Carrión de los Condes

10pm

Hostel Santiago

Here’s a tip from me to you, free of charge: As a rule, don’t count on something being easy. 

Kinda like I did as we started out today. 

After our long day yesterday, 17km seemed like a cinch. And I mean, it was better. Certainly. But it’s never easy. Ever. There was a LOT of time in the hot hot sun today, and for some reason it affected me more than usual. Just wore me down. Not to mention the little previews we were treated to of what’s to come tomorrow... long stretches with no end in sight. For miles. Tomorrow we set out for 17km with nothing in between. The same distance we walked today, which really mentally challenged me at times. With nothing. These stretches take a lot out of me, both physically and mentally. But mostly mentally. And I think that’s harder. 

I made the mistake today of setting my expectations very high, and making them very specific. I envisioned an easy breezy day, arriving at our hostel with time for a nap and a meal and the ultimate relaxation. We did arrive pretty early, around 12:45, but right away I had a hard time lifting a dark cloud over my head and my mood. 

One of the albergues in this town is known for its "singing nuns." It fills fast, and by the time we arrived here there was a line out the door for beds. In our hot and hungry state, we decided to stay in a private room at a hostel nearby, for not much more money. I don’t mind saying yes to that! Plus, we heard we could still enjoy the singing nuns if we didn’t stay at their place. Perfect. 

Once we were settled, had lunch, had naps, and visited a market for tomorrow’s essentials, we set out just in time for the singing. When we arrived, the room was packed and we were not met with the most welcoming of looks. No room at the inn. So we listened from outside the door for a bit before wandering over to the church courtyard. 

For whatever reason, I felt completely defeated by this. Should we have stayed at the church albergue? Should we have arrived earlier? Should we have forced our way into the room? We can’t miss the singing nuns! You just don’t do that! And once again, because he’s known me since I took my first breath, my dad asks, "So how are you doing today, sweetie?" And the chin starts to quiver once again.

"I don’t know, I’m so hot, I’m so dehydrated. I didn’t want to wake up from my nap and now we get here and we can’t even go in. I just feel dumb for missing them. And I feel pressure to make sure I’m seeing these things, and..." 

And the monologue continued. My dad lovingly patted my shoulder and heard me out, and felt bad for giving up on the church albergue so quickly. But that’s the problem! I don’t want him to feel bad! I don’t want ANYONE to feel bad! Ever! And I often take it upon myself to squash my own needs and desires to make sure everyone else in the room is ok. When my parents walked their Camino, they missed the singing nuns. I wanted to be able to tell my mom about them. I wanted to have that story. 

But you know what? As I sat there and almost-cried to my dad (no tears actually fell this time), it all started to unravel. I don’t care. I don’t care that I wasn’t in that room. Isn’t it also a beautiful story and memory to have heard their voices echoing down the street, from the courtyard? To tell you the truth, I don’t always want to be in the circle. I don’t always want to join in the conversation. Sometimes I need the still small voice. And time to reflect. It’s not about how my story will sound to other people. It’s not about the remarkable experience I may or may not be missing. 

I am too often focused on doing things I think I SHOULD do, because they will stretch me and take me out of my comfort zone, even if everything in me doesn’t want to. Now, don’t get me wrong, growth and time outside our safety bubbles is imperative and life-giving. But my whole life is made of little steps outside that zone. As someone with Generalized Anxiety Disorder, every single day presents me with significant opponents to my comfort. But I do it. I step out. I always have, and will continue to do it. 

But as I get older, I’m realizing that part of self care is knowing when to say when.

No, I don’t want to do that. 

No, I don’t want to go there.

No, I don’t want to see them.

You do you, boo. You. Do. You. BOO.

After my woes were revealed and released, we wandered into the church to find out what time the pilgrim’s mass starts. The drop in temperature was an immediate relief. As I admired the beauty around me, I noticed a little basket on a table, with slips of paper and pen. "Write the prayers of your heart, and they will be presented at the pilgrim’s mass." I’m not Catholic, but who am I to deny some prayer and good vibes?

I prayed: "Help me to let go of what I feel my Camino SHOULD be, and live in what it presents each moment."

Tonight we attended the mass. I understood maybe 5 words, but at the end all pilgrims were called to the front for a blessing. The priest welcomed each country represented and blessed us each individually, and the nuns from next door presented every single pilgrim with a beautiful, hand-painted, unique star. A star to represent that God and/or faith are not always easy to find, but always there. In our darkest moments, if we shift our eyes to the sky, the stars will be there. They said each pilgrim can be a star to one another, and together we make up a field of stars. 

We finished in front of a statue of Santa Maria del Camino, Our Lady of the Way. The same symbol and the same ceremony in which pilgrims have been taking part for 8 centuries. Eight centuries! I’ve never felt community quite like that before. 

And you know what else happened? 

Those singing nuns sang. More than once, in fact. 

I didn’t miss the nuns, and I didn’t miss the lesson. But I had to stumble a little bit along the way.