Tag Archives: Processing

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.

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

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, CO, Denver

Tomorrow’s Tide

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It feels like it should just be any other night. It isn’t though. Tomorrow the woman takes on a new mountain, or will it end up being a mole hill? She doesn’t know, there are so many unknowns. She comes and goes in life like a ride on the shores. What will become of her in this next chapter of the journey. She is taking a leap of faith, not because she’s running away from something or seeking something. She is taking on this journey to experience herself in a new way. She sits on the porch, staring up at the sky, knowing she’ll see these same stars, only thousands of miles from home. It’s scary, she misses her home already. She misses her people and the life she has stepped back from. She chose this journey because she needed to pause. The woman is afraid that once she’s paused for so long she’ll forget how to get moving again. She yearns to hold calm inside herself and never let go, that is why she’s going to walk and walk and walk. Some fear for her safety, while she fears for her sanity. So she’ll go to be with the earth and nature and herself. She’ll face trials and tribulations. She is likely to face an abyss, a breakdown, a spiritual awakening. She’ll find redemption, forgiveness, and salvation. She’ll return to her known world with new wisdom from around the world. She’s scared, sad, joyous, and excited all at once. She already feels exhausted. Her armor is self-care, connection, and love. She’s resilient and a fighter. She’s a warrior walking into a garden to meditate. The woman will be better than okay. She will thrive through adversity and adventure.