Harry looked at me from across the table. He wore round glasses with thick frames and a scarf was still draped around his neck. “I’m sure you’ve already answered this a lot today, but do you have plans for another Camino?”
There were about 12 of us seated around a long table, at a restaurant in Chestnut Hill. I was with the Philadelphia Area Camino group and we’d just been on a 5-mile walk, and now we were putting up our feet and grabbing a bite to eat, just like we’d do on the Camino.
I stabbed my fork through a tomato and looked back at Harry. “Honestly, I’m not sure yet.”
There had been a lot of travel talk that day, about past Caminos and future Caminos, about other places in the world we wanted to go, the things we wanted to do. These are things I think about a lot: the next place on my list, the next trail to walk.
In some ways- in many ways- it would be so easy to walk a third Camino this summer, and indeed, I might. But there are a few other things I want to do as well, one thing in particular that has been ‘on my list’ for nearly as long as I can remember: drive across the United States.
It was something my best friend and I talked about in high school. “When we graduate, lets do a cross-country trip!” We were serious about it, but not serious enough, and in any case, things changed and the plan never happened. But I’ve wanted to do it ever since. Sometimes I worry that my vision of the trip is too different, that it can no longer be the young, carefree, wide-eyed adventurous sort of trip that I’d always envisioned it would be. And of course, it can’t be, because I’m not 18 anymore, I’m not in my mid-twenties anymore either.
But the thing is, I still haven’t been to Nebraska. I still haven’t seen the Grand Canyon or followed in Laura Ingalls Wilder’s footsteps. Those were the things I wanted to do all those years ago, and I still want to do them. But now? I want so much more, because I know so much more. I want to hike and to camp and to spend time in as many National Parks as possible. And I want to drive far and wide to reach as many family and friends as I possibly can. When I was 18, nearly everyone that I knew lived in my town. Now, I have friends and family spread across the country.
(Just so you know, this is going to be a topsy-turvy, disjointed kind of post.)
I still hesitate about doing this cross-country trip for one reason: my car. I have an old car with a lot of miles on it and every single time I get inside to drive somewhere (even just a mile down the road to buy some groceries), I feel slightly stressed. I’m so alert and aware of every shudder and jerk, every creak or whirr from the engine. I’m sure it’s because I’ve recently had to have the car towed, twice in less than a month, and now I almost expect that it won’t start, or that it might stall.
Soon, it will be time for a new car. And if I’m being honest with myself, it was probably time for a new car two years ago, but for me, this is nothing new: it feels like I’ve always driven an old, slightly unreliable car.
I love the idea of taking this car (if it makes it to the summer), on this epic cross-country trip, and basically driving it until it dies on me. But that’s probably the worst idea in the world, given that I want to actually enjoy a trip like this and not be constantly stressed over the fact that the car might leave me stranded in the middle of nowhere.
The answer is, of course, to buy a new car. I started thinking about this last night, why it feels so difficult for me to say, “Okay, that’s enough, it’s time to buy something new.” My thoughts started going deeper and deeper and finally I came up with this, a statement so simple and true that I’m amazed it’s never occurred to me before:
I love things to pieces.
I’m sure I’ve known this about myself- I DO know this about myself. And yet, last night, it all seemed so remarkably clear, in a way that it never has before.
I’ve always been like this. When I was a toddler, I had this teddy bear and I loved her so much. She was already with me in my very earliest memories, I see her glued to my side in photos that I can’t remember. I carried her with me and slept with her for much, much longer than kids normally do. Her fur became matted and mangled, her nose fell off, she began to resemble something more similar to E.T. than a teddy bear. But she was so much a part of me, that she became something very real to me.
It’s not just stuffed bears, it’s other stuff too, everything: a scuffed pair of Doc Martens that I wore every day in high school and are- at this very moment- sitting underneath my bed. It’s the jobs I’ve held, the friendships and relationships I’ve had, the cars I’ve driven. I’ve watched things break down and fall apart and crumble around me, and that is how I finally walk away, because I have to. Just after I graduated high school I drove out to the parking lot across from the vacant movie theater where I used to work and watched as a wrecking ball smashed into its brick walls. I drove to a bridge just outside of Philly and parked my car and watched from a distance as The Vet- the stadium where I’d spent years watching Phillies games- imploded. I’ve owned two cars in my life and drove the first one into the ground. My mechanic handed me five twenty dollar bills. “This is how much the parts are worth.”
Others leave, I stay. I stay and I stay and I stay, and it’s because I have a deep connection to the people and places and things that I’ve learned to love. I don’t want to leave them, I don’t want to leave any of them.
And often, this quality of mine- my respect for tradition and ritual, my appreciation for the things I love, my commitment- it’s a wonderful thing. I have decades-long friendships that I cherish, an old apartment that I find beautiful and comfortable and so uniquely me, a connection to the students I work with that I recognize is very rare and special.
But there’s a problem here, too. Lately, I’ve been wanting to change some things in my life. I’m still working on what and how, but I’ve opened myself up to new opportunities and now I want more. I want to explore more, I want to do more, I want to learn more and see more. But change often requires that we let go of something, that we give up something that we’ve learned to love, and that really scares me.
I started practicing this on my first Camino- loving and letting go, loving and letting go- but I didn’t quite get the hang of it. It’s probably one reason that I went back for a second Camino, I just wanted more practice. Walking through a place and to a place and then packing up and leaving. Over and over again. Meeting people and getting to know people and feeling connected to people and leaving. Over and over again.
I got good at it on the Camino- it took me 1,000 miles, but I finally got the hang of it. But now I’m at home, and don’t they say- don’t I say- that the real journey starts when the walking ends? In the last year I’ve recognized that I am going to need to change a few things in my life if I want to ever try and go after some of my dreams. Eventually, I’ll have to leave this apartment. Eventually, I’ll have to quit my job. Eventually, I’ll have to buy a new car.
And I wonder if I could start there. If, rather than letting the car die on me a dozen more times, I could say, “I’m walking away from this now. It’s time for something new.” It’s something so small, so obvious to most people, but it feels really big to me.
I mean, maybe I’ll go back to Europe this summer and do another Camino and spend some time in France and hold onto my little clunker of a car for another year. It’s a fine option. But this weekend I spent a lot of time thinking about a different option, one where I let go of something I love in order to go after something new. I think it could be good for me.
Thanks for bearing with me, through this long, rambly post. This is one reason I love to write, even if the things I say don’t really come together well or are all about teddy bears and old cars. It just helps to get stuff out on the page, to make sense of my self and my thoughts- it helps to organize life, in a way. 🙂
Me and my car
I’ve already deleted 3 lengthy replies, starting with the old car on my drive, or my old camino boots (that messed up my feet) that I can’t get rid of.
Trying to live in the moment is becoming easier. But isn’t a walk in the park yet.
Perhaps I don’t want it to be as easy as that.
I really loved the last line you wrote- ‘perhaps I don’t want it to be as easy as that’… I’ve been thinking about this all morning. As much as I want to (need to?) have a little practice in letting go, there are so many things that I want to continue to hold onto to.
It’s the “putting to bed” that goes with the “letting go”. I can’t let go of messy things. Tidy up first, look at every bit of paper before it hits the bin. Another word for it is “procrastination”. That’s why it hurts so much when a friendship just dies. Or more precisely – when you find out it died a while ago. Too messy to just walk away. Then the pawpaw hits the fan, and you have no choice. Decisions taken out of your hand.
Nadine,
I know I am like you, still driving an old car, I still have my hiking boots and find it hard to let go of things. I hang on so much longer than I should with everything. Gosh I’ve been back on the Camino 8 times and will again return this July, why because I am drawn there, but why? I think because it is familiar and I like the way it feels, like my old shoes and old car and old friends. It simply feels right!
Arlène
I had to smile when you said you’ve been on the Camino 8 times, because I can imagine that I will be saying the same thing one day! But yes, I agree with you- with so many of the things in my life, I just like the familiarity and the comfort. If things feel right and make us happy, is it bad that we are drawn back or that we hold on? I hope you have many more Caminos in your future Arlene!!
I’ll take the other position – I don’t want possessions to own me, and that is true of cars, clothes and family photos. That doesn’t mean I don’t drive an aging car (16 years and going strong), or have a mammoth collection of family photos I’m trying to manage, but it means that I can part from them without too much angst, when the appropriate time comes.
I do envy you – I find it hard to let go of people and things I love. To me constancy and familiarity give them worth. This is something I need to moderate at my age (59) as it doesn’t lead to peace of mind. I like to hear of Nadine’s experience of life – maybe I shall do that long walk… one day.
Jeremy
I understand that “constancy and familiarity give them worth” but sometimes if you examine the “worth” you’ll find that you only keep them because you have already kept them so long. It’s like trying to recover sunk cost.
I’m still very torn on this- sometimes I worry that the the more I hold onto and the longer I hold on, it will start to seem impossible to let things go, and I know that often, this isn’t good for me. But at the same time, I see tremendous value in my connections to things (people too, but I suppose that is just a bit different). I think the key thing, for me at least, is to be able to recognize when it is BETTER to let things go, despite how difficult it may seem, and the knowledge that I WILL be able to let them go when the time comes. But I can’t imagine I’ll ever be someone who purges and gets rid of things in order to clean out or simplify my life… my old shoes and my photographs and my teddy bear make me so happy 🙂
Oh, Nadine! Your words bring up so many thoughts and feelings for me!
1. OR-E-GON! OR-E-GON! Come see us out here on your road trip! I mean that!
2. Me too (on the road trip idea). Always. Wanted. To do one. Instead I fly over everything I want to see each summer just to visit family, staring wistfully out the jet window wondering “when”. You’re not old enough for this yet, but lately I’m starting to wonder “if” too (which is frankly pretty scary for a 43-year-old).
3. Your observation that you love things to pieces stopped me in my tracks. How profound and self-aware. Your acknowledgment of other options besides this one makes me cheer. Even if you do nothing differently, just noticing it is HUGE.
4. In the light of this, everything about the struggle to walk with someone or not walk with someone makes even more sense. I so relate. Yay that you did the Camino and got to practice it. You *can* decide when is enough.
5. And, ohhh, this is way selfish of me, but if you *did* do the Camino again, there would be a remote chance we might run into each other as I walk eastward back to SJPP. How freaking cool would that be. But. (ahem) Don’t let me influence you. 🙂
Keep listening to that voice that wants to do more, experience more, and let go. Ultreia, peregrina.
Jen, your comments are always so great. 🙂 And I would love to visit you guys in Oregon!! I’ve never been, and already it’s a must-stop on my cross-country list. How fun would it be to strap on packs and go on a hike together?? I imagine that we could talk for hours and hours about the Camino and life and all of that. 🙂 (and running into you on the Camino would be even better… I will certainly let you know if I have Camino plans in the works for this summer…)
Squeee! You just let me know when, okay? Cheering you on, no matter what!
I love this post and I totally get what you’re saying. And by the way, it might feel like a long, rambly post to you but somewhere in the middle, I was thinking, “When she writes her book, I’ll definitely buy it.”
Thank you so much, especially for your words about “the book”! Reading that makes me so happy (I’m continuing to chip away at it, and so often it feels difficult to write and that I’m not getting anywhere, but I suppose I’m slowly making progress!) 🙂
Right on !
Nadine. As always, your writings never disappoint. I look forward to each new installment and eagerly await your book. As I have mentioned before, my wife Linda and I walked and completed the Camino Frances, this past summer, the same time you completed your 2nd. We finished in Santiago on the same day. I was reading your blog as we walked! Here is a link to our third installment published in Developing Horizons magazine. http://www.joomag.com/magazine/developing-horizons-magazine-2pdf-winter-2016/0926978001452252740?short
I am preparing to walk the Appalachian Trail starting in April!.
I wish we had seen each other in Santiago, that would have been so great! But it’s also pretty neat just to know that we were there at the same time, finishing our journeys on the same day. I’m really looking forward to reading your words about the Camino, and how amazing that you’ll be doing the AT! Are you going alone, or with someone else? And are you aiming to do the entire thing? (also, thank you so much for your words about my writing. Truly, it means so much to me)
Just letting you know, today is my birthday and one of the first things I thought when I got up was. “hmmm…I haven’t read Nadine’s blog in a while.”
And then I was treated to this gem of a piece. I relate so much to how you love things until they fall apart in your hands. We are the type of people who can not let go. “Perhaps I don’t want it to be as easy as that.” Yes, I think this is the case–a resolute stubbornness to cling with all our might when others let go. We burn the candle at both ends, we dig in with our fingernails, we are the ones who turn and look back one last time.