We’re all just pilgrims on a journey

 

The Camino de Santiago fascinates me on many levels. Even its name, “El Camino”, or as it translates to English, "The Way", leads one to believe that there is “a way”, or “one way” to Santiago. Nothing could be further from the truth.

 

While walking The Camino I began to notice that the verbiage around our experience changed. People would speak of “their camino” in a way that made it clear that it was more than just a walk. Others would reference “their camino” like I might speak of a past experience with no reference to place. Villagers we passed along the way would unfailingly wish us “Bon Camino” (“have a good journey”) making it clear that The Camino was more than just a line on the map we followed. Upon returning home, both Anne and I would say that we had walked The Camino de Santiago, but we knew it would be more accurate to say: “We completed a camino on our way to Santiago.” We understand that this journey was as much internal as it was external. 

 

As I’ve said, there are a number of “official Caminos" each with its own personality and characteristics. My understanding is that "The Original Way of Saint James" is by far the most traveled; From start to finish it covers at least 500 miles. If you are an extrovert, or traveling alone and desiring companionship, feel nervous about getting lost, or yearn for a route infused with a thousand years of “pilgrim energy”, this would be the route to choose. "The Central Portuguese Route" is also well traveled and people choose it for many of the same reasons. There are more isolated caminos, “Ours” up the coast of Portugal is one of them. The "Northern Coastal Camino of Spain" which I walked with my daughter several years later, is rugged, beautiful, and isolated.

 

Something else that surprised me was that all of the Caminos are different lengths. One can choose a route that suits their time and fitness level and still consider themselves to have walked "The Camino" as long as they have covered at least 100 kilometers, or about 60 miles, and documented their route with official stamps in their pilgrim passport. "The Way of Saint James" generally takes about seven weeks. The “English Route” only seven days. This is hard for me to wrap my mind around! How is that possible or fair? How is it that one person might walk seven weeks and another mere days and at the end of their journeys receive identical compostelas? That seems like finishing a marathon only to discover that the person finishing beside me ran a different course with a completely different distance but received the same medal. How will we know who won? I learned that, in fact, we WON’T know, and in fact that even asking this question on the Camino, as in life, bears no relationship to the process of walking or living. On The Camino there are no winners. There are no losers. There is no “right way” and no “wrong way” There isn’t even a “best way”. There is just "your way" and "my way"; in Anne’s and my case there was “our way".

 

Here’s another quirky thing about The Camino: Even if you walk the same distance, and even the same route as another person, chances are you will be walking it in a completely different manner. Anne and I chose to carry day packs and have our larger bags travel by taxi; it was our first walk of two hundred miles and we feared our fifty-five year old bodies wouldn’t hold up if we carried more than snacks and water for what turned out to be an average of seventeen miles a day. It was a good choice for us at the time, but in hindsight, and with other longer hikes under our belt, we realize now we needed less and could have carried more. We walked “door to door”, leaving one place of lodging each morning and ending each day at the next.

 

We met a few older couples that did it slightly differently: They too had their heavy bags transported but they walked only seven to ten miles a day. When lodging wasn’t available by the time they were ready to stop they called a taxi and were driven to the place that they’d arranged to spend the night. The next morning they would have the same taxi return them to the stopping point of the previous day and continue from there. It was an impressive system for seventy-eight year olds!

 

We encountered a couple of families with young children along the way. They tended to carry light packs and so I assumed that their camino was supported as well. The fit, “twenty somethings”, we saw all carried large packs and rather than splurging on nicer inns, as older pilgrims tended to, stayed in the pilgrim hostels, or “Albuergs” that generously charged only about eight Euros per person.

 

Pace, too, differed greatly among pilgrims. Anne and I are slow starters and fast walkers; we always relished our mornings to linger over our coffee and journals. By the time we’d get going it was usually 9:30 or 10:00. After our quiet coastal route had converged with the busier Traditional Portuguese route we’d find ourselves catching up to all of “the early birds” by about 11:30. Often we’d stop and explore a village graveyard or eat a snack, and then, once back at it we’d pass the very same pilgrims we’d passed earlier. One day, near the little town of Padron, we passed two German women four times! I felt like a silly actor in a “Turtle and Hare” cartoon. Though we all offered a cheery “Bon Camino” to one another I noticed a powerful inner dialog developing. At first I admit I felt a bit superior; “look how fast we’re walking!” The second time I was a little chagrined when I noticed their large packs. By the third time I was truly embarrassed; not only were we not keeping a steady pace, it was obvious by the size of our packs that we were getting help. The fourth time we all just shared a good laugh. That was the moment that the truth of this lesson really struck me: We were all just fellow pilgrims on a shared journey. No matter our point of origin, our pace, our way of approaching the day, or our own meandering path we had more in common than not. We would end the same way and with the same compostela to show for our efforts. If lucky we’d also share the same sense of accomplishment and well-being. 

 

This dawning awareness feels huge. Like so many other things I thought I already “knew” I’m humbled at how little I really understood.

 

The biggest contrast I have to offer is a description of a race that my town of Boulder, Colorado puts on once a year. The Bolder Boulder happens each Memorial Day. Upwards of fifty thousand people register to run, jog, or walk in one of a hundred “waves” of a ten kilometer road race. Everyone is assigned to the “wave” best suited for their projected pace and given a timing chip to attatch to their race bib which insures that every entrant will receive a completely accurate race result. The morning following the race every participant can open our local paper and see how they stand compared to not only every other runner, but also to every other runner of their exact age and gender. It’s a point of pride to finish in the top ten of one’s age group and special medals are awarded and cherished. My own street has been fiercely competitive over the years with at least ten top ten finishers. Thank heavens we are all slightly different ages so there is room for pride and good will!

 

I’ll admit, the model of the Bolder Boulder makes more intuitive sense to me than The Camino ever will. It answers questions like: “How am I doing?” “How are you doing?” “How are we doing in relation to everyone else?” While it’s an opportunity for community bonding, it also serves as a personal measuring stick and lends itself to the chance to feel pride and determination. Striving for “The Win” is deeply embedded in our culture and my own psyche. Forbes publishes its list of wealthiest Americans each year, US News and World Report its college rankings. Even in religion Christians strive for salvation, Mormons for their Celestial Kingdom, Jews yearn for redemption and Muslims life in Paradise. Even Buddhists yearn for Enlightenment. None of us seem exempt from wanting to end up “winners”. I’m human; I am constantly trying to measure my own progress.

 

That afternoon as we passed our German friends the absurdity of my competitive orientation hit me. I didn’t need to feel embarrassed about my lighter pack; I was not superior for my faster pace. It didn’t matter who got there first, or fastest, or fittest. 

 

With 200,000 pilgrims completing their own camino each year that means that every single day people begin and people finish. All year, every year. The Camino is like a giant, perpetual Bolder Boulder who’s results will never be published. As we realized this, and because we love to make fun of ourselves, Anne and I began to say: “Look, we’re winning!” every time that we’d pass another pilgrim. “I think we’re going to get first place!” we’d say when our quick pace would lead us past a large group. Once we saw a group in front of us make a wrong turn; “Wow, we really have an edge now” we laughed. 

 

I’d like to hold on to this sense of irony and silliness where measuring myself against others is concerned. It’s hard. Just yesterday a yoga instructor asked me if I had walked “the whole Camino”. I felt myself grow defensive even as I answered “Well, I learned it wasn’t really like that!”

 

In the end Anne and I joined the Pilgrim Line to collect our certificates of completion. We weren’t first in line; we waited an hour and a half. Everyone in line shared stories of their caminos. It was an amazing experience of community minus competition. There wasn’t a single ribbon or medal, only band-aids, knee braces, swollen feet and plenty of smiles to show for our efforts. These were our trophies for having been pilgrims on a path together.

 

The next day, and two days after that, we happened by the pilgrim’s line again. It was still long and still filled with smiles and sore feet. I know that if I traveled back to Santiago today, or tomorrow, or next month or next year it would still be there. I pray that the world is still intact and spinning in five, fifty, and even five hundred years, and that the compostela line will still exist. That’s a reassuring yet sobering thought, and it helps keep me “right sized” in relation to everyone I share time, space, and neighborhoods with. There is a valuable line in twelve-step programs: "When we compare, we lose.” It’s true.  My biggest victory comes from taking my place in line and knowing that I am one of many; I'm just one more pilgrim on a journey.

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Reflections:

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On The Camino I became aware of aspects of my own personality that, when they arise, tend to separate me from authentic closeness with others. My inner judgements, of myself and other people, place me on uneven ground, or different rungs of an imaginary ladder. When I judge another, walking through life as equal companions is immediately impossible. Imagined competition creates an energy that affects me and surely others as well. I'm aware that I face the ongoing challenge of seeing without judging, and simply walking my own walk, minus competition as I make my way through life.

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Certainly we all have ingrained habits, and ways of thinking, that sabotage our connection with others. As with so much else, change can only follow awareness.

                          

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     1. What is it about you, or more specifically your thinking, that sabotages equal connection with others?

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                                 Today, simple awareness is enough.

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