It hit me like a wave...

sadness and an overwhelming sense of loss.

I was standing in the middle of the doctors conference room in the Emergency Department, 

laughing with physicians I've known for decades... 

about cases from years ago, 

different situations we'd found ourselves in, 

words and phrases we'd unexpectedly, and unfortunately, said or heard.

Tears were streaming down our faces - 

and in a moment of clarity, 

I realized mine were only partly based in humor.

It occurred to me that, in just a few months, 

the chance to be with these people - 

these funny, bright, sensitive, irreverent, talented, compassionate 

and, at times, totally inappropriate people - 

would be over.

There are so many things about retirement that appeal to me; 

so many things I'll be free to do... 

but there are so many other things I'll miss, 

so many things my daily life is built around now 

that even envisioning how life will be without them is painful to contemplate.

There are times it takes my breath away.

All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; 

for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; 

we must die to one life before we can enter another.

Anatol France

Dying and letting go, even symbolically, is a hard process.

There are times it hurts.

A lot.

Proof

So much of my job is thankless… 

there is absolutely nothing to show at the end of the day
for what I’ve done.

I’m not lamenting… 

it’s the nature of the beast called Social Work – 

and much of life,
come to think of it.

Cleaning the house? 

It lasts about a day – 

then you have to do it again.

Doing dishes? 

How is it the dirty ones reproduce so quickly
just sitting on the counter?

Washing/ironing clothes? – 

the minute you take them off at night, 

the process starts again.

Getting your child through a crisis? 

Maybe things slow down while they sleep – 

assuming they do
and you can get some hours of sleep yourself;

then the sun comes up 

and the parenting drama begins again.

This cannot just be MY life… 

surely it’s the reality for many of you as well.

For me,
one of the attractive things about walking the Camino

is that, at the end of it,
 you get something tangible-  

a certificate – 

a Compostela.

The same worded- in- Latin- on- parchment document  

used by the Cathedral in Santiago 

since the medieval ages; 

proof positive that the holder is a bonafide pilgrim!

Upon arriving at your journeys starting point – 

in my case, St Jean - 

you register with the Pilgrim office and are issued a pilgrims passport; 

a folded document you carry with you at all times
since it entitles you to stay in a system of refugios/alberques (hostels).

Pilgrims get their passports ‘stamped’ at refugios 

and other places along the way (Cathedrals, cafes, City Halls etc) 

to document their progress across the country.

(It will also be a wonderful visual souvenir to look at in my old age -
when I’m confined to my scooter chair!)

In order to qualify for the 'Compostela', a pilgrim has to walk,
at least, 

the last 100 kms to Santiago;
that’s 62 miles.

(Yes, I know – 
I’m adding on 440 miles to get there 

and then going 50 miles beyond Santiago 

to the ‘end of the world  at Finisterre; 

I’m an overachiever, what can I say?)

According to the Pilgrim office in May (2013) 

which is the month, 

though obviously not the year 

I’ll be completing MY Camino, 

25,206 people claimed their compostela certificate
at the pilgrims office in Santiago.

46% were women; 54% men

13% were under 30,

 60% were aged 30-60 

and 27% were over 60.

32% were Spanish; 

68% classified as ‘foreigners’ 

(nationalities including 20% Germans, 10% French, 

9% Italians, 9% from UK, 6% Portuguese and 5% Irish.)

20% started in Sarria (a town approx 64 miles from Santiago) 

and 15% started in St Jean Pied de Port.

The rest started somewhere else along the way, 

frequently in Pamplona or Leon.

There are also many more pilgrims who, 

due to time constraints, 

walk only a section of the Camino in a year, 

then come back the next year to do another section. 

There are many more people walking the Camino 

than the number that actually present for the Compostela.

SO, 

for all my loved ones
thinking I’ll be all by myself on the Camino next spring… 

not so much.

While I might be in the minority for age, gender and nationality, 

I certainly won’t be alone!

And, for once,  I'll have proof when I get home!

Time to begin

If we wish to quench our thirst, 

we must lay aside books which explain thirst and take a drink.

Jean Pierre de Caussade

I tend to live in my head; 

not that it's not a fascinating place to be 

but sometimes you have to get out, 

actually breathe fresh air

and get moving!

I've read enough first person accounts about walking the Camino;

I  need to put down the books and get out there walking!!

Personal training is going well.

I feel stronger.

I've lost 30 lbs.

It's time to get serious about putting feet to pavement.

Personal Safety

I've been surprised by the number of people 

who have responded to my statement that

I'm walking the Camino ALONE 

by asking me if I'm taking a gun.

First of all, 

that is, sadly, 

SUCH an American response.

(It's also sad to realize that, as a single woman, 
I feel safer about walking in Spain alone,
than I ever would about walking the Appalachian Trail - 

because I honestly think this country, 

and a sizable portion of the people in it, 

have gone round the bend.)

Second,

3 letters -

TSA

Third,

Hello, 

do you even KNOW me?

Fourth,

as a Social Worker in the ED, 

I am the person 

telling parents they're not taking their child home with them; 

informing them there will be parallel investigations 

by the State Protective Services and police 

because of our concerns about how they're parenting; 

answering in the affirmative when they ask
if they could lose custody of their baby.

I've been the one to call 'bullshit' on their explanations of how their child got injured.

I work in an urban ER,

in the middle of one of the most homicide ridden cities in the country,

serving the exact adolescent populations that are killing each other off 

with astonishing determination and focus.

Yet, I work everyday 

unprotected

by either metal detectors, 

effective screening

or Security Guards 

under the age of, oh, I don't know,

 "older than dirt".

Over the decades,
I've been threatened 

at knifepoint, 

with lawsuits,
bombs under my car,
death,
hexes,
voodoo curses 

and

by people who are carrying guns 

(though, thankfully, not drawn).

If personal safety was the prime consideration for any of us working at my facility,

the ER would be unstaffed!

I'm walking the Camino, in part, 

to throw myself on the mercy of the universe;

to relearn-

 (ok, for those of you who know my family of origin -

maybe learn for the first time) -

that the world is filled with people who can be trusted; 

that if I need something, I can ask for it 

and the world, 

or others on my path,

or God, 

will provide -

be 'it' shelter, directions, food, 

aspirin, Compeed for my blisters,

companionship, a sympathetic ear...

whatever.

I can't learn that if I've got 'buffers';

barriers that prevent me from being exquisitely vulnerable.

I'm convinced that my goal for this stage of life 

is learning to be 'undefended';

relinquishing control, 

becoming more open...

and a gun isn't the means to achieve that.

So, no, dear hearts, I won't be armed on the Camino -

and that's a good thing.
Though I appreciate your concern for my well being.

Besides, if I die on the Camino, 

well,

a) we all have to die somewhere of something

and

b) it will save me from a retirement of penury 

and eating cat food straight from the tins.

I'm good with whatever comes 
after the Camino-

except maybe that.

Pero porque...

but why???

(See how those Spanish classes are paying off already)

The reasons why someone would walk the Camino
may be more varied today than in centuries past
when pilgrims were predominantly religious 'seekers' –
walking for a cure,
in thanksgiving,
to pray for some form of  intercession
for themselves or loved ones
or as a form of penance –
either self-imposed or mandated by the courts.

(Yup, walking the Camino was once a punishment for some criminals 
in lieu of serving time with hard labor.
 I’m trying not to even think about the implications of that)

Today, however, people travel the Camino
looking for a relatively inexpensive, total immersion way to see another country,
for fitness, or as a fund raiser for a ‘cause’.

There’s no denying though,
that a majority still do walk to give themselves the time and space
to discern the answers to life questions,
in thanksgiving, for a cure,
as a form of penance
or because they’re seeking some less readily defined connection
to the mysterious,
to the Source;
maybe some proof of the Divine in themselves,
in nature
and in others.

As far as I’m able to be honest with myself,
my motivations are fairly simple.

After working for over 3 decades in the field of child abuse,
I can’t imagine anything better than walking to the ends of the known universe –
and leaving behind all the horror and pain I've been witness to.

From all I’ve read, there are very few children on the Camino –
and I won’t be responsible for the safety of any of them!

It’s not that I’ve not loved what I do…
I have;
it’s allowed me to see the very best –
and the very worst –
of how human beings treat each other.

I’m grateful God gave me the strength to do the work I did for so long.
 I’m also grateful He’s giving me the strength to walk away before it kills me.
Gratitude is no small matter.

I also know that while my career in pediatric healthcare might be over,
my ‘service’ is not.

I’ve known from the time I was 10 that I was meant to be a Social Worker;
that it was a vocation given to me by God;
that all the pathology in my family of origin
would be useful in helping me identify with people everywhere
who were oppressed and mistreated.

(Yes, I thought about stuff like that when I was a kid;
I told you from the get-go I wasn’t normal;
don’t be acting all surprised now!)

Anyway, when you have an identity handed to you at such an early age,
when you’re released from that decades later,
there’s going to be some soul searching involved in what’s next.

The truth is, I don’t know.
But I trust in the One who has plans for my life –
and I trust that it will be revealed to me in good time.

In the meantime, I might as well be walking,
meeting new people,
stretching myself beyond what’s comfortable
and giving myself the luxury of silence and time apart from routine
to listen to what the Universe is teaching me now.

See? – simple.

Or maybe not…

Versions of reality

In a scene from the movie “Something’s Got to Give”, 

lovers Dianne Keaton and Jack Nicholson are arguing; 

his character says “I’ve always told you a version of the truth" 

which leads her character to reply, 

"Truth doesn't have versions".

Which always prompts my response: 

"What universe does she live in"? 

I thought of that scene as I was reading about the Camino – 

absorbing all the different myths, stories associated 

not only to towns and symbols found along the way 

but to the very origins of the Camino itself.

One tome states that St James body was stolen in Jerusalem 

(culprits not identified), 

placed in a marble sarcophagus
and transported to the Iberian Peninsula by a small ship.  

The ship sank during a storm and, months later, 

St James body washed up on shore covered – 

and preserved - 

in scallop shells.

The body was discovered by fishermen (who somehow recognized a kindred soul) 

and quickly buried him in a non-descript tomb – 

and it was THAT tomb which the hermit from Galicia found centuries later. 

(No uppity Queen toting the body inland in this scenario!)

Still another version:  

A “small group of hermits”, living in poverty and prayer, 

were amazed one night in the 9^th century – 

to see a bright light and to hear marvelous antiphons and anthems.

(Echoes of shepherds tending their sheep, hearing angels singing, 

claiming the birth of Christ and following a star to a manger?)

Setting out to find the source of these visitations, 

they found the sealed entrance of a cave.

Inside they discovered a sarcophagus under a small altar.

Beside the tomb was an inscription:
“Here lies Santiago, 

son of Zebedee and Salome, 

brother of St. John, 

whom Herod beheaded in Jerusalem”.

The discovery was made on July 25, 813, 

now commemorated as the Feast Day of St. James.

Yet one more version of events has the boat carrying St James body 

startling a horse and rider on the shore as it was approaching land. 

Recovering quickly from surprise, 

the horse and rider plunged into the sea to greet the ship. 

Both subsequently drowned in the quick current - 

only to emerge hours later, alive and covered with scallop shells; 

restored to life by St James intercessions to God.

The rider, said to be a bridegroom, went joyfully on to his wedding 

and his, no doubt, confused (and more than slightly pissed) bride.

This last story listed is often used to explain why

the scallop shell has long been the emblem for St. James.

I would be remiss in failing to mention that the Camino's Christian heritage was, in fact, 

predated by ancient pagan rituals and pilgrimages.

Long before Jesus was born,

it is believed pagans walked across Northern Spain
in a 'born again' ritual 

as part of honoring the goddess, Venus. 

(Yes, she of "standing naked on a scallop shell" fame).

Following basically the same route,

 echoing the path of the Milky Way overhead, 

pagans headed to Finisterre to burn their clothes and watch the sun fall into the sea
next to La Costa de Morta (the Coast of Death)... 

acts symbolizing the pilgrims death and rebirth. 

Like many pagan rituals, (ex. Winter Solstice celebrations becoming Christmas), 

the institutional church superimposed a 'Christian" meaning on already existing practices 

in order to have the 'new' beliefs gain more strength and wider acceptance 

among the populations they were trying to convert.

The scallop shell is, in fact, one of the most prominent symbols of the Camino, 

used on sign posts and walls
directing pilgrims on the way to Santiago, 

as well as carried on the back packs of travelers 

marking them as being on pilgrimage.

The lines of the shell are also said to represent the many different routes to Santiago, 

all converging at one point, 

the Cathedral holding the relics of St James.

I was recently looking at a ring I’ve treasured and worn for years 

and was – and yet somehow wasn’t - surprised 

to see vestiges of the lines of a scallop shell on it.

(I say 'not surprised' because I think all our stories, 

all our journeys, 

are nestled one inside the other 

like a giant, cosmic Matryoshka doll; 

each separate yet part of a whole)

It was given to me by a beloved friend to symbolize 

the beautiful sunrises and sunsets on the reservation (Rosebud) in South Dakota 

we both identified as sacred ground for us.

Even though I'll be traveling light, 

I will definitely be wearing this ring while I walk on the Camino.

I love it when personal and historic 'versions' of reality come together!

Who knew?

It wasn’t until three people, in one day, 

asked me what the Camino IS, 

that I realized many of my friends 

had no idea about this ancient pilgrimage route.

Hey, most of my friends aren’t Catholic, 

many are not even particularly religious… 

if they thought my pilgrimage to Scotland was quaint, 

for most of them, 

this quest is just flat out bizarre. 

You know how you can become so focused on something, 

so immersed in the details of a project that consumes your life, 

you figure everyone else shares your obsession 

and knows what you know? 

Well then, you would be just as wrong as I was! 

So here is a brief explanation, 
using what I’ve distilled from countless books, websites and articles. 

For all you history or religious buffs, 

it’s NOT meant to be an inclusive account covering all aspects of Camino history. 

There are whole volumes written about that; 

this is just meant for friends who are wondering a basic 

what and WHY. 

The Camino de Santiago – The Way of St James – 

is comprised of a number of pilgrimage routes across Europe, 

all leading to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in northwestern Spain. 

 In Spanish, Sant means Saint and Iago means James – hence Santiago. 

I’ll be walking on the Camino Frances. 

According to legend, Jesus’s apostle, James 

(of ‘put down your nets and follow me’ and ‘become fishers of men’ fame) 

went to the Iberian Peninsula following Jesus’s death and resurrection.

Apparently, all the Apostles drew straws when they were dividing up the known world 

into mission fields – 

and James got the short one!  

He was there evangelizing for 5 years. 

Either he wasn’t too persuasive or his heart wasn’t in it 

because he got only 9 converts in that whole time. 

He returned to Jerusalem in 44 AD and was promptly beheaded by Herod. 

I’m trying not to take it as an object lesson 

in what happens when you feel you’ve reached the end of a ministry 

and make plans to move on.

To avoid the desecration of his body by enemies, 

his followers, few but committed, 

carried his body to the coast and put it into a stone boat.

The boat was guided by angels and carried by the wind 

past “the Pillars of Hercules” 

(the Strait of Gibraltar) 

and landed in Finisterre 

in Northern Spain. 

There, a local Queen, Lupa, provided oxen to bring the remains inland.

He was buried in a marble tomb – and promptly forgotten about - 

for centuries. 

In the 9^th century, a hermit living in that part of Galicia, 

had a dream in which he saw a field of stars. 

The stars led him to the ancient tomb. 

When he woke up, he followed the stars of his dreams 

and St James’ remains were re-discovered. 

The hermit, Pelagius, promptly reported his finding 

to his Bishop (Theodomir) and the King of Asturia.

The Bishop and King (Alphonso II) must have had experience in marketing or PR 

(or dreams of their own - “build it and they will come”) 

because a small village 

named Campus de la Stella (Field of Stars) 

and a monastery 

were established – and publicized.

Pilgrims started arriving to pay honor to the Saints remains; 

stories of miracles resulting from prayers to him started being circulated. 

And more pilgrims came...

The discovery of relics came at a fortuitous time in the region’s political history. 

Moors (Muslims) had conquered the area and made it their stronghold.

 Rumor had it they had been aided in their victory 

by carrying a piece of the arm bone of Muhammad.

The discovery of bones of St James, 

at just that moment then, 

provided just the talisman the Spaniards needed. 

In fact,
(well, if ANY of it is 'fact'), 

Alfonso's nephew, Ramiro I, who succeeded him as King 

had a dream the night before the Battle of Clavijo 

in which St James told him that 

God had chosen him (James) as the protector for the Spanish kingdoms.

According to legend, Saint James appeared during that battle
as a warrior 

on his white horse with a white banner 

to help Christian armies of king Ramiro I of Asturias 

in their battle against the Moors. 

The Christians marched to the cry of "¡Dios ayuda a Santiago!" 

(God save St. James!). 

Together, the Army, with St James,

slew more than 5,000 Moors, 

forcing the survivors back into Africa 

and James became known as "Matamoros" 

(The Moorslayer)

To this day he is Spain's patron saint.

Clerics and political rulers alike were delighted, 

not only in Spain and France,
but across Europe as well.

Regional governments actively supported a pilgrimage route
to honor St James as a way

to deepen ties within the Christian faith and extend their own influence. 

The route continued to grow in popularity,

reaching its peak in the Middle Ages

when it was widely recognized as a major 

religious, political and cultural route.

 A massive infrastructure was established to support pilgrims,

including bridges, towns, commercial businesses, 

hospitals and rural churches – 

many of which still form the backbone of the pilgrimage today.

Brigands and robbers were so commonly found along the road 

that the Knights Templar was formed to protect the pilgrims 

as they made their way West. 

As an added bonus,
the Catholic church offered indulgences to pilgrims
and, 

for those lucky enough to make it to the Cathedral in Santiago,

they were given the medieval equivalent of a

 get out of hell free card and
all their sins were forgiven.

Fascinating stuff, right?

What are you taking?

It was while I was talking to a friend 

about the purchase of my new backpack 

that the question came into focus for me.

What do you need?

Another way of looking at the whole process is

 “what can I let go of?"

I want to keep the weight of my ‘possessions’ 

to 20 lbs or less:

that's clothing 

(for climates ranging from snow in the elevations
to heat on the meseta, 

with rain and hail a possibility in all areas), 

medical supplies, 

personal items 

and
any technology I plan to use 

for a 6-7 week pilgrimage!

I have several check lists, compiled by other pilgrims, 

that I’m using as a guide – 

some calculated down to the ounce. 

(Trust me; I am neither that OCD nor that good with numbers!)

Boiled down to essentials,  

that amounts to -
a sleeping bag, 

two changes of clothes (multiple layers), 

extra shoes/sandals, 

no luxuries 

and, basically, 

a chamois for drying off after showers.

I’m keeping personal hygiene items to a minimum.

I’m old; 

I’m not trolling for a partner 

and it’s Spain, for Pete’s sake, 

not the sub-Saharan desert; 

they have grocery stores (mercados) 

and pharmacies (farmacias) along the route.

If I need something, I’ll buy it.

I have no ‘brand loyalty’ so strong that I have to carry
specific products from home.

Frankly though, it’s all more than a little daunting.

I accept that any pilgrimage is 40% walking and 60% metaphor.

Part of the packing ‘exercise’,
especially as I go into this new phase of my life (retirement), 

is figuring out what I actually need –
not what I want, 

or have accumulated 

or have been given 

or have inherited;  

it’s not even someone else’s idea of what to pack. 

I do know it’s not the tchotchkes, jewelry
and assorted accoutrements 

I usually pack for trips; 

it’s definitely not 
all the souvenirs, pamphlets, new jewelry and books 

I usually bring back!

I’ve got a handle on what it isn’t; 

I’m working on figuring out the rest.

That’s progress, right?

I am not impulsive

While it may seem to my friends 

that I came home from Iona 

this spring 

with some harebrained idea 

of quitting my job 

and walking across Spain, 

the truth is, 

I've been reading 

and preparing for some time.

I don't do things spontaneously - 
not anymore  - 

well, not often.

Here are just some of the books I've amassed, and read, as preparation - 

this doesn't include the blogs I've followed, 

the websites I've stalked 

and the folks I've spoken to..

Seven Tips to make the most of the Camino de Santiago by Cheryl Powell
Walk in a relaxed Manner: Life Lessons from the Camino by Joyce Rupp 
To Walk far, carry less by Jean-Christie Ashmore
I'm off then: losing and finding myself on the Camino by Hape Kerkeling 
Call of the Camino: Myths, Legends and Pilgrim Stories on the Way to Santiago de Compostela by Robert Mulle
The Art of Pilgrimage: The Seekers Guide to Making Travel Sacred by Phil Cousineau
The Way is Made by Walking by Arthur Paul Boers
The Camino: A Journey of the Spirit by Shirley Maclaine
Women Of The Way: Embracing the Camino by Jane Blanchard
To the Field of Stars by Kevin A Codd
The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce
Camino Chronicle: Walking to Santiago by Susan Alcorn
The Way of the Stars: Journeys on the Camino de Santiago by Robert C. Sibley
Camino de Santiago: Fingerprints of God by Paul Moylan
Flunking Sainthood by Heather King
The Year We Seized the Day by Elizabeth Best and Colin Bowles
Becoming the Answer to our prayer by Shane Claibourne
Hiking the Camino: 500 Miles with Jesus by Father Dave Pivonka
Camino de Santiago: Practical Preparation and Background by Gerald Kelly
Walking Guide to the Camino de Santiago: History, Culture, Architecture from St Jean Pied de Port to Compostela and Finisterre by Gerald Kelly
Camino Pilgrim Tips and Packing Lists by S Yates
Along the Way: The Journey of a Father and Son by Martin Sheen and Emilio Estevez
The Camino will Provide: Learning to Trust the Universe by David O'Brie
A Journey of Days: Relearning Life's Lessons on the Camino de Santiago by Guy Thatcher
Slacker Pilgrim: Guide to the Camino de Santiago by Sunshine Jen
The Year We Seized the Day by Elizabeth Best and Colin Bowles
Pilgrim Stories: On and Off the Road to Santiago by Nancy Louise Frey
Fumbling: a Pilgrimage Tale of Love, Grief and Spiritual Renewal on the Camino de Santiago by Kerry Egan
A Million Steps by Kurt Koonz
In Movement There is Peace by Elaina Orabona Foster and Joe Foster
Spiritual Lessons Along the Camino by Kim Brown
The Camino Diaries by Jean Rawlings
The Way is A River of Stars: A Buddhist's Journey by Helen E Burns
60 and Solo on the Camino de Santiago by Kay Smith
The Way, My Way by Bill Bennett
No complaints: Shut Up and Walk by Emmett Williams and Jasmyne Emmerich
The Artists Journey: the Perfumed Pilgrim tackles the Camino de Santiago by Marcia Shaver
Road of Reflection by Rachel Stainer
Carrying Grace to Santiago: A Daughters Journey by Maureen Lauran
Walking with Stones by William Schmidt

So, whatever happens on my Camino,  

I can't say I wasn't informed!

BTW

Just because you feel called to do something,

just because you instinctively know something is right for you,

that doesn't always mean you'll be successful at it.

Called to be a mother?
Yes, but...

there were three miscarriages between the births of my sons.

Called to be married?
Yes, but...

there was a divorce -

after my husband had an affair with his secretary.

(Hey, it wouldn't have gotten to be a cliche

if if didn't happen 

with some regularity.)

Called to co-parent children with a former spouse?
Yes, but...
there was his death at the age of 39
when our sons were 4 and 10,
leaving all of us more vulnerable
and me with no backup plan,
or financial help,
for their care.

All I know is -

contrary to common advertising hoopla -

failure IS a possibility.

There ARE, in fact, circumstances beyond our control.

However, I also know, 

that failure and the uncontrollable 
aren't always what they seem;

sometimes, they're stepping stones 
to something better

and

sometimes

the effort, 

not the end result,

IS what counts!

So, when I say I feel called,
compelled actually, 
to walk the Camino,
there are no guarantees
about the completion.

That's NOT 'hedging my bet';

it's merely facing reality.

I can’t honestly remember when I first heard of the ‘Camino’ – also referred to as the Camino de Santiago (The Way of St James) or simply, “The Way”.

I knew it was a pilgrimage; one of the oldest in the world – right up there with the pilgrimages to Rome, Mecca and the Holy Land.

I knew you walked – a lot!
And I knew you could encounter God along the way.

Oddly enough, in the same way that I instinctively knew I was born to be a Social Worker and I knew I'd be married and have children, I knew that, someday, I’d walk the Camino.

‘After retirement’ was designated as the most likely time for my adventure in Spain - allowing me to safely file away all serious thoughts of a pilgrimage for a time in the far distant future.

As a Social Worker in a Catholic healthcare system - run by people who believe your reward for hard work will be in heaven, not grounded in a pension plan – and as the sole surviving parent raising two sons, the financial possibility of EVER being able to retire seemed soooooo remote that, for years, I didn’t give my Camino too much thought.

If I had a dime for every time I told someone that I’d never retire, that my retirement plan was leaving work in a body bag, I probably could have retired sooner.
(OK, that may be a slight exaggeration, but I said it a lot!)

I settled, in my spiritual journey through adulthood, for walking myriad labyrinths  – substitute pilgrimages since the middle ages -  for those unable to travel to foreign lands due to lack of resources or time.

I had wonderful times on pilgrimages to other locales less exotic than Spain  - New Harmony, Indiana; Taize and Chartres, France; New Franken, Wisconsin and Iona, Scotland, to name a few. (Trust me, it doesn't get less exotic than New Franken, Wisconsin)

But it was during my trip to Iona earlier this year, at the age of 63, that I heard quite clearly from God (yeah, I didn't think I was that person either) that I didn’t have 5+ more years to give to my job; my job was killing me – physically, spiritually and emotionally – and I had to change my life NOW - unless I was truly serious about the whole body bag thing.

Turns out, I wasn't.

God and I don’t talk on a daily basis.
While communication between us is daily, it’s more an” I talk, He listens” arrangement; so when he DOES chime in, I tend to take Him very seriously.

With retirement now looming imminently on the horizon, suddenly, my walk on the Camino was more than just a remote possibility.
It was practically here.

In the beginning

For those of you joining me from my main blog (abubbleoffcenter.blogspot.com), little introduction is needed. You already know FAR more about me than you’d ever hoped to know!

For those who are new and just joining me for this particular adventure, here’s what you need to know to catch up.

* Chronically, I’m old.
 Really, I am.

I can no longer console myself and pretend that I'm 'middle aged'.
I have neither the intention nor the will (not to mention - the money) to live to be 128!

* I’m retiring in the spring from a long career as a Social Worker in pediatric healthcare; the majority of that time spent working in the Intensive Care Unit and the Emergency Room with critically ill, often fatally injured and abused children.

I see the victims of sexual and physical abuse on a daily basis.
Essentially I have a job where people look me in the eyes every day and lie to me - to protect themselves, or their partners, from the consequences of their lousy decisions and actions.
This has gone on for decades.

*It’s taken a toll.
When you see evil everyday and people lie to you on a routine basis, even if you know it’s not personal (thanks to professional training and years of psychotherapy) the experience colors how you view the world, your place in it and other people.
It impacts your ability to trust.

*I’m not normal.
To quote my favorite author, Anne Lamott – My mind is a neighborhood I try not to go into alone.  
I’m extremely grateful for those family members and friends, who have accompanied me on a tour of the ‘hood' and who, for whatever reasons (or pathology) of their own, love outliers – me in particular.
My blog - A Bubble off Center – isn’t called that for nothing – it’s simply truth in advertising!

*I’m out of shape; well, not entirely, round is a shape too, I guess.
I’ve struggled since my teens with my weight and some years (okay, decades) have simply been better for self-care than others. The past decade - while dealing with work, a son deployed overseas, two jobs and a mother with Alzheimer’s dementia in a nursing home -  was not one of those better decades.
My weight wasn’t a series of skirmishes in an ongoing battle so much as waving the white flag of defeat and sinking with compatriots, Ben and Jerry, into the comfort of my couch.

I have absolutely no business thinking I can walk 550 miles from the foothills of the Pyrenees in France, across northern Spain to the coastal town of Cape Finisterre, which literally means the end of the earth.
None, nada, zip.
It’s crazy talk.
(However - see item above about not being normal)

*My plane ticket for France is paid for.
I’m retiring on March 15^th (Beware the Ides of March).
I’m leaving the Midwest on April 1, 2014.
The date was deliberately chosen - April Fool’s Day – since this may be the most foolish thing I’ve ever done.

*I’m big on symbolism