Walking Unbound
They say the Camino begins the moment you close your door behind you, not when you reach Saint-Jean-Pied-du-Port. So my pilgrimage started with a flight from Olsztyn Mazury Airport to London Stansted. Tonight I’m resting at the Holiday Inn Express, gathering my strength for tomorrow’s early flight to Biarritz, then trains to Bayonne and finally Saint-Jean.
Life has a peculiar way of stripping us down to essentials. Though my journey hasn’t officially begun according to the guidebooks, yet my soul already feels the weight of the pilgrim’s path—a path that waits for no one’s perfect timing.
Six Years Between Pilgrimages: From 2019 to 2025
Six years ago, I walked these paths with everything in my life except love. Now I return with nothing but love—a cosmic joke that makes me both laugh and weep. God, it seems, has a wicked sense of humor and an obvious obsession with balance.
Following Yellow Arrows and Letting Go
What pulls me back to this ancient path is devastatingly simple: freedom. Freedom from the tyranny of endless choices. Freedom from explaining myself. Freedom to just walk.
On the Camino, life reduces to elementary equations:
- Follow the yellow arrows
- Walk until your feet say stop
- Eat when hungry
- Sleep when shelter appears
- Repeat
How liberating to trade complex life decisions for the singular question: “How far shall I walk today?”
I’m carrying a physical stone to place at Cruz de Ferro—the mountain of forgiveness—though God knows my entire being has become a walking collection of stones needing release. Perhaps by the time I reach that iron cross, I’ll have figured out how to put down the heavier ones too.
Singing Empty Churches Full
Last time, I found my voice in abandoned chapels along the way, filling their emptiness with spontaneous song. Those echoes eventually led me to worship ministry in Ireland—a chapter now closed but not forgotten.
This time, I walk with the 54-day Rosary Novena as my soundtrack, hoping its rhythm steadies my uneven steps. I walk as preparation for the sacrament of marriage to Ken my Texan husband—the plot twist I never saw coming when I last walked these trails.
Raw Camino, Raw Heart
I’ve grown tired of applying makeup to my experiences, of softening edges to make others comfortable. This pilgrimage shall be RAW—both as route and reality. Raw in my grief. Raw in my hope. Raw in my prayers.
In 2019, I walked under perfect June skies. Now I face May’s unpredictable temperament—likely more rain than sun, more cold than warmth. Weather as metaphor, perhaps.
What if this Camino doesn’t recharge me? What if I walk 800 kilometers only to remain heartbroken? What if Poland continues to resist our settling? What if Texas calls louder with each step?
These questions walk beside me like unwelcome pilgrims I cannot outpace.
Seduced into Wilderness
The prophet Hosea wrote that God “seduces us into the wilderness to speak to our hearts.” So here I am, seduced again onto this dusty, muddy path—wondering what divine whispers await in the quiet between my footsteps.
Perhaps, like the pilgrims before me, I’ll discover that stability isn’t found in perfect circumstances but in learning to carry your center with you. Perhaps grounding isn’t about geographic location but about knowing which roots matter most.
So I walk again—lighter in possessions, heavier in experience—trusting that somehow, between Saint-Jean and Santiago, I’ll find what I need, even if it’s not what I expect.
Buen Camino to me. Buen Camino to all who wander with purpose.
