this was a very religious experience and important to her spiritual well being. It was really delightful to hear her perspective of the Camino and what it was like on the trail in France. The trails before Saint Jean do not have the solid infrastructure available on the “official” path that we are currently walking. She had to be more clever and connect with the churches to find places to stay.

She was not planning to stay in Zubiri, but continue on that night. However, by the time we finished eating it was 3pm and she decided that maybe she would look for a room. We checked at my Albergue, but they were full up except for a more expensive private room. She opted to search for a more affordable option. Most Pilgrims are on a very strict budget, so ideally a bet can be booked for 10 Euro or less. We agreed to meet in an hour and go to the river together. During our lunch I had mentioned that I needed to do laundry and wondered if she wanted to go in on the machine together. She told me about how the “Pilgrims Way” is to wash the clothing by hand in the sink and hang it to dry. I know how to do this, but I worry that I won’t get my clothes clean. After she went to find a bed for the night and wash her own laundry. I saw other people washing their clothes in the sink and decided to try my best and see how it went. I got water everywhere, but the clothes got washed (or at least a solid rinse). While I was doing laundry there was a giant parade outside to go along with the town festivities.

By the time I had finished my laundry everything had calmed back down. I opted to go sit in the shade and pluck on the Ukelele I brought with me. I don’t often get shy about things, but with the Ukelele I was very shy. I don’t have a good grasp on it, and so my nerves go up when I try playing around others. The street wasn’t busy, so I figured this was a good time to try it out. I lost myself in playing, just like I had by the river in Bayonne. There is just something about strumming the ukelele that calms my soul. A Camino cyclist came by and smiled at me playing, his smile touched his eyes. It made me glad I had decided to play. His kindness gave me courage. I had really debated bringing this extra weight with me, but today Iam grateful for the extra weight.

Alice came by and chatted with me while I was waiting for the French Girl. She said she had seen her at the other albergue washing laundry. Alice invited me to the river, but I said we would catch up and I would wait for the French Girl. Despite an hour long lunch together, I do not yet know the French Girls name, which is why I keep calling her “the French Girl.” Maybe I had learned it and forgotten it. It’s only been two days, but I feel like I have been on the trail for forever. I was determined to suck up any potential embarassment and ask her name. I knew I was likely going to have to do this a lot on the trail, so I my as well start now.

Her name is Cecilia, Ceci. We went to the river, but couldn’t find Alice. We did find some rocks we could sit in with our feet in the water. Even though today was much shorter than yesterday, my feet were still beaten and hurting. The water was an elixir of life for my poor feet. Ceci and I sat there, soaking our feet, and talked about all kinds of things. The political struggle, negative beliefs of our respective societies on others, religion, how we each experience the world, and she taught me some French things about Love. She said that I am right in thinking that the French are experts in love. She encouraged me to play my ukelele for a while and while this was happening, and young spanish boy came up and started to squirt me with his water gun. He didn’t speak english, but he did speak French. So between my spanish and Ceci’s French we had a fun conversation with him. We followed our river time up with an early dinner at 6pm. I mean early by European standards. It was an enjoyable evening and now I shall go to sleep, feeling connected.

This ends Day 2 on the trail, 13.5 miles per my phone and 15km per my guide.

Camino de Santiago Frances

The Summit – Day 1

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My first hostel stay in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port was so nice. It was a little uncomfortable at first getting in the rhythm. Laura, the host, showed if I wished to be in a smaller room with just women. I gratefully accepted. My rooomie’s were Brigit (polish or German?) and two Spanish women – Rosa and Emparo (I think). The Spanish gals some English and eventually struck up conversation with me. Rosa teaches history in London and Emparo is from near Barcelona where she does administrative jobs, but is currently between jobs.

They had stayed an extra day in SJPDP before starting and had heard about a wine festival and asked if I wanted to go. This was French wine and food, straight local! It was delicious! The wine was definitely stronger than at home. For less than the price of a Quiktrip Hot Dog I was eating an octopus salad on a black roll. It was delicious!
My plan was to do 30km on Day 1 and they thought I was crazy. Everyone raised their eyebrows when I mentioned going to Espinal. If my stubbornness wasn’t so in control, it may have been a sign for what came later. I had also booked a room in Espinal, so it felt like I had no option to change my plans. In planning my initial week I had panicked on not having a place, so I booked rooms through Pamplona. Here was a great example of my need to control things… I hope my therapist reads this, she’ll laugh. I had also made the fatal flaw of letting my ego determine this first day would be easier than… well you’ll find out. My thought was “How hard can 3/4 miles elevation gain be over 7 miles?” Ha ha ha… (spoilers sweetie)

I started at 6am to get an early start. I woke up, felt ready, and was rearing to go. I got coffee and a croissant then hit the road. It was great at first. I saw the sun rise as I hiked out of the valley and above the clouds. From the moment I left SJPDP it was uphill. The city sits in a valley surrounded by the Pyrennes Mountains. The Pilgrims Office had given me a walk through of the trail, only offering the elevated route. It’s the one I wanted, but it is weird they didn’t offer the lower route.
The higher route is called Napoleon. There are two towns on this side of the mountain, Honto & Orisson. Honto barely gets a mention as it only has Albergues. Orisson was about 7km up and was the last stop for food before another 17km. There was also not another watering point till near the top, except for a “food truck.” I’d been told the food truck barely had anything and was near enough the water that there was no need for it. In Orisson I stopped for a cafe and basque cake (there is pudding in the middle). I also bought a bocadillo para llavar (sandwich to go). I used their toilet and then hit the road. I didn’t fill my water, which ended up being a bad idea. It was only 9am and the sun wasn’t fully up.

The view on the trail was so beautiful it made me cry tears of joy, at least for the first 12km. About 4km before Orisson my heel had developed a blister that got quite large before I stopped to treat it. I patched it up, but between the incline and my sweaty feet, the bandage kept sliding. I kept replacing it, but eventually the blister popped and tore. I went through most of my supply fixing it over and over. My whole body was also feeling the incline and the weight of my pack.

Around 11am I came to a beautiful lookout point. There was a statue of the Virgin Mary on top of large boulders. My legs were jelly and my sunscreen had stopped being effective. I dropped my pack and rested. It was extremely hot and the sun was high in the sky. I’d walked out of tree cover near Orisson. I aired out my feet and soaked socks. I knew i needed to go faster to reach Espinal before midnight. My feet weren’t happy though. I tried some yoga, but couldn’t find my balance. I threw on my flip-flops to walk a while and let my heel dry out.. i got about 3km before I started tripping on rocks. It was like I was drunk! At the food truck I put my hiking shoes back on and bought a coke and water. I had run out of water at this point and was afraid of how far the fountain might be. They said it was close, but this was nothing like I was expecting. It was a good decision as the watering point was several more kilometers on and up another ascent. I enjoyed my bocadillo, which had become a ham and cheese panini in my bag through the heat, with the coke. I drank the water in small sips as needed, just in case. It felt like being stranded in a desert. At one point i considered drinking the water from a creek, but it was all pasture, with a lot of sheep… so a lot of sheep poop in the creek I’m sure.
By this time my adventurous spirit was quickly being overcome by sunburn and exhaustion. I was so glad I was walking solo. This wasn’t a misery that wanted company. My self-talk turned for the worst and I was not at all kind to myself in my stubbornness and fear to finish the day.
At the fountain I was able to feel some renewal of my spirits as I drank deep. The water was refreshing and cold. My body still hurt, my soul felt renewed.
I picked up and kept moving, hoping I was getting close to the top. I figured, especially after this, that the downhill would be much easier. As I moved I began, or more often the sheep.

I pulled out the Lego man given to me, named him Boomer and proceeded to build his story.
Eventually even that couldn’t entertain me. I was back to this miserable place with a few “oh beautiful” moments mixed in. I had no choice but to keep going. my peace was getting slower and slower. I’d been lapped earlier by Rosa and Emparo. I reached a sign at the top of a hill which showed the different routes. I thought it was the top, however anticlimactic. It wasn’t. It was followed by a soft path through trees, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I saw no one on this path, but for some sheep and I started to wonder if I had picked the wrong path. In my exhaustion had I gone off trail? Getting actually lost when I’m trying to get lost is the story of my life. However, when I usually get lost I’m rarely this exhausted, resourceless, and in the French countryside.

My fears were alleviated as I rounded a bend to find horses frolicking (yes, frolicking) across the path and a handful of pilgrims taking naps in the shade. I too took a break, though there was no nap in store for me. In the words of Robert Frost: “These woods are lovely, farm, and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.”
I didn’t know if I would ever reach Espinal, but I needed this brief respite. It was like an act of grace, so green and friendly. The oasis in the desert. The horses were beautiful, playful, and free. There were several foals in the mix just enjoying being alive. I couldn’t have kept myself from smiling.

I had to go on though. When i reached the actual summit of Lepoeder, I couldn’t even bring myself to walk the 100ft to the very tip of it. I just wanted down off this fucking mountain. The descent was easier on my heels, but never ending. I knew I would never reach Espinal walking. I reset my expectation to stay upright and moving till Roncesvalles, another 7km yet.
My mental state was also exhausted. It had tried so hard to keep me motivated. It sang songs, did math, told stories, and even planned things for the nonprofit I’m building. Though I can’t recall those ideas now, lol. It even tried to clear itself and mediate while walking. All of these things started to get jumbled in my mind. Spanish words started to get mixed in, and I kept mumbling to myself. I debated how to ask and call for help in Spanish. I wondered if I was suicidal, but no, I only wanted to go home. I’m not the same person I was when I bought these tickets, desperate to find something to hold on to. I wanted to give up. What was so important that I needed to be here and not with the on ness I love?
I kept picking up one foot after another. A French girl said hello and that we only had 3k. To Roncesvalles. I told her I was going on to Espinal. She asked why looking concerned and I blurted out “BECAUSE I’M DUMB!” She looked shocked. I had to keep moving, or I felt I may never move again. I felt the breakdown (definitely not a spiritual awakening) coming on. I was too tired for it. I just needed to get off the mountain. I lost the trail at some point and ended up on a road. It was descending, so I kept following it. I think it added an extra kilometer. I didn’t care anymore. Everything in me had turned off and my feet were using all the energy I had left. Well my feet and the fact I’d needed a toilet for 7km. It wasn’t the act of going in the woods that was the problem, it was the need to pack out my refuse, I hadn’t remembered to get baggies. You can’t bury or burn your bathroom trash.
I finally reconnected with the path and could see the Monastery in Roncesvalles through the trees. As I cleared the trees it was like walking into a different world. There were clean happy pilgrims hanging laundry and lounging about. I imagine my relief was selections to that off people traveling long distances before technology. The sweet release of connection. I entered the monastery and they offered me a bed, which I was gladly hoping to accept. Then I realized I did not have enough Euros and right then they ran out of beds anyway. So in a confusion of people, language, and expression I called a taxi.
They’re was no public restroom and the taxi was an hour away. I sat outside and tried to silently cry it out. This isn’t what I expected. I thought I was better prepared and had failed those expectations of myself. I even looked up how to change my flight home. The Taxi call had forced me to turn my cell service on, so I made the best of that connection. I did not change my flight. I did check in with home, to remember that I’m not alone. My people still exist!
Taking the Taxi to Espinal speed 6km of the trail, which doesn’t bother me in the least. This was self-care. Hostal Rural Haizea was very welcoming. It was a perfect place to be after such a hard day. After a shower I napped and felt a little better. At dinner none of the pilgrims spoke English, so it was a silent night for me.
I had walked 18.27 miles according to my phone. The map said it was 24km (roughly 14mi). The thing I learned last year was the inconsistency in the distances from different sources.
I will have better takeaways and lessons when I’m not in the midst of exhaustion. I know this was important and I’ll keep trying, but for now, today just needs to end. Day 1 complete.

Buen Camino

Camino de Santiago Frances, France

Here I Sit – Ahetze, France

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Here I sit, in the quaint French village of Ahetze.

After two days of airport travel I landed in Biarritz, France. For a moment it felt free to be done with planes. My assumption was to grab a taxi or Uber to the hotel I had booked online. This proved to be more difficult, for several reasons. First, I had completely lost what little French I pretended to learn prior to the trip, not even hello was coming to mind. This kicked my anxiety up. Second, I couldn’t get my phone to connect to the WIFI, possibly because the form was in French and I wasn’t answering it correctly. Suddenly, all the normalcy of airport life disappeared. I was momentarily frozen in a foreign country. I battled the urge to turn my cell service on and took several deep breathes. I wandered around, not finding a taxi stand and too ashamed of my lack of French to ask for help. I tried the WIFI again. Somehow, i muddled through the French form and got it to connect. I opened Uber and encountered my third problem… no Uber drivers. How!?!?!? I checked Google map which insisted there should be Uber cars, it also offered a bus route. The bus station was 20 minutes walk. Without ongoing data I figured I would only become more frustrated trying to find it. I checked Uber again… SUCCESS!
Marc, my Uber driver, spoke enough English to tell me I was going to a small country village. This was not what I had expected. My mind raved as I tried to remember to breathe. This is okay. I’ll be okay. I’m resilient. Then Marc tells me the only way back from the village is by rental car or motorbike. My internal panic continues as my external self attempts neutrality. A moment of brevity arrives when we approached a round about, where Marc begins yelling in French and honing his horn because no one is letting us merge into the round-about. Finally, he cuts someone off, at which point north drivers go halfway put the window to yell at each other in French. It didn’t sound like kind words. Thankfully, Marc came back into the vehicle when it was time to start moving. He promised the rest of the trip would be much more pleasant.
Marc spoke enough English to drop some knowledge on me. The G7 Summit would be in Biarritz in late August. There are normally more Ubers but it’s been a bad summer for biarritz, so less business means less Uber. Also, somehow the G7 Summit is affecting the Uber business in the area. Spain has the most taxi’s of all the Western European countries, but France comes in second. He also shared many other things which I did not quite understand, but I nodded along pleasantly. It never fails that people think I’m from Kansas, and Marc did not let me down. He asked where I’m from, then said he has heard of Kansas City, it’s in Kansas, then asks me what the capital of the state is. I get that question a lot, or so it seems, I usually guess Topeka, but I’m still not sure. I tried to explain how I’m from Missouri, not Kansas and how KC is in both states, but it fell flat. I gave up with an internal chuckle.

At Hôtel Harretchea in Ahetze, Fr the woman who checked me in didn’t speak English. We got through it and she should me my beautiful first floor room. The door to the back patio sat ajar, flanked by beautiful rustic red shutters. I was very glad it was such a comfortable room for my first night in Europe. I got straight in the shower and sink washed my clothes for the first time. I managed to flood the bathroom because there was no edge to the shower to hold in water. It was odd, but survivable. They had a towel warmer that I used to dry my clothes. Maybe that’s its purpose, we saw them in Scotland last year too. It could also simply be a heater that becomes multi-purpose.

By this time, I was exhausted and without a common language. My resiliency and stubbornness were fading fast. I needed food. I opted to wander and try to find dinner. The main restaurant in town didn’t open till 2000, and it was only 1800. I eventually found a grocery store and opted to simply buy some food to hold me over. I was beginning to feel stabbed and ill, the jet lag (8hrs ahead of Colorado) was starting to catch up to me. After eating I fell asleep watching some Netflix, a very home thing to do. I woke up at 2300, feeling rested, and glad I’d bought those groceries. I found out I could make phone calls over the WIFI also, so made a call home. I needed that call to make me feel better, less alone, less miserable. The call didn’t last long as my energy started to wane pretty quick. As I laid back down to sleep it occurred to me that the trail hadn’t even started yet and I was already questioning my reasons to be here. I missed the familiar and a common language.

In the end I slept well, with the patio door open, letting in the fresh air. In the morning I had a proper European breakfast (Petit dejuenes) made primarily of a dozen types of pastry, but don’t worry, I only ate 5! This was what I expected when I joked about not losing weight. I’m sure I’ll burn the calories and more on the trail. My saving grace was, of course, the coffee, though no milk, but still my elixir of life.
I went to check out and was reminded I needed to pay. This morning the woman at the desk spoke English, thankfully, otherwise I may not have realized I didn’t pay when I booked. I told her that nowhere in America would they let you stay without paying upfront. She just smiled at me. It is interesting the level of trust given here. I also felt no hesitation in leaving my patio door open all night. It was a very small, rural village. I’m sure my mom will have something to say about that. I figure verbal language is only 7% of communication, and my spidey senses are pretty sharp. I trust my intuition, but I digress.

The woman said I could stay till my bus, but I told her I wanted to explore town. She laughed saying there isn’t much to explore. I agreed but still chose to go. I took some photos and found my way back to this spot to write. It’s a stone picnic table in a community parking lot. There is traffic going by, but otherwise not a whole lot of activity, except for those visiting the grocery store. The sun has finally come out and shortly I’ll return to Biarritz and catch a train to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port.

I’m at peace and looking forward to staying the trail tomorrow. It was a good idea to take a few nights before starting the rail. I’m working on getting my shyness in an unfamiliar culture out of the way. I’ll start using my Spanish more moving forward. It seems they speak Spanish here as well, being just a few miles from Spain.

Camino de Santiago Frances

The Space Between Us

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The woman stares off into space. The foreign language around her meshing into a blur of noises. It was like music from a new instrument. She wonders if they can tell how lost she feels. Absolutely adrift, not knowing what to do with her hands, her face, her words. Her one comfort is the movement of her feet as she walks.

Are the people who help her at her stops frustrated with her? Do they scorn her lack of French? She remembers how easily frustrated she has found herself with foreigners in her job in America. The echo of “Why don’t they just learn English?” Echoes in her own head. So many people told her she would be fine because “everyone speaks English”. She knew they were incorrect then, and she is now experiencing how untrue that statement actually is.

Do they see just how lost she feels? How hard she works to accept her deficiency. How she wishes she had spent more time learning French. Maybe this is okay though, it’s minimalist conversation, or really none. She’s silent to the world, but so loud in her head. Her soul sings a mantra about being okay. Her heart is so uncertain. There is no option to return home at this point. The only option she gives herself is to move forward.

She takes a bus and a train then finds herself at the edge of a river, lost in the sound of the ukulele she is playing. She plays and plays losing track of her anxiety, the foreignness around her, and eventually the time. She races against the clock she forgot to find the final train. She makes it on right in time and can rest her mind, assured she gets off at the end of the track, so her attention can go elsewhere. She drops into a novel and relaxes. Finally she arrives at the end of the line, where she can begin to walk.

She walks in a new spirit, her hope refilled. As she climbs the steep cobbled street she wonders where she should go. The starting place is the pilgrims office and she happens upon it. The kindness of Benedicte, a joy-filled guide, makes the woman want to cry. The pleasure of knowing that from here she will walk and discover angels. For here is the place she’s worried about getting and from here the path is laid before her, and if all else fails her… The Woman will simply Walk and Breathe.

Camino de Santiago Frances

Imagine All the People

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Just the average airport travelers…

People watching is an intriguing way to pass the time. This is especially true in an airport. I traveled through 5 different airports to get to France; Denver, Dallas-Ft-Worth, London Heathrow, London Gatwick, and Biarritz France. If you are playing your favourite song on your headphones and just watching you may not notice the language differences around you. Instead, what you’ll see are people looking a little confused or lost. Wide eyes search for a map or staff member to find their gate or the nearest toilet. People struggle with small children or huge suitcases. Their skin may vary in color, but they’re distinctly them and very human. All the differences fall away as we each try to navigate the journey to our final destination. The journey looks different, it sounds different, but is a journey all the same.

Airport Employees

At various points I would look around, wondering where I was, because I had forgotten while watching these incredible humans be incredibly human. The only sign of differences were the names on the shops, local advertisements, and the different uniforms of the employees. It’s difficult for me to not see each person as a beautiful unique individual. The current push for nationalism and division between cultures, beliefs, and political parties disheartens me and doesn’t mesh with my view of the world.
One of the things I most look forward to on the Camino is the diverse population that I will engage with. I will struggle to communicate and understand all of my interactions, but there is no doubt that I will learn and grow through each encounter. If I only ever know my own culture and language how could I continue to love everyone as they deserve? It is important in each person’s journey to see the lives of others so they might grow in their own life.
Diversity and new experiences increase our ability to define ourselves in our own way. We need options in order to best understand what fits our own unique lives.

T.A.R.D.I.S

During trips as a child, my mom would lead me in a game trying to guess a persons story just by watching them. Sometimes we’d get silly, but other times we would just go with what we saw. I don’t know if my mum was trying to teach me a lesson, or merely play a game. For me though, it was the beginning of exploring people different from me. It opened my imagination to the uniqueness of individuals and how we tell our story through our appearances. It also reminds me that we are more than the view we show others, that we are much bigger on the inside. That of course brings me back to my favourite Doctor Who metaphor… in the end aren’t we all just timey wimey wibbly wobbly adventurers of time and space traveling in a T.A.R.D.I.S. which is much bigger on the inside than it is on the outside?

I think we are. In all of time and space I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t important.

Camino de Santiago Frances

The Path I’ve Walked

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Original drawing – VAY Designs

I had a lot of built up anxiety prior to getting on the plane Wednesday morning. This trip was 6 months coming and then it appeared all too quickly. It’s interesting to reflect on the path I’ve walked which led to me walking a literal path in Spain. The mindset I was in when I bought the tickets and how my world changed since, well, it feels like two different worlds.

February 13, 2019 0500 CST

I bought the tickets in a haze of sleeplessness. I was unsettled. The nightmares were creeping in on my periphery. They were alive in my mind without me even closing my eyes. I couldn’t, no wouldn’t, allow myself to sleep. The fear if entering my never ending nightmares spurred me on to practice one tool after another, but nothing calmed them, or me.

Trail on the Camino de Santiago Frances

I, finally, took my mind back to the Camino de Santiago I did in October 2018. I recalled the smell of the eucalyptus trees, still wet with dew. The quiet of the rail, the only sound was the crunchy of my shoes on the path. Singing in the rain, getting caught, and being asked to keep singing. The sense of freedom and no restrictions. The lack of my story holding me back. This was what I most wanted as I looked at ticket prices.
I hoped to find those same senses by returning to the trail. Last year I used the trail to hold onto through the struggles. On this particular February morning I once again needed something to hold onto, to keep living. I wanted to escape my pain, back to the last place that I felt peace.

After February 13th

It’s not that I don’t have peace in my daily life. I’m just constantly looking for the next danger, the next repeat of my trauma. I’m always on alert. I wish I could better embrace the peace and joy that occurs in my daily life. I also have this wanderlust inside me, and perhaps that makes me restless. I’m great in a crisis or a high adrenaline event, it’s the normal where I begin to fall and fail.
So what changed, what happened since that rough February night, which made it so difficult to actually come on this trip? Just buying the tickets I had felt i found my escape, something to look forward to, hold on to. It wasn’t a foolish choice, it was quite informed of me. I lined my date’s up with when my lease ended. I found a balance in my desire to escape and my life responsibilities. Giving myself this time was important. It offered me the space to process, connect better with others, and make a healthy departure.

I took a turn off the Camino to find this gem of nature.

For almost as long as I can remember, I have had this unhealthy desire to just up and disappear, to run away from everyone. It often has strong emotional ties to shame, guilt, pain, and other dark emotions. As an adult, I began struggling with thoughts of suicide. Suicide: the ultimate disappearing act. When I think about my struggles it is hardly ever a reflection of others. It is a reflection of how I can’t stand myself, occasionally informed by the opinions of others. The thing is I can’t escape myself anymore than you can escape yourself. So my urge to disappear doesn’t work, I can’t run from myself. That was where the permanence of suicide began to feel attractive.
Luckily, for me, I was born with this little flame in my soul, called HOPE. Sometimes, I am in awe of how strong it is. It keeps me going in the darkest of times. It is what gets me to buy plane tickets so I can walk across Spain. Once the tickets were bought, life started to get a little easier. I had an egress plan. Rule #1 of combat, know your egress points. Okay, maybe not rule #1, but it’s up there for sure. It’s as if I can handle anything as long as there is an escape route.
Funny thing happened though, I made my escape plan and then began to experience a life I didn’t want to escape from. Every day wasn’t perfect, but life felt good. It felt possible. I let myself be more vulnerable. I began to accept the love others kept trying to share with me. I leaned into my art and my dream of building a non-profit. I built deeper relationships with neighbors, coworkers, customers, and friends. Instead of thinking I could go nowhere with my dreams, I just started doing it. It was as if I suddenly had nothing to loose, so why not try. To my surprise, people really supported me! I even met someone special who has made my life even better. It turned out I didn’t need to escape my life. I needed to be embracing it.

Signpost directing where the Camino continues.

So, then I considered not going on this trip at all. I balked at the risk of leaving a good life, finally, a good life. The thing is, I had heard this call to adventure and I accepted it. My current level of comfort at home should not hinder me answering the call and stepping into the unknown. A person won’t grow well unless, from time to time, they face the unknown and seek the new knowledge and wisdom it has in store.
The beauty to this evolution is that I don’t know what I’m walking the Camino for. I am no longer escaping. I’m not appearing, like the last Camino, for myself. They’re is no record breaking, comparing, or competing. I’m simply embracing the unknown by putting one foot in front of the other, and continue to walk.