It’s been awhile since you’ve heard from us.
ReIMAGINE is going through some changes. We continue to offer online learning labs, live training events and leader coaching. But we’ve recently brought on new team and board members to help chart the future of our work (more to come).
Over the summer Lisa and I took time to rest, reflect and reset. We both had opportunities to go on pilgrimages. Later Lisa will tell you about her hike to Lindisfarne (Holy Island) in the U.K. During September and October I walked four hundred miles from Lisbon, Portugal to Santiago de Compostela, Spain, along the the traditional pilgrimage route.
I have always loved walking, maybe especially because, as an accident prone child, I spent so many months in wheel chairs and on crutches. After all the body casts and broken bones, I don’t take the ability to walk for granted.
Walking the path is one of my favorite metaphors for the conscious or spiritual life. “Blessed are those …who have set their hearts on pilgrimage” is how the Son’s of Korah put it. (Psalm 84:5). The pilgrim leaves home to wander among strangers in unfamiliar territory, hoping to discover a deeper connection to the Creator and the true self, one’s real home. In the 10th century when it became too dangerous for European Christians to go on pilgrimage to Jerusalem, they began journeying to Santiago de Compostela, where the bones of James the Apostle of Jesus are thought to be buried near Finisterre— the end of the world.
In the months before I began my pilgrimage I researched and bought the best gear I could find. I took regular fifteen to twenty-five mile training walks around San Francisco. I was confident that I was well prepared. Believing it would be elegant to begin straight off the plane, on a rainy September morning I walked from Lisbon airport to Sé Cathedral. After following the yellow arrows through the historic Alfama district I opened an app to reserve a bed for the night, only to discover that the hostel up the road wasn’t taking reservations. I panicked and booked the first cheap bed I could find twenty miles further on. I walked thirty five miles (or 56K) that day. Hiking with a pack on my back over uneven gravel, cobblestone and muddy farm roads was vastly different from the the training I’d done on flat streets at home. Soaked to the bone, I hobbled into Vila Franca de Xira three hours after sunset, with feet covered in blisters.
I envisioned spending my days on the Camino in deep thought, having epiphanies while surveying the quaint villages and countryside of rural Portugal, stopping in cafes to journal over a cup of espresso. For the first week, most of my mental energy was taken up with finding food, securing hostel beds, following the yellow arrows left, right or straight and managing the pain of walking twenty to thirty miles a day on severely blistered feet. By dusk on day three I could barely put one foot in front of the other. My feet hurt so bad I couldn’t stand in the shower, and didn’t have the strength to go find dinner. Although medical websites are divided on the topic, the next morning I opted to pop my blisters with a safety pin, which brought considerable relief.
Advice veteran pilgrims often give is, “don’t have too many expectations or plans for what you will experience on the Camino. Let the path guide and teach you.” I made some rash decisions on day one that impacted my entire journey. If I’d been willing to spend a little more on lodging I wouldn’t have had to walk those thirty five miles in the rain. If I’d listened better to my body, if I hadn’t been in such a hurry, I might have stopped to change my wet socks before the blisters formed. The Camino was teaching me that my impetuousness and frugality could bring a world of pain. Was this a poignant example of a pattern that characterizes my entire life? Words I’d often heard reverberated in my brain: “How you do anything is how you do everything.”
What do your results tell you about the approach you are taking to life?