Christmas Time is Here
On my first day with the Camino grief group, our leader Rachael read us “The Beatitudes of the Pilgrim”, reportedly written by some nuns that run a pilgrim hostel as part of a church outside of Pamplona. One of the ten is “Blessed are you pilgrim, because you have discovered that the authentic “camino” begins when it is completed.” To hear this before we have taken a single step is confusing. We have all been preparing for months: planning our travel, gathering our gear, training for long days on our feet, all of us searching for something we hope to discover during our walk, so it is a bit disconcerting to hear that we have at least another two weeks to wait before we find our answers.
The church and hostel aren’t on the primary Camino, so we take a slight detour to visit the women that Rachael describes as bold, good-humored and profoundly spiritual. Unfortunately when we arrive, we find they are closed for the season. This is a disappointment, especially since there was a significant hill climb on the path to get here. But changes in itinerary are to be expected when traveling, and as always I try to allay my regret by reminding myself that it is good to save something for the next time.
Although this day is overcast and damp, it is comfortable compared to some of the others we walked through. Of the nine days I was on the trail, three were spent almost entirely in soaking rains. Early on the second day in a row of this rain, we were walking behind a group of four women and based on their animated chatter, the weather was not dampening their spirits. But soon after we entered a wooded area, our group heard their screams and quickened our pace to see if we could help. Around the bend we find that a small bridge is submerged, so we will need to wade to cross the swollen stream. This group assessed the situation and decided to roll up their pants and take off their boots and socks, mimicking others just ahead who we can see putting themselves back together on the other side. While I already felt a little damp on the edges, my feet were more dry than wet, and the thought of being soaked through again was a bit disheartening after the previous day’s slog. But the idea of taking parts off didn’t seem all that appealing either. I didn’t have a decent towel in my pack, and getting redressed in the soaked forest wasn’t going to be conducive to staying dry. With rain in the forecast all day, wet feet seemed all but guaranteed. The mother in me points out that crossing a stream in bare feet carries risks too, since the churning current might be hiding sharp objects that could injure exposed skin. The badass in me agrees with the mother, so I snake my way around the four and step in. Ooh, the water is cold and immediately gushes into the air pockets in my socks and boots. It takes several strides for me to get through the stream, but then I am across and I can keep walking, which in that moment seems more important than preserving the illusion of dry feet. Less than a kilometer up the trail, there is a second stream sans bridge, and I dive in again, now very glad that I decided to skip the rigamarole of undress.
Missing the fun nuns, spending days in the rain, the disappointments on the Camino are all obvious metaphors for life. This is not a trip to Disney World after all, and I didn’t book a spa vacation. Like life, I hadn’t expected it to be easy, but I also hadn’t expected that parts would be quite so hard. I end up as thankful for the rainy days of my pilgrimage as much as the sunny ones, although that is a story for another post. My focus today is the holiday season, starting with the realization that when I arrive home in early November, Christmas has begun. There was no evidence of it in Europe, but here the stores have their merchandise stacked and ready, and many homeowners have their outdoor decor lit up weeks before Advent. Fortunately as I prepare to host Thanksgiving my annoyance morphs into anticipation, and soon I am much more eager about Christmas preparations this year than last. The day after Thanksgiving I start hauling boxes down from the attic. I spread all the outdoor Christmas lights across the dining room table for untangling and inspection. I tell the kids I’m up for doing some shopping this year instead of just writing checks like the last two years, and even mull over the possibility of throwing “our” party the Saturday before Christmas as in pre-pandemic days.
And then I get sad. The melancholy of facing another holiday season without Ken hits me and in a few short days all of the enthusiasm is gone. Since then I’ve been having trouble staying off the couch. I did manage to get the electric candles in the windows, and a few simple decorations are up but that may be the extent of it. Right now the rest of those boxes are scattered from one end of the house to the other and they may go right back up into the attic unopened. There won’t be a party, and the idea of shopping fills me with dread.
On the rainy days on the Camino, some of our group decided they were not up for walking due to blisters or tummy trouble or the simple need to stay warm and dry, and took some extra rest time and a taxi ride to get to the next village. In fact, before the end of the trip every one of us will have ended up taking a taxi ride, but that too is a story for another post. Our egos all want to walk every step and be able to bask in the satisfaction of having done it all. But what a blessing to acknowledge that our abilities change due to conditions and to be willing to rely on the available support systems when needed. Part of learning to live with grief means recognizing how exhausting it is to deal with this heaviest of emotions. On the Camino, if we ignore those signs, we could end up dehydrated or injured. Here at home, we can be so distracted that we back into someone else’s car in a parking lot, or so physically spent that our weakened immune systems can’t fight off the germs prevalent this time of year.
So when I start to feel guilty about curling up on the couch with one of the cats instead of doing more Christmas preparations, I remember that it is good to listen to what my body is telling me in that moment. When my brain needs rest from the emotional work going on during the holidays, it is best that I address that need. In this season of giving, I hope we can all remember to give the gift of grace to ourselves.
Incidentally, those nuns were right. It is a blessing that my Camino continues after it was completed, when I take the lessons learned sur le chemin to help me move forward here at home. Christmas is the next stop on my itinerary, and I planned on reaching it via the same path that I’ve walked for so many years. But now I think I will slow down my pace and use a few short cuts, maybe indulge in an extra rest day here and there, and “take the taxi” when it is all getting to be too much.