University of the Camino

I walked my first Camino, the 500-mile Francés, to do something big and hard that would mark the end of one chapter of my life and, I hoped, start another. I walked in anger, sometimes, in confusion, almost always, but also to my great surprise, in delight.

I walked my second Camino, the 170-mile Portuguese, up the spine of Portugal and into Galicia, to test my independence, to have as close to a solo peregrina experience as possible, to practice what I had learned. I stayed in bunkbed albergues only. I was much smarter about mi mochila. I walked with pride.

I thought this third Camino—a 300-mile combination of the Norte, the Primitivo, and the last bit of the Francés—would be about joy. Joy was a word newly trending in our national vocabulary, thanks to Kamala Harris. And I loved that. I loved feeling the possibilities rather than the inevitabilities. I loved the idea of walking with a lightened heart and spirit.

But the Camino decides what kind of Camino it is. And the lessons one learns are not part of some syllabus but rather (oh am I really going to say this?) what the universe decides you need to learn.

And I needed to learn this:

Vulnerability is not weakness. It is an admission—an embrace, really—of what it is to be alive. Admitting vulnerability—to self and others is a sign of emotional health. (Not to mention an ego-tamer.) What I learned was that the pretense of invulnerability, because it is a pretense, creates a shield that protects, but it also erects a barrier that excludes.

What I learned was that admitting vulnerability was a way to allow people who care the space to show it. This Camino was a lesson in the power and the magic of connections: the enduring strength of long ago and distant friendships, the compassion and kindness of those who entered my life during those days, the warmth and support and encouragement of those who followed this journey, the words that buoyed and empowered me.