When I choose a direction other than the way I’m sure I shouldn’t go, I decrease my chance of ending up somewhere I don't want to be
On The Camino we encountered three types of trail markers: Scallop shells, yellow arrows, and yellow X’s. While the yellow shells and arrows were useful in guiding us forward, we learned that the yellow X’s were important also; Like glaring “Do Not Enter” signs they warned us of the direction we definitely didn’t want to go. We knew if we ignored them we would always end up somewhere we didn't want to be.
Sometimes, especially in the twisting back lanes of tiny villages, Anne and I would come to a point in our trail where we were presented with three possible turns. One direction might be marked with an obvious X, but there would be no arrow at all to help us choose between our two remaining options. We wondered why, when there were three directions to choose from, and only one marked with an X, the “trail gods” hadn't taken the extra seconds it would have required to mark the correct choice with an arrow. It seemed as though the priority had been to warn us what not to do, rather than what to do. It was times like these that The Camino once again mimicked real life: The wrong choice is sometimes more important to identify, than the correct one. Sometimes we'd better at least know what not to do, even if the right response remains a mystery.
When Anne and I were left with two uncertain options we would usually pause, completely stumped. With nothing but our intuition to guide us, and knowledge at least of where we weren't supposed to go, it was a gamble at best. Eventually we reasoned that the best strategy was to just choose any direction other than the one marked with the X; If we ruled out where we shouldn't go, we at least decreased our chances of ending up where we didn't want to go. I always wished that things were more clear-cut, but, similar to life, sometimes the best the Camino had to offer was simple insight into the wrong direction. The difference between this and accurate direction is subtle, but important.
The Camino's confusing junctions remind me of the times when something hurtful or scary happens and I'm not sure what to do next. I'm flooded with uncomfortable feelings and I have to decide how to respond. Usually everything in me wants to react. I want to speak up, maybe strike back, but I know that I’ve regretted impulsive reactions in the past. When I speak too quickly I often end up where I don't want to go. I'm a living example of the saying: “Say something quickly when you’re angry and you’ll give the best speech you ever regretted making!”
Like a confusing junction on the Camino, it's sometimes hard to decide on the right choice, but at least recognizing what not to do saves me a lot of regret in the long run.
I have been home for six weeks and today I have the opportunity to reflect on, and practice using the wisdom of this hard-earned lesson. I have a chance to avoid barreling down a path that would probably take me exactly where I don't need to go today. Thanks to The Camino I am pausing and trying to choose a different response, a different direction, than the one that comes naturally.
My father died yesterday. Even though this wasn’t a surprise, it is still a shock. There are ways that the path before me is very clearly marked and I trust my intuition. My internal arrows and scallop shells are directing me forward. They tell me to get in the car, and drive as quickly as possible to reach my mother, to hold her, spend the night with her, and sit in quiet vigil as she internalizes the overwhelming truth that for the first time in seventy-two years she has woken up this morning without a husband. I have no doubt; My direction is clear.
And now, when I least expect, or need, it a confusing junction has appeared: I receive a text from an acquaintance who chooses this morning to text me an amends for a previous passive aggressive attack. The apology doesn’t feel genuine, more like an item to check off a check list and delivered in the most impersonal way possible. I don’t want this today! Please, just leave me alone. I feel rage. I want to react, confront, strike back. But, as I begin to gaze down the path of my natural inclinations this morning all I see are giant yellow X’s: “STOP! DO NOT ENTER. WRONG WAY!” I look around and within; there are no yellow arrows, no “right way” signs. I’m mad, but now I’m baffled also. Honestly I have no idea which way to go with this one. At least I know enough to pause before I go toward the big yellow X and “react big”. Today all I can muster the insight for is to go the opposite direction of what comes naturally in hopes that I won’t end up somewhere I don’t want to be. Today I will choose the counter intuitive path of non-reaction. I will do nothing. It is agitating and so I keep repeating wise words I once heard: “Wait. Don’t panic. More will be revealed.” This waiting and pausing is the opposite of every reactive instinct within. It’s also different from the hiding or avoiding I can do in the face of fear. I am not afraid, but I am cautious of making matters worse for myself when my energy is needed for something much more important. Heeding the large X I see squarely in front of me this morning doesn't necessarily feel good, but it feels wise. Intentionally choosing non-reaction doesn’t guarantee that I will end up where I want to go, but it assures me that I won’t end up in the place I least want to be.
This morning, just like on the Camino, I know there is an opportunity for me to make a wrong turn. Sometimes the best I have to work with are options that are, at least, not the worst one.
Reflections:
Just like confusing junctions on the Camino, life presents opportunities to pause and figure out how to respond to emotionally confusing events. Often past experience has taught us the "wrong" ways to respond, but we may still struggle to discern our next right step. I've learned the importance of pausing. I've learned to appreciate the wisdom of the phrases: "When in doubt wait" and, "If it's urgent it's rarely important, and if it's important it's rarely urgent." These help remind me that taking the "pause" and and planning a more measured response is often better for me in the long run. I've learned that often the best way forward is not necessarily the most natural way forward. I've learned to ask myself if I have the energy, or desire to deal with the consequences of an impulsive reaction.
I’m learning to pay attention to the X’s in life, and choose a different path. Even when I make a mistake I find the consequences are not as great as if I do what I know better than to do. Sometimes that’s the best I have to work with.
1. Two of our most triggering emotions are anger and fear. What impulsive reactions, come most naturally to you in the face of each of them? Do either tend to take you down a road that you have later regretted?
2. What has been the cost of reacting too quickly when angry or hurt to others? To yourself?
3. Who is your most trusted resource to brainstorm constructive responses when faced with challenging triggers?
On The Camino, as in life, it's nice to have clear direction as to "the next right step" It leaves me with no confusion about how to proceed.
But sometimes, the best The Camino had to offer was only insight into the "worst option."
With time, thanks to hard lessons learned over time, I have learned to close a few doors on my most harmful impulsive reactions.
