— BOSTON
Tonight, once again, I leave for Camino. This time — Portugal.
There are a lot of reasons to go on Camino. Things are available to a person there — things for the body, mind and spirit. They'll put you right if you need it. But those things are whole mountains inside a person and I'm not sure I'm going to want to write about any of those. Vulnerability is hard and I haven't figured out how to do it without feeling gross and self-indulgent. No, I'll probably just tell some funny stories, make uncomfortably personal observations about the people I meet, and take pictures of food. (To be ironic. Because guys, that's still not cool. No one cares about your lunch. Ever. Not one person. Your mom doesn't care even. That's how not interesting it is. I hear everyone making fun of it, but like, you're still doing it. Stop.)
What I will say is that Camino can be as easy or as difficult as you want to make it. As meaningful or as trivial as the energy you put into it. As for me, in this moment, I don't particularly know why I'm going, and haven't let myself think about it too much. After my last walk, five years ago along the Camino Frances to Santiago, I told myself the next time I was between jobs, I'd buy a ticket to Lisbon and walk the Camino Portuguese. And this fall I did — in a rare moment of occupational pause, after some idiot increased the credit limit on the one card I hadn't maxed out. After all, there's nothing quite like the feeling you get right after deciding, "You know what? Yeah. I think I WILL add it to my cart. Thank you Travelocity."
And then work picked up, life moved on, while gradually I filled a backpack in the corner of the room, still not really thinking about why I was going, just knowing from past experience, going on Camino is a good thing. It wasn't until I found myself crying in the Seattle airport last night, sitting on the floor next to a power outlet, that I was like, "Maybe I should examine my motivations for doing this."
I couldn't figure out why I was upset. This is an exciting thing! I've done a lot of work to get to this place where I can afford to go on another solo trek, one that had previously helped me make major changes in my life, and the surprise sad sack routine was deeply ungrateful considering the blessed position I'm in.
My bills are paid, my home and pets are taken care of, I've ticked off a long list of boat chores and paperwork, my work is caught up and will be waiting for me when I got home, I sent my manuscript off to the developmental editor, I finally fulfilled all of the volunteer commitments I could and said no to the rest, unlike last time my schooling is complete, I'm six years happily sober and I am in a loving relationship with someone who supports my adventures. Nothing is wrong.
And then I realized, oh, that's what's wrong. This five minutes, right here. This is the most organized I've ever been. Since I was like...14. Which to a chronically nervous person like me, does not feel right.
I'm not sure what it says about me that I implode the moment I don't have some looming deadline or self-induced shame to obsess over and complain about. Probably a little unhealthy that a confrontation with my supposedly unburdened mind makes me want to run to the Alaska Airlines counter and trade all my travel money for a ticket home. But I knew that I needed to get over it.
I called a friend — choosing carefully which one. Can't call the friends and sisters with kids. Those women would probably never speak to me again. Oh really? You don't want to go on your vacation? Yes, let me stop what I'm doing and examine that with you. Couldn't call boyfriend. I'm pretty sure if I heard his voice I really would go home. Especially since the other secret I'd recently revealed was that this trip was kind of my exit plan, purchased at the beginning of our relationship, in case things went south and I needed to bail. (I know, that's bad. Let's just blow past that.) And the thing is, it DIDN'T go south. He's the freakin' best, and now I don't want to go without him. Which I told him, about a week before I left. He laughed.
"You bought an international ticket in case you needed to avoid breaking up with me in person?"
"Yeah."
"Nice."
See I did need a trap door. And not as an ill-advised break up strategy (which was only ever really an afterthought, if that). But as motivation to simplify things a little bit. Tackle the yeses, be clear on the nos. Plus, boyfriend really isn't likely to take offense at a decent trap door. After our past experiences, we've developed a relationship that celebrates contingencies. Just last month I found out that he's been hiding ice cream sandwiches in corners of the freezer, so that when I am particularly pissed about something he can casually say, "You're so right... and also would you like an ice cream sandwich?" He's found that producing my favorite treat, non-sequitur that it may be, is the best way to stave off the 20 minutes I'm likely to spend explaining the finer principles of WHY I am right. He was correct.
This is all to say, I'm going to Portugal this evening. To walk the Camino Portuguese for 19 days. I'm walking from Tomar to Santiago, and I'll try to tell some stories along the way.
Obligatory food picture:
