Homecomings
Homecomings
by Susan Valaer | Vancouver, WA
I’ve been home for a month, and the fire hose called life has abated. A cross-state drive to pick up my dog, doctor appointments, weddings, a flight to visit my son, planning for my youngest’s 25th birthday—all the tasks that make up life’s to-do list. But today I am happy to settle into my first quiet day after returning and think about what my walk has meant to me.
This is the third time I’ve come home and felt disoriented and sad, and the first time I’ve been prepared to ponder the why of it all. How often have I sat up in the middle of the night, wondering where the bathroom is tonight and how to reach it quietly, only to realize I’m at home? How often have I stared into the closet, unable to choose, only to remember the dress I wore nightly for a month? Why does it take 30 minutes to leave the house with just keys and a grocery list, when I could have my backpack ready to go in five? I am, it seems, the most organized version of myself when walking to Santiago.
On the Camino, there is a one-item to-do list—walk. It feels good to be in my body and move. I’m willing to walk 26 miles to meet a friend because he’s traveled so far to witness my entrance into Santiago. At home, I’m finding it hard to walk my dog around the block. On the Camino, I accept daily challenges: difficult ascents, rocky paths, and the occasional wait as a herd of sheep crosses my path. At home, I find myself muttering under my breath when someone crosses the street too slowly. I am, it seems, the most patient version of myself when walking to Santiago.
It appears there is a correlation between motivation, drive, empathy, and my feet. How do I reboot myself to be that person at home? Why does the Camino bring out someone more willing to entertain random thoughts, let go of hurts, and hang on to joy? While walking, breathing, and viewing in slow motion, I move away from being in control to waiting to be surprised. Will it rain? Will it be hot? Will I meet someone new? Will I walk further than yesterday? I am, it seems, the best version of myself when walking to Santiago.
My heart longs to walk, and I am certain I will again. My adult children have noticed their mother changing over the years of these Caminos, and are hinting they’d like to join me. To share this journey with them would be my greatest joy. I know even if they don’t join me now, they will eventually walk. I know their hearts will expand as mine has. I know they will find the most organized version, the most patient version, the best version of themselves, just as I have.
If I walked all these miles just for that, it would be enough.
