snow Archives - Nadine Walks

Introducing: Nadine Walks

February 13, 2017

I haven’t been writing. Not really, nothing that feels very concrete or hefty. Some words here and there, and I have ideas swirling around, but I’m just not putting words down onto the page.

What I have been doing, on the other hand, is tinkering with this blog. Can we even call it ‘tinkering’? It feels more substantial than that, but to say this is an ‘overhaul’ feels too dramatic and grand. I think it’s something in-between; a change, a shift, a renewed focus.

the first- and so far only- snow of the winter

If you receive notifications of my posts through email then I don’t know if anything will look very different. Come to think of it, if you find my posts in your wordpress reader, those may not look different, either. Would any of my followers actually notice anything different if I’d decided not to write this post?

But things are a bit different, and for what amounts to something between tinkering and an overhaul, there sure was a lot of work involved. I decided to upgrade my blog; for any of you who know anything about it, that meant migrating over to a self-hosted site and buying a domain and a design and hoping that I could transfer all of my content from the old site to the new one.

Confused yet? The details don’t really matter. I think what matters is that I’m trying something new with this, just to see what it might be like to invest just a bit more into my blog, and this blogging practice.

So to begin with, I changed the name of the site, and I’m now calling it ‘Nadine Walks’. To slap my name up on the top of this thing feels… showy and like I can’t really hide behind anything. A little scary. ‘Begin With a Single Step’ felt right for the start of all of this, it felt right for my first Camino, for the first months when I was attempting to write a book. But I feel like I’m past the beginning of things, and besides, ‘begin with a single step’ now feels a little vague.

Nadine Walks, now that pretty much tells you what you’re getting. You guys can hit me with your feedback on this name, but at this point there’s no going back. I’ll blog about some other things, but what remains at the heart of this space are the stories of my walks. And I hope to have many, many more years of walking adventures.

This isn’t a Camino blog, exactly, but one thing I’ve grown to love in these last few years has been the chance to help out others who are starting their own Camino’s. People have slowly but surely found my blog and picked up advice and information after sorting through the contents. At first I only wanted to write about my experiences but now there is part of me that- very much- wants to write about what I’ve learned. And then I want to share that information with others.

My vision is to create some pages on this blog that can direct people to this information in a clear and easy way, but there’s a lot of work left to do in that area. An even bigger vision is to write an e-book, some sort of Camino guide. This idea has been tumbling around for a year, and might tumble around a little longer until I can decide what, exactly, I want to do.

There’s a lot I want to do. I also want to keep writing my book, but why does it feel so difficult? I was on fire last winter- writing and writing and writing. I set a goal for myself and then I sat down in my chair every evening and I wrote. But now I’m finding it so difficult to get back to this book. I wonder what the point is, if I will ever want anyone to read it, if it will ever be ‘good enough’ (whatever that means).

There was too much existential-writing-crisis going on over here, so I decided to set the book-writing pressure to the side and work on this blog, instead. It’s been confusing and frustrating and hours can go by without much progress. But I’m building something new, and there’s something gratifying about that.

Now, there are a few details that I’m worried about. A couple things haven’t migrated well to this new site- a few images lost, some formatting issues. But the most worrisome is that I’m not convinced that I managed to shift all of my subscribers and followers over to the new site. So this post is something of a test. Are you reading this? Is this thing on? Do things look okay, are you able to access the new website? I suppose silence will mean that I’ve lost all of you- so if you can, please comment to let me know that you are still here. Is anything not working? Is something terribly wrong? Your feedback on this will be immeasurably helpful.

In the meantime, now that this new blog change is mostly set-up, I can get back to some of the things I’ve been avoiding (like: writing my book). And because we’re in the middle of February, it also means that soon I can start ramping up my walks and hikes. Aside from a short burst of snow earlier this week, the winter has not been a hard one. Nevertheless, I’ve mostly only been doing fast walks through my neighborhood, and I’m itching to buy a new pair of shoes and to start really breaking them in. Soon. Soon.

That’s the update but I promise, more to come soon.

Photo of the Week #5: Snow Walks and Green Bagels

March 22, 2015

Another photo of the week! This goes back to last Sunday (so… I guess that was the start of my ‘photo of the week’ week? I’m not really sure how I’m measuring these weeks, but I suppose it doesn’t matter too much).

I joined the Philadelphia Chapter of APOC (American Pilgrims on the Camino); I’ll write more about this in a future post, but for now I wanted to share a photo from the hike I joined them on last Sunday. It was the longest day of walking I’ve done since the Camino- 14 miles in about 6 hours, with a few stops and breaks in between. The first few miles were the most difficult, and required us to navigate through snow and over ice; not my ideal walking/hiking conditions…

And, for a bonus photo… the best way I can think of to celebrate St Patrick’s Day (how did you celebrate?):

Green bagel!

The Beginning of a Season: Snow and Water Ice and Answering the Big Questions

March 20, 2015

Something I’ve always loved to do is to use a point in time- New Year’s, my birthday, the beginning of a season- and think back to the previous year and where I was/what I was doing. I’m not alone in this, it’s a natural way to mark our progression (or regression??) through life.

Today is the first day of spring, and I am staring out my kitchen window to at least 5 inches of snow piled on top of the bushes, on the trees, covering the ground. It snowed all day long. Sometimes light flurries, sometimes heavy, large flakes. But once again, everything is white, and still, and quiet.

This landscape is at odds with the season, it’s at odds with how I feel. I want the world to feel bright and alive, not silenced and soft. I want to feel some sunshine on my face and see a scattering of purple wildflowers on my neighbor’s lawn. I want the lengthening days to encourage me to be out and to be doing more; but instead, today, the snow forces me home, and inside.

I feel confident in saying that this is the last snow, for awhile. And spring is here. But it looks a lot different than last year. A year ago, I’d returned from a 5-ish mile hike through my state park and stood in a long line snaking around the block, waiting for a free cup of water ice. I stood in between families and groups of teenagers, I was dressed in hiking pants and an old pair of sneakers. I knew I would be walking the Camino and these were early training days: wearing shoes that gave me blisters and feeling my muscles ache after walking 5 miles through wooded trails. But it was satisfying: a long hike. A free cup of water ice. Spring.

The winter before had been a hard one for me, and it was a victory just to make it to that first day of spring. It was a victory to have decided to walk the Camino, a victory to push myself to go on long hikes after work. That first day of spring felt so full of promise and warmth and light, and I suppose that it was a good indicator of things to come.

This year? Maybe I don’t need the sunshine-y symbolism of the past. This year’s winter went by faster than any winter I can remember; there was cold, ice, snow, rain, and lots of gray… but there was something else. I’m struggling to put my finger on how exactly to describe it, I don’t know if I can. There’s been hope, and promise, and excitement for the future. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I haven’t had days of doubt and frustration. There have been times when I’m a bit down, even a little sad. Confused about how to go out and get the kind of life that I want for myself. But there’s also been this thrill, this… wonder. And it’s sort of underneath everything else, and it doesn’t feel like it’s going anywhere.

The Camino opened up some things for me. It’s taken me a long time to really feel its influence, but it happened sometime during the winter. I settled into the short, dark days, and let myself think about my life and my future, and then I just started moving. I started writing, but it’s been different than my dozens of other attempts: this time, it feels sort of permanent. I have a different kind of confidence about it, despite the days that I struggle. Because honestly, most days I sit at my computer and I want to bang my head on the table. Sometimes my eyes fill with tears of frustration because the things I am writing are just so, so bad. Some days I don’t write at all, and just watch Netflix. In the past though, these frustrations would have made me stop, they would have made me think that the elements of my life weren’t just right, that I needed to do x, y and z before I could actually start to write.

Now, I just recognize that this is part of the process. This is what it takes to write. I’ve said this before: it’s a lesson I learned on the Camino. It was the Camino: needing to start slowly, start with a single step, in order to get to the end of something very monumental. What I didn’t realize 6 months ago, however, was that the Camino gave me confidence: confidence that I can undertake something very big and scary, confidence that I can find my way through it.

I still have a million questions about my life and my direction. Will I be able to write a book? Will I be able to spend at least a year or two supporting myself from my writing? Will I be able to travel in the ways that I want to: back to Europe but also to Africa, to Turkey, to China and across the US? When will I focus on dating and trying to meet someone? Will I have a family? How can I set up my life so that I can have all of these things? Is it possible?

These are big questions, questions that I know can’t be answered all at once. So instead, I focus on today: Today, everything is great. I spent my work day talking and laughing with teenagers. I went to IKEA and had a $1.00 frozen yogurt. The snow is slowly falling outside my window. I have several writing projects on the desktop of my computer. I have a list of Spanish phrases to practice before I go to bed. Yesterday I walked through a park. Tomorrow I will drive to DC to spend the weekend with a friend.

Spring is here and I’m excited for the next three months. I don’t know if this season will answer any of the larger questions of my life, but I don’t think it needs to, not yet. Because what I’m doing is laying the groundwork for my future: the writing and the walking and spending time with people who make me happy. And for now, that’s all that I need to be doing.

Because in three months, my life will look a little different (in three months, I’ll be on a Camino!), and three months after that, maybe my life will look even more different. And on, and on, until each small step adds up to something monumental. Until they add up to the answer to all of the big questions of my life.

“The impossible remains to be done.” I saw this sign within the first few minutes of walking out of St Jean Pied de Port on the Camino.

Photo of the Week #3: Blue skies and dragons

March 7, 2015

My week started with blue sky and ended with blue sky, but everything in between was gray and ice and rain and snow and cold. Sunshine makes all the difference, however, and I savored my time outside this week.

Once again, I have two photos to share: the first is from a Chinese New Year’s parade through the streets of my town, and the second is from a walk around my neighborhood. One photo is all about color and movement and noise; the other is stark contrast and stillness and quiet.

A note about the second photo: I’m amazed that this was taken with my iPhone, with no enhancements, no filters, no editing. I looked up at the trees and the sky and held my phone out and snapped a photo and this is what you get. Sometimes, the world is indescribably majestic.

Photo of the Week #1: Snowy walk

February 20, 2015

I’ve been toying with the idea of doing a ‘Photo of the Week’ on this blog, and today I’m giving it a whirl. I’ve always been interested in 365 projects: doing something every single day for a year. There was an ill-fated attempt at my own 365 photo project, and I think I only lasted three days. A photo a week might be more my speed, and will encourage me to remember to pick up my camera (or, as is increasingly the case, my iPhone) and snap a few pictures.

This week’s photo comes from one of the trails that runs through the woods behind my apartment. We finally got a little snow this week, and despite the temperatures being below freezing, I bundled up and went out for a walk. Tramping through the snow I passed kids with sleds, and an elderly neighbor on his cross-country skis. The air was brisk, the sky was a robin’s egg blue, and it felt good to move my legs after days of being cooped up inside.

A few weeks ago I found a blog called A Winter Camino and saw some incredible photos of the Camino Francés covered in snow. You won’t be finding me doing a winter Camino any time soon (or, ever), but there is so much beauty in walking through freshly fallen snow.

So here’s my favorite photo from my winter-y walk. Has anyone else ever tried a photo project? Or done something every single day for a year? Anyone else out walking in the snow these days?

Broken down and smiling

January 6, 2015

I’m back from Italy, and the return has been quite a welcoming. This morning I dragged myself out of bed after an incredibly deep sleep, loaded my work bags into my car, cleaned the falling snow off the windshield, and then my car wouldn’t start.

I sat in the driver’s seat of the car, turning and turning the key to see if something would catch, watching the snow quickly filling up the windshield again, and I wondered if I’d made a mistake. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to Italy at all. Maybe I should have stayed at home and spent more time with my family and friends. Maybe I should have used the money that I spent on the trip to save up for a new car.

Maybe. But I’m glad I didn’t.

Italy was interesting. I’m sure there’s a better word that I could use, but it’s the best I can come up with. I didn’t go to Italy to eat amazing food or to see beautiful towns and cities, or to bask in the glow of famous art and architecture. I got to do all of that, but the reason I went to Italy was to see what the connection with my Camino friend was all about.

I don’t think anything about getting to know this friend was ever going to be simple, and it’s not just that we live in different countries. He’s leaving in a few weeks to travel around the world, so the possibility of building something with him, of having anything concrete, was always very slim.

And knowing this made the decision difficult for me. Why even see what there could be if I was almost certain that there wouldn’t be anything?

But the thing was, I was almost certain that there wouldn’t be anything. Almost. If I’d been totally certain then I wouldn’t have gone. I would have gotten my car checked out before it left me stranded, I would have spent time with my oldest friends, I would have relaxed and had a peaceful vacation.

Instead, I traveled thousands of miles to see if what I felt could have some greater meaning for my future. I think I have my answer- which is no- and maybe it wasn’t the answer I was hoping for. But it doesn’t mean, not for a second, that I regret going.

The trip was beautiful, even if it was a bit different than what I expected or hoped for. There was this one moment in particular, when I was feeling down and sad. I was in Florence, standing in line for the Uffizi Gallery. I’d already been in line for an hour, and noticed a screen that said the wait would be an additional 3 hours. I was freezing, I was conflicted about my feelings, and for a moment, I wondered what I was doing there. In that line, in Florence, in Italy.

And then a woman came by and asked if I wanted her ticket, which was a reservation for a timed entry that would let me into the museum immediately. I bypassed the line, walked through the crowded galleries and then suddenly was standing in front of the bust of a Roman Emperor, and I recognized it instantly. I’d studied this bust of Caracalla in my freshman year art history class, and for some reason had been captivated by him. To stand in front of this bust rather than study a photo in a book reminded me of why I travel, of the places I had vowed to visit when I was young. Later I gazed up at the Duomo, I studied Ghiberti’s Gates of Paradise, and I felt awed.

I had lunch with my friend in a tiny restaurant overlooking the Arno river and the Ponte Vecchio. Somehow I had the perfect seat: my view was nothing but river and bridge and beautiful buildings and sea gulls flying by for the bread that the owner of the restaurant was throwing out the window.

Later we watched the sun set, and I leaned against a stone wall and stared out at the buildings of Florence, the city blanketed in a soft pink light.

So this morning, as I was shivering in the cold snow, cranking my engine while a guy with a tow truck banged on my car and lights on my dashboard blinked crazily at me, I didn’t wish that my life could be any different.

I’ll get my car fixed. Eventually I’ll buy a new one. And one day, maybe years and years and years from now, I’ll go back to Italy. I’ll stand in the Piazzale Michaelangelo and look out over the city and remember the last time that I’d been there. The time when I went to Italy to follow a gut feeling and take a risk and to see about the possibilities of my future. I think remembering this time will always make me smile.

Steps in the Snow, and My Camino Training.

January 26, 2014

There are so many pieces of this Camino journey that I need to consider. I have a lot of time- 5 months- to prepare, and I know that this time is going to both crawl and fly. Money, travel logistics, buying equipment (I won’t need much, but, having never backpacked or “formally” hiked before, the ONLY item I already own is a Spork), learning some basic Spanish, training… the list goes on and on.

I’ve done a bit of reading on how much physical preparation is required to walk 500 miles on the Camino, and it appears that this is a walk that nearly anyone can do. Practice and training won’t hurt- and by all means, it will probably help- but many say that the first week of the Camino will be an adjustment, no matter how prepared you are. And that after a week or so, most people find their ‘Camino legs’.

That being said, the advice is to get in some good, long training hikes, ideally wearing both the shoes and pack you’ll be bringing on the Camino. For pilgrims walking the French route and starting in St Jean Pied-de-Port (the common starting point), the first day is widely considered the most challenging of the entire route. Pilgrims leave the village and almost immediately begin a steep ascent into the Pyrenees. From what I’ve read, it is a long, tough day.

I’m relatively fit, and already a regular walker. The winter months slow me down and I don’t get outside nearly as often as I do in other seasons. But as soon as the weather warms, I know that I’ll be hitting some trails and will work up to some long hikes. In the next few months, I’ll find good shoes and a good pack and will attempt to put it all together.

But my legs are getting itchy. I’m reading account after account of pilgrims on the Camino, about the long days of walking, about the sore muscles and blistered feet. I’m anxious to get outside and to get walking. So today, I did. Despite the freezing temperatures and the falling snow, I took a walk. I bundled up and put on some boots and walked through my neighborhood. And despite the raw wind on my face and my numbed fingers, the walk was beautiful.

So this is my training, for now. Short, winter walks in the cold. I’m also thinking about joining the Y so that I can stay a bit more active in these next few months: go to some yoga classes and walk/run around a track, maybe even spend some time on an elliptical. It probably sounds silly but this is big for me: I’ve never joined a gym before. In the past few years I’ve gone to some zumba and yoga classes, but I’ve always hesitated to join a gym. Maybe I still feel out of place: a non-athlete surrounded by people who know what they are doing.

I think I’m finally beginning to let go of this: the idea that I don’t actually belong in certain places or doing certain things. I belong anywhere I want to belong. I have a feeling that the experience of walking the Camino is going to stretch this idea even more, that it will challenge the ways I’ve always seen myself, and that it will challenge the limitations I put on myself. In fact, it’s already started to.