I want to begin with an update to last month’s insight post. My article proposal to WordWorks magazine, how walking the Camino de Santiago impacted my decision to become a writer, was not accepted. Was I disappointed? Yes! I felt so certain that this idea was too good for their editorial team to pass up.
I was told that their decision was based on how all the chosen articles would work together, and I was encouraged to submit again in the future. So I have dusted off my ego and returned to my abiding love for writing, for sharing with others, for taking creative risks. And just like step by step on a long walk, I write one word after the other until I reach my destination.
What is the destination for any writing project?
Is it completing a manuscript? Is it finally getting published? Is it revising a piece until I am satisfied with the contents? These are ongoing questions that I have yet to answer with 100 percent confidence. The only destination I’m certain about is that I will continue to write and support other writers. The rest will unfold.
It seems that writers – and artists of any stripe – live on the edge between self-confidence and needing external validation. It’s one thing to follow your own creative muse, and another to find a willing audience who will pay for books, articles, or whatever your creative expression might be. I’ll admit that I’d love to hear – and am subconsciously waiting for words like – “Yes we want your article!” “Yes, we’ll publish your book!” “Yes, you have been long-listed for this contest.”
I know in my bones that I love putting words on the page, playing with sounds, touching on the senses and crafting powerful images for my readers. I do not write exclusively for external validation. It’s more about manifesting the creative vision sizzling in my mind, working to get the words on the page to match what I truly want to say. However, I also write with a desire to share and communicate with an audience, which is as strong as my desire to go for long walks. The two seem to be inextricably linked.
But back to the Camino…
Seventeen years ago, on April 19, we hiked over the Pyrenees from France into Spain, spending several days walking through miles of vineyards with the grapevines just beginning to send out leaves. Each day we watched spring weave its magic with more green, more colorful flowers, and warming temperatures. I was also dealing with severe foot cramps that started late in the mornings and didn’t stop until I finally took off my boots at the end of the day. Although thoughts about quitting did float through my mind, I was determined to keep going. I know something about perseverance, another important quality for a pilgrim, a writer, or any artist.
During my long walk, I started asking the question, “What is a pilgrim?” One of the answers I received from a refugio – pilgrim hostel – host was, “A tourist demands, a pilgrim says thank you.” After hearing that phrase, I shifted my thinking mind away from the pain in my feet, my annoyance with my travel companions, and my heavy pack, and instead focused on what was beautiful, what I felt grateful for.
Small things like the spring flowers emerging on the roadside. A special treat that was offered to me by a fellow traveler. A conversation with another pilgrim that felt like we’d known each other forever. I use the same process for writing, savoring what is strong and beautiful in my words and the words of others, grateful for the trust that other writers grant me.
How can I be a pilgrim in daily life?
Upon returning home, my question changed to: “How can I be a pilgrim in daily life?” “How do I keep the energy of the walk alive, here at home?” I believe that a pilgrim is a spiritual seeker, willing to open to mystery, to be curious, to feel wonder at the dance of life. Does one need to walk to be a pilgrim? I no longer think so.
The way I choose to live my life now does not require undertaking another designated pilgrimage route. For me, communing with the spring flowers that are blooming in a nearby forest, basking in the beauty of life returning, is a local pilgrimage. Attending the annual summer meditation retreat on a nearby Gulf Island is another form of pilgrimage, one that my husband and I attend together. This is a blessing, since at the beginning of our Camino, I was thinking of leaving our marriage. By the time we reached Santiago, I had cleared my resentments enough to see the innate goodness of this man, and we recommitted to our relationship, with guidelines of respect and compassion.
In the spirit of being a pilgrim in daily life, I practice saying “thank you” for everything that arises – the celebrations as well as the challenges. The mundane and the extraordinary. I can now celebrate another rejection letter and carry on with putting words on the page.
