Even in the best relationships differences will arise

 

Almost immediately on The Camino I began to notice minor differences between Anne and I that I had never been aware of in the years that we had been friends and neighbors. Walking a camino highlights everything, much in the same way that time in any relationship reveals differences between partners. How we react to our differences makes, or breaks, the rest of the journey.

 

From the beginning I pulled out my camera more often to record the views, flowers, and colorful scenes along the way. I did my best to be sensitive and not annoy my friend by interrupting our pace. I seemed to prefer walking through the small ancient villages, where I could daydream about the lives that had been lived there. Anne loved the wide open expanses with coastal views more. We even reacted to the sun and heat differently; Many days I barely noticed it, while Anne was truly affected. She had a greater need for organization and strategies where finding our way was concerned. I felt more comfortable moving forward without a plan.

 

Even our interests differed. We spent large portions of each day deep in conversation but I would often interrupt to point out every new species of tree, flower, and shrub along the way. My own family has grown used to this, but  Anne had never experienced this side of me before. She was a good sport and humored my inner botanist for twelve days.

 

At least once each day Anne would ask if I was interested in hearing a few lines from the latest poem she was studying. I wanted to be a good sport  and so would pretend to be moved by words I couldn’t always make sense of.

 

I was surprised at the discovery that, despite the fact that my friend and I are exceptionally well-matched in so many ways, we had many differences. I could see that some of our differences had to do with our interests, some our personalities, some our habits, and some our genuine personal needs. Because we’re girlfriends, and not life partners our differences didn’t threaten us, and we knew that we were both too old to change our interests, personalities, habits, or needs in any measurable way. Besides, we tended to compliment one another and our walk was made richer for our differences. 

 

Four days into our journey, though, we experienced our first, and luckily only, point of real tension when our differing needs became apparent.  Had I used lesson number one (“Don’t panic, more will be revealed”) we could have skated through that afternoon more smoothly. But, since The Camino, like life, is about “progress, not perfection” I ended up doing real damage by failing to address my discomfort in a healthy way.

 

That afternoon we were leaving Portugal and crossing the River Minho into Spain. I’d been to Portugal only once before, a magical trip the previous summer with two of my grown children. This second trip to this beautiful country had been a bonus, and as I prepared to leave it behind at river’s edge I knew there would be a good chance I would never return. It’s not that I have a special connection to Portugal, but I had developed some meaningful history there, and as I prepared to leave it behind I was feeling nostalgic and sad. My sadness was exacerbated by fatigue, and probably hunger as well. I’ve learned over the years to use the acronym HALT: Asking myself if I am Hungry, Angry, Lonely, or Tired, whenever I am feeling irritable or unreasonable. Usually I’m good about “HALTing” and practicing self-care before I do damage to myself or others, but I forgot all about that as we neared the border of Spain that day. I’m not sure why my old stand-by of HALT failed me that afternoon; perhaps it was the brain haze from walking so many miles, or maybe it was the emotion I was feeling around this transitional point in our journey. Whatever the reason I became increasingly irritable as we navigated the small, noisy, and chaotic city of Caminha on the way to the river during our last hour in Portugal.  Ahead of us lay an inoperable ferry and the challenge of finding transport across the river.

 

Transitions are difficult for most people. I know that I’ve never been fond of them. No matter how wonderful the season, or event, or change that awaits, there is that inevitable “Good-bye” to what is left behind. Most transitions are at least a little chaotic, like the logistics we had to face as we left Portugal behind. 

 

People react to chaos and transition differently. I tend to slow down and drag my feet (quite literally) when I’m under stress. Anne, I’ve come to learn, responds to transition in a fast-paced, “charge ahead” manner. This day was no exception as she sought to move through the chaos of this riverside city as quickly as she could. I started to feel weak and inadequate as I struggled to keep up with the pace she was setting. For the first time, ever, we were “unequally yoked”.

 

I wish I had not panicked, and just geared it up a notch, or, better yet, stopped and asked Anne: “What’s up? Why are we walking so fast?”  At the very least, I wish I had asked myself what was up with me. Why was I feeling so grumpy? I didn’t ask, and my feet and mind grew increasingly irritable. I started to feel rushed, pushed, tired, and inadequate. I told myself a story about how I wanted to do this Camino the “right way”, slowly and with intention. She was now making this “right way” impossible. The implication of course was that there was a “right” way; Good thing I was the one who was the expert on that! The more invested I became in my story the more “right” I became and the more “wrong” my friend became in my eyes.

 

You think I’d know better. I’ve wrestled with this personal character defect for years. Even though I know better I still forget that there is rarely one “right” way to be in this world, and that of course there is value in everyone’s perspective and needs. Still, especially when stressed, I struggle to remember that: “I can be right, or, I can remain connected” when tensions arise in my relationships. Rarely, if ever, can I be both at the same time. 

 

That day, in spite of failing to practice “HALT” when I was irritated, we eventually left the chaos behind, found transport across the river, and entered Spain. 

 

I was joyful. I had never been to Spain before. My dear friend said: “Can I buy you a beer to celebrate?” It was a generous and loving gesture. We sat by the river’s edge for an hour and had the best, and most earned beer of our lives. I wish I’d used this peaceful time to say: “So let’s talk about what was up back there across the river; Why did you start walking so fast and pushing our pace so hard?”  It would have been one of those magical opportunities to resolve minor differences, understand each-other better, and deepen our relationship. There are so many opportunities for this in friendship, love, and marriage. I wish I had, but I didn’t. I let the moment pass, and even worse, I didn’t let go of my inner resentment, or “story”, there at the River’s edge. Instead I carried both with me on into the town of A Guarda, where we planned to spend the night.

 

The next part of this lesson is painful to remember and embarrassing to confess.  

 

As we traversed the town of A Guarda in search of our hotel, my agitation returned. I’m not sure if the town was as unappealing as I remember, or if I was just projecting my inner ugliness onto it. In any event, I felt like I needed a shower and to call my husband back home to calm down and find  my center again. This was another opportunity to HALT and honestly examine my feelings of anxiety, grief, and fatigue. Instead I examined Anne. I had my “story” and I was sticking to it!  I took my phone to the courtyard below our room and and filled my husband’s ear with how right I was and how wrong my good friend was. So intent was I in venting, that I failed to notice that I was sitting directly under the open window of our room above. 

 

I’d like to say that I also acknowledged that I was probably over-reacting, and likely projecting my agitation onto her, when in truth I had just felt anxious, inadequate, and competitive where our earlier pace was concerned.  I did know, deep inside, that this had been the issue; I’m not completely self unaware after-all!  Yes, I wish I’d said that out loud instead of just in my head as I vented away underneath our open window. 

 

In any event, the damage was done, and I had done it. I had stayed with my self-righteous “story” too long and hurt the feelings of my friend who had just bought me my first Spanish beer an hour earlier. There was a crack in the intimacy and trust that had developed between us, and a shift for the worse in the energy between us. We walked, dined, and existed fairly silently for the next thirty-six hours. I had plenty of time to think about where I had gone wrong. It didn’t take long to figure out that my tactical error hadn’t been gossiping about Anne under our open window, but had been my stubborn refusal to examine and express my own feelings to myself and to her directly. There had been nothing wrong with my feelings. I know there are no wrong feelings, only right or wrong things to do with my feelings. Ignoring them and creating ugly stories about someone else, though always tempting, is never my ticket to anywhere good.

 

Fortunately I have healthy friends and Anne is one of the healthiest. She told me later that she just kept reminding herself not to take my overheard words personally. (How that was possible I have no idea; I was sure doing my best to make them personal!) Of course we eventually broke our tense silence and talked about the obvious. We acknowledged that we have different responses to chaos and transition. We both appreciated that differences arise in any relationship, even in fundamentally sound and connected ones, and though predictable, powerful, and often permanent, these differences do have the power for real harm if not acknowledged and understood.

 

The entire debacle wasn’t a “deal-breaker” thank heavens, but it was significant. It taught me to never underestimate how differences between partners can lead to damage inducing tension. It also taught me that it’s usually not the differences themselves that do all the damage but rather my response when inevitable differences arise. My allegiance to my perspective gets me nowhere but wound up and isolated in my anger. Making assumptions and telling stories about anyone else is never benign; it is the corrosive stuff of relationship destruction. Silence, and the withholding of my agitation or resentment  only causes my “story” to grow and gain a toxic momentum; trusting someone enough to show up and tell my truth may be hard but is the key to intimacy for me. The Camino reminded me that I can be “right”, or I can be "connected"; I can’t be both. 

 

Reflections 

 

Even in the best relationships differences arise. In fact, the mark of a healthy relationship isn’t whether or not there is occasional conflict, but rather, what happens once conflicts arise. When tension leads to deeper understanding, instead of estrangement, we know that we have a safe bond with someone else. 

 

How we choose to “show up” in our relationships is the only part of conflict that we can control. It helps to keep the focus on ourselves and understand and express how we are feeling as quickly as possible when we notice that things have gone awry. Truly understanding that our loved one has a valuable perspective, even when it differs from our own, is also key. Both are easiest when we are taking good care of ourselves; Our emotional reserve for facing tension is greater when we are rested and unafraid. 

 

    1. How do you usually express your anger or frustration with the people closest to you?

    2.  How comfortable are you when loved ones express their anger at you. 

    3.  When you fight with those closest to you does it bring you to a place of greater understanding, or to emotional alienation? 

    4.  If you had no fear or guilt how might you change the way you address tension with others?