Have you ever had a moment that has transported you back to another time in your life? Music does that for me. I sometimes listen to a song which marks a period in my life and I can picture where I was the first or most significant time the song played in my life. I was sitting just now, working and I heard “Sunny came home” by Shawn Colvin, and I went back to 10th grade summer. Dawson’s creek was in the air, I was in summer school, having a car made you cool and something as simple as a song could brighten up my day. I was such a different person then.
I began to compare the girl I was then to the person I am now, and I’m not sure if I have evolved or simply dug a hole and stuck my head in it; like an ostrich. Then I began to think, what are the events in my life that have led me to this point in time? What happened to me? Why did I ever allow myself to get to this point? When did I become so guarded.
I started to mentally scan my body in search for the bumps and bruises of the falls I must have had along the way that have caused me to walk around with kneepads on and enough attire to allow me to safely keep goal for the toughest Canadian ice hockey team. I should feel protected, safe from harm and all the figurative hockey pucks that might come my way, but the padding weighs and I feel like I am suffocating under it.
Unlike a hockey goalie, I don’t take the padding off after a couple of hours. I’m wearing it all the time and it seems that I put more and more on, on a daily basis. It doesn’t even take a hit anymore, I just pile it on stronger whenever I feel the rest of the world is getting too close. It was so easy one upon a time, I was blissfully unaware of the world at large.
Once in a while, when I am alone, I take the padding off and check for marks, there are a few, but most you can’t see, or at least I can’t, I can only remember them. I guess it’s my stubborn nature that I don’t want the same thing to happen twice that I might end up never trusting anyone again for a long time.
I need to continue to dig deep into myself and see if I can fix myself, for this, I decided to walk away from the people who matter the most and I bumped into one that matters more than anyone ever has. I hope I’m not so broken that I can’t respond when he needs me to, and I also hope, that when my cuts are healed, my bruises have faded and my phantom pain has flown away, there’s still a path for me to come home.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Friday, October 15, 2010
Searching for my own convictions, not yours!
My sister used to have full conviction of what she believed in. She fought for what she thought was right, she stood up to injustices and had no problem being exactly who she was, she was eight. I am the apple of my sister’s eye, I have always been the exception to her rule, the person who could do no wrong in her opinion, and still, at the ripe old age of eight, she would plant her feet on the ground and tell me when she thought I was wrong. I didn’t admire my sister at the time, thinking she was simply a self-righteous brat who didn’t know how to have fun and was anti-social; I now realize that when my sister was eight, she had more guts and more self worth that I do twenty years her senior.
As we get older, we make concessions: political ones, social ones, we stand by and watch people be outcast and don’t stand up and protest because we fear we will be out casted with them, we slowly adopt this persona in life and we become safe in that little niche we create, we are the leader, the follower, the cheerleader, the happy one, the serious one… We are who we have grown into or what our micro-society has decided we should be.
The problem is, once we have adopted these roles that we play, it is difficult to break away from them. John Hughs had breaking stereotypes down, there was always at least once character who broke with their social protocol and the same character or some other one who was the moral compass of the group, speaking world truths and leading everyone to the light, or the characters who mattered anyway.
Unfortunately, in the real world, the fear of breaking away from your friends’ or family’s opinions tie you up tighter than you would care to admit, you sometimes find yourself not saying things because you don’t want to argue or because you are tired of being the spirit of contradiction.
I don’t have great political standings, I am a political being, but I rarely choose sides in a matter and I abhor people who are not consistent with their politics (both social and political) in life, and since this is most people, then I abhor most people’s moral standing on most things. I admire the freaks and weirdos in the world who have the gall to stand up to the majority and say “I will or will not take part in ______”. Bravo Stella Mcartney, for your veganness and for your ingenuity of making all-vegan clothing because you feel you need to follow your convictions.
I think most people see power in numbers, people group together on the basis of nationality, gender, color, political stance, fashion choices, clothing size, beauty… In that need to become part of a group, we claim to stand for something, which, in the end, as humans, we really don’t follow to a tee because we are just that, human.
I’m not blaming anyone for not being militant, Lord knows that I am the farthest thing from disciplined that there is, but if I’m about to give someone an earful of my politics, I better be damn sure that I follow this gospel I am preaching to the core, (NOTE: if this is you then disregard this blog post).
Take the environmentalist who chews my ear off because I cut down a tree at Christmas to place in my house: Do you always recycle? Do you always separate your paper from your plastic?
The animal rights activist who objects to my inheriting of my mother’s mink coat: Do you wear leather? If so, then end of story, one animal does not have more of a right to live than another, killing an animal is killing an animal, and there is no such thing as a more merciful death, unless all the cows are on happy pills from the time that they are born, if we could have the in a Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds state from the time that they come to this earth ‘til the moment they are taken to slaughter then you might have an argument. I am all for animal rights, but be consistent, I am, I am an equal opportunity murderer, you can call me such, I’m fine with that. But if you eat turkey, or veal EVER, then this is not a conversation I will have with you, go do your research.
It’s not the politics I have a problem with, by all means, re-recycle recycled paper bags, wear plastic shoes and plant 16 trees in your garden, hey, if you talk me into it, I might even go plant one with you, but it’s the zig-zag line that is drawn to make exceptions for weaknesses or slip ups that you might have that make your argument null and void in my eyes.
PAUSE OF RANT, JUST SO YOU KNOW I AM INTELLIGENT
I understand that one button battery can ruin sometime like a cubed kilometer of ocean water, that ever X pounds of paper we recycle saves a tree, which helps our oxygen supply. I realize that without heavy environmental campaigns that we wouldn’t get the message, I think we should all go green, and that governments should help subsidize individual environmental practices and somehow find a way to make them cost-effective and easy for people to apply. I also think animal brutality should be avoided at all costs. The difference between me and all the pain in the ass people that I have to listen to? I DON’T PREACH WHAT I DON’T PRACTICE.
END PAUSE
I take on small campaigns, ones I follow through on. If we are having a conversation about a subject and you want to hear my opinion, then you will get it in spades, but (I try) not to be a pain in the ass about things that I am not 100% on.
Politically, my friend Ilenia is one to admire, she cares about the social welfare of things and she follows through with her convictions, she works in the public sector, gets informed, helps out in her community, fights for the rights of those less fortunate, and I’m sure she does a lot more, her I can respect and I listen when she chews my ear off because she follows through on her convictions, whether I agree with her or not.
Probably the only thing I have recently taken on with gusto is buying Florida Orange juice, I’m not saying it’s a huge campaign, but since I was a Florida resident, I decided that I would support my local economy and my local growers, it costs me more money, but it’s my choice. I have since convince my mother and grandmother to by Florida, it’s not a big change, but it’s something, I have also (politely) educated friends about buying Florida. I WILL NOT chew someone’s ear off who is buying orange juice with coupons to buy a more expensive juice; the state local economy and the home local economy are different battle grounds.
I am not saying that you shouldn’t take a stand, I’m not saying that you shouldn’t have a cause, but when you approach me about it, be nice, don’t impose and tell me about your opinion, don’t preach to me, don’t be militant and for God sake, respect my right to differ with you on opinion, you will catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, and I assure you, if you come at me the wrong way, I will disagree with you no matter what I believe in, just because you pissed me off.
My sister may have been a self-righteous, 8-year-old, pain in the ass, but she followed her convictions to the tee, I listened, and she eventually taught me stuff, about fairness, about personality and about how I hate being preached to by self-righteous 8-year-olds, but at least I learned something.
As we get older, we make concessions: political ones, social ones, we stand by and watch people be outcast and don’t stand up and protest because we fear we will be out casted with them, we slowly adopt this persona in life and we become safe in that little niche we create, we are the leader, the follower, the cheerleader, the happy one, the serious one… We are who we have grown into or what our micro-society has decided we should be.
The problem is, once we have adopted these roles that we play, it is difficult to break away from them. John Hughs had breaking stereotypes down, there was always at least once character who broke with their social protocol and the same character or some other one who was the moral compass of the group, speaking world truths and leading everyone to the light, or the characters who mattered anyway.
Unfortunately, in the real world, the fear of breaking away from your friends’ or family’s opinions tie you up tighter than you would care to admit, you sometimes find yourself not saying things because you don’t want to argue or because you are tired of being the spirit of contradiction.
I don’t have great political standings, I am a political being, but I rarely choose sides in a matter and I abhor people who are not consistent with their politics (both social and political) in life, and since this is most people, then I abhor most people’s moral standing on most things. I admire the freaks and weirdos in the world who have the gall to stand up to the majority and say “I will or will not take part in ______”. Bravo Stella Mcartney, for your veganness and for your ingenuity of making all-vegan clothing because you feel you need to follow your convictions.
I think most people see power in numbers, people group together on the basis of nationality, gender, color, political stance, fashion choices, clothing size, beauty… In that need to become part of a group, we claim to stand for something, which, in the end, as humans, we really don’t follow to a tee because we are just that, human.
I’m not blaming anyone for not being militant, Lord knows that I am the farthest thing from disciplined that there is, but if I’m about to give someone an earful of my politics, I better be damn sure that I follow this gospel I am preaching to the core, (NOTE: if this is you then disregard this blog post).
Take the environmentalist who chews my ear off because I cut down a tree at Christmas to place in my house: Do you always recycle? Do you always separate your paper from your plastic?
The animal rights activist who objects to my inheriting of my mother’s mink coat: Do you wear leather? If so, then end of story, one animal does not have more of a right to live than another, killing an animal is killing an animal, and there is no such thing as a more merciful death, unless all the cows are on happy pills from the time that they are born, if we could have the in a Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds state from the time that they come to this earth ‘til the moment they are taken to slaughter then you might have an argument. I am all for animal rights, but be consistent, I am, I am an equal opportunity murderer, you can call me such, I’m fine with that. But if you eat turkey, or veal EVER, then this is not a conversation I will have with you, go do your research.
It’s not the politics I have a problem with, by all means, re-recycle recycled paper bags, wear plastic shoes and plant 16 trees in your garden, hey, if you talk me into it, I might even go plant one with you, but it’s the zig-zag line that is drawn to make exceptions for weaknesses or slip ups that you might have that make your argument null and void in my eyes.
PAUSE OF RANT, JUST SO YOU KNOW I AM INTELLIGENT
I understand that one button battery can ruin sometime like a cubed kilometer of ocean water, that ever X pounds of paper we recycle saves a tree, which helps our oxygen supply. I realize that without heavy environmental campaigns that we wouldn’t get the message, I think we should all go green, and that governments should help subsidize individual environmental practices and somehow find a way to make them cost-effective and easy for people to apply. I also think animal brutality should be avoided at all costs. The difference between me and all the pain in the ass people that I have to listen to? I DON’T PREACH WHAT I DON’T PRACTICE.
END PAUSE
I take on small campaigns, ones I follow through on. If we are having a conversation about a subject and you want to hear my opinion, then you will get it in spades, but (I try) not to be a pain in the ass about things that I am not 100% on.
Politically, my friend Ilenia is one to admire, she cares about the social welfare of things and she follows through with her convictions, she works in the public sector, gets informed, helps out in her community, fights for the rights of those less fortunate, and I’m sure she does a lot more, her I can respect and I listen when she chews my ear off because she follows through on her convictions, whether I agree with her or not.
Probably the only thing I have recently taken on with gusto is buying Florida Orange juice, I’m not saying it’s a huge campaign, but since I was a Florida resident, I decided that I would support my local economy and my local growers, it costs me more money, but it’s my choice. I have since convince my mother and grandmother to by Florida, it’s not a big change, but it’s something, I have also (politely) educated friends about buying Florida. I WILL NOT chew someone’s ear off who is buying orange juice with coupons to buy a more expensive juice; the state local economy and the home local economy are different battle grounds.
I am not saying that you shouldn’t take a stand, I’m not saying that you shouldn’t have a cause, but when you approach me about it, be nice, don’t impose and tell me about your opinion, don’t preach to me, don’t be militant and for God sake, respect my right to differ with you on opinion, you will catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, and I assure you, if you come at me the wrong way, I will disagree with you no matter what I believe in, just because you pissed me off.
My sister may have been a self-righteous, 8-year-old, pain in the ass, but she followed her convictions to the tee, I listened, and she eventually taught me stuff, about fairness, about personality and about how I hate being preached to by self-righteous 8-year-olds, but at least I learned something.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Searching for the one to make a crowd
I’ve been putting a lot of thought into what makes me, me. What my life has been like up to this point, my human connections and my recent choices. All this makes up my identity, who I am. So many things have changed this year that I can’t answer the question of who I am, what I want or where I am going anymore. So I have come up with a little formula to explain myself to myself. Maybe if I can put things into an equation then I’ll be able to analyze myself a little better.
We can be divided into three parts that make up our one identity, don’t worry Desi, I’ll explain.
Your parents are your parents, even when you’re not speaking to them, they are your parents. It’s kind of the same with a home, a place where you come from there is always one place where you come from, one place where you feel like you belong completely.
The senior class for my European Studies Certificate concentrated on the topic of identity. Identity is who you are, very easy, but the answer is not simple. Everything about you goes into your identity, and some of the things that define you most are your national affiliation and culture.
Most of the time, when you walk into a room and you see people that are form the same place as you, you immediately form a silent connection with these people, and, if given the choice, you would probably sit next to these people before anyone else. It’s all about comfort and about familiarity. This is the first third of your identity.
I have never felt like I am from anywhere in particular, my family is from one place, that on one level I relate to, I spent my childhood and am again living in another that I also relate to and I spent the other two thirds of my life in a place I don’t quite relate to but which became what I was used to before I knew it. The upside to my predicament is that I am more likely to adapt to other places more than most people.
But now, forget the general programming that goes into our hard drives as we grow up. What happens to the other part of your identity, I am talking about the you, you are to other people, your family, friends and people on the street.
In your troupe of friends, are you the smart one? The cute one? The slut? Are you always the sibling or child your family counts on? Are you the baby that no one expects anything from? Are you the wiz at work? Are you the one that always gets passed up for a promotion?
Part of what makes you who you are the bonds you form, the inside jokes that are created through experiences, memories that you share with other people. This is the second third of your identity.
This second third is more important than the first third. The first is the one people know about first. Take your passport, people know where your come from before they read your name, know who your father is and you usually tell people about your geographic affiliation before you tell them how many siblings you have or about your best friends. Still, these are the people whose eyes you see yourself when you are in public, whose opinions you count on and who know you and forgive you for all the things that you do or don’t do.
The last third is more personal and harder to define, it’s how you see yourself, and what you think of yourself. It’s the songs you sing in the mirror when no one is around, it’s the fact that you are aware of that unseemly hair that you are hoping no one notices before you can get rid of it, it’s the things you are proud of about yourself but don’t want to share because you are afraid that people might think that you are full of yourself if you say them out loud, it’s your insecurities, your secrets, your fears, your personal memories, in short, life through your eyes.
So we have: Your ontology, your interpersonal connections and your point of view. If you establish those then Congratulations! you may now fill out a Facebook profile.
We can be divided into three parts that make up our one identity, don’t worry Desi, I’ll explain.
Your parents are your parents, even when you’re not speaking to them, they are your parents. It’s kind of the same with a home, a place where you come from there is always one place where you come from, one place where you feel like you belong completely.
The senior class for my European Studies Certificate concentrated on the topic of identity. Identity is who you are, very easy, but the answer is not simple. Everything about you goes into your identity, and some of the things that define you most are your national affiliation and culture.
Most of the time, when you walk into a room and you see people that are form the same place as you, you immediately form a silent connection with these people, and, if given the choice, you would probably sit next to these people before anyone else. It’s all about comfort and about familiarity. This is the first third of your identity.
I have never felt like I am from anywhere in particular, my family is from one place, that on one level I relate to, I spent my childhood and am again living in another that I also relate to and I spent the other two thirds of my life in a place I don’t quite relate to but which became what I was used to before I knew it. The upside to my predicament is that I am more likely to adapt to other places more than most people.
But now, forget the general programming that goes into our hard drives as we grow up. What happens to the other part of your identity, I am talking about the you, you are to other people, your family, friends and people on the street.
In your troupe of friends, are you the smart one? The cute one? The slut? Are you always the sibling or child your family counts on? Are you the baby that no one expects anything from? Are you the wiz at work? Are you the one that always gets passed up for a promotion?
Part of what makes you who you are the bonds you form, the inside jokes that are created through experiences, memories that you share with other people. This is the second third of your identity.
This second third is more important than the first third. The first is the one people know about first. Take your passport, people know where your come from before they read your name, know who your father is and you usually tell people about your geographic affiliation before you tell them how many siblings you have or about your best friends. Still, these are the people whose eyes you see yourself when you are in public, whose opinions you count on and who know you and forgive you for all the things that you do or don’t do.
The last third is more personal and harder to define, it’s how you see yourself, and what you think of yourself. It’s the songs you sing in the mirror when no one is around, it’s the fact that you are aware of that unseemly hair that you are hoping no one notices before you can get rid of it, it’s the things you are proud of about yourself but don’t want to share because you are afraid that people might think that you are full of yourself if you say them out loud, it’s your insecurities, your secrets, your fears, your personal memories, in short, life through your eyes.
So we have: Your ontology, your interpersonal connections and your point of view. If you establish those then Congratulations! you may now fill out a Facebook profile.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Searching to see
It´s 6am and I´m up, I´m not partying, I´m not out, I was sleeping, and now I´m up. This hasn´t happened to me in a couple of years, and it´s usually not a good sign. The past few days have been trying at best.
Usually around this time of year the thing which is of most concern to Floridians are hurricanes. My mother has an aversion to hurricanes, but it´s not the lack of electricity or the having to bring the crap into the house which bothers her the most, it´s being locked up with me in the house for two or three days, she calls me her little caged lion. I do OK for the first day or so, and then I´m over it. I start getting crabby, upset, bitchy and all I want to do is go out for a walk no matter how many miles per hour the wind is blowing.
I am in the middle of a hurricane now, except there is no wind, the sun is rising and I´m sitting in the living room in a top-floor flat with all the windows open in a place that has never seen a hurricane... ever. So why do I feel so desperate to get out?
I am not trapped in this apartment, I am free to go at any time, I am not trapped by my circumstances or trapped by people, I am trapped in my head, and if you´ve read my blog at all that´s about the worst place in the world I could be trapped in.
I´m at it again, the thinking, the analysing, the pacing and writing at 6am, truth be told it tends to be a very productive period for me, and I end up losing a ton of weight because I lose my appetite, but it also tends to be pretty crap for my nerves.
I want some peace, I need some perspecive, some space; I need the eye.
During Hurricane Andrew, the scientists at FIU that were studying the storm got a chance to head outside in the middle of the madness when te eye passed. According to what I´ve heard, the eye of a hurricane is a palce of peace, one of complete tranquility and where, except for the debauchery that has already occured, it seems like there is no storm at all.
I am currently goin around and around in circles, caught in the middle of the craziness and I am searching for the eye. A point of clarity and a haven away from what seems to be only craziness. They call it the eye for a reason, maybe it´s because, when you´re in the middle of it you can see things much more clearly. They should probably change the name to the All Seeing Eye of the storm.
Can you imagine? If people throught that there were answers to their deepest queries in the eye on hurricanes we could make a furtune in Florida and the rest of the Carribbean. People would flock from all over the world simply to come and stand in the eye of the storm.
It would be like religion, or the afterlife, a possible answer to questions that plague your existence. We would make a fortune, it would probably solve the lack of tourism problem in South Florida as, due to the high risk and availability fo the situation, we could charge a mint, like going into space!
We must think on this further.
Usually around this time of year the thing which is of most concern to Floridians are hurricanes. My mother has an aversion to hurricanes, but it´s not the lack of electricity or the having to bring the crap into the house which bothers her the most, it´s being locked up with me in the house for two or three days, she calls me her little caged lion. I do OK for the first day or so, and then I´m over it. I start getting crabby, upset, bitchy and all I want to do is go out for a walk no matter how many miles per hour the wind is blowing.
I am in the middle of a hurricane now, except there is no wind, the sun is rising and I´m sitting in the living room in a top-floor flat with all the windows open in a place that has never seen a hurricane... ever. So why do I feel so desperate to get out?
I am not trapped in this apartment, I am free to go at any time, I am not trapped by my circumstances or trapped by people, I am trapped in my head, and if you´ve read my blog at all that´s about the worst place in the world I could be trapped in.
I´m at it again, the thinking, the analysing, the pacing and writing at 6am, truth be told it tends to be a very productive period for me, and I end up losing a ton of weight because I lose my appetite, but it also tends to be pretty crap for my nerves.
I want some peace, I need some perspecive, some space; I need the eye.
During Hurricane Andrew, the scientists at FIU that were studying the storm got a chance to head outside in the middle of the madness when te eye passed. According to what I´ve heard, the eye of a hurricane is a palce of peace, one of complete tranquility and where, except for the debauchery that has already occured, it seems like there is no storm at all.
I am currently goin around and around in circles, caught in the middle of the craziness and I am searching for the eye. A point of clarity and a haven away from what seems to be only craziness. They call it the eye for a reason, maybe it´s because, when you´re in the middle of it you can see things much more clearly. They should probably change the name to the All Seeing Eye of the storm.
Can you imagine? If people throught that there were answers to their deepest queries in the eye on hurricanes we could make a furtune in Florida and the rest of the Carribbean. People would flock from all over the world simply to come and stand in the eye of the storm.
It would be like religion, or the afterlife, a possible answer to questions that plague your existence. We would make a fortune, it would probably solve the lack of tourism problem in South Florida as, due to the high risk and availability fo the situation, we could charge a mint, like going into space!
We must think on this further.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Searching for a shoe horn
Do you remember the day when you realized that you became too big to do something you used to do? Do you remember those little rides outside of shops that you put a coin in and moves back and forth? Granted, these were not the most exciting thing in the world, you didn’t go anywhere and generally, the machines don’t work as well as they should. But it didn’t matter what shape they were in, as long as they worked, and in that moment, you were an astronaut heading toward the moon, a cowboy on a horse or even a sidekick to your favorite character.
Yesterday I saw a kid who was trying to get into a little automated helicopter, but he was too big. First he tried to get his legs in and then his chest and head, but he realized that his chest wouldn’t bend in the way that he needed, so he would have to take another approach. He got out and then tried it the other way. I was walking by, but my gaze remained stuck to this child, I felt sad.
For me, it was the swing set in the backyard of my grandmother’s house. I loved that set; it was my own private Disneyland, except I didn’t have to go anywhere.
When I was little, my life was divided between two places: Madrid during the school terms and Miami three times a year during vacation. There were many months in between my visits to Miami. One summer, I went to swing on the swing sets and they began to come off the floor. I was too big for it. I had superseded the weight limit and was no longer able to swing on the set. Still, for a couple of years after that, I tried to compromise with the swing set. I sat on it gingerly and swung low so as to not cause it to fall over. It eventually went to my smaller cousins and I was no longer allowed to go on it.
I mourned the loss of the swing set, my swing set, and I resented my cousins for being small enough to play on them, I hated myself for being a big and fat kid. The swing set was an obvious life change. One day I was just too big. But what happens to those things that change so gradually that you do not realize how it has changed until everything is different.
A child’s education (generally) is structured as a construction-deconstruction model. The child is taught the strictest moral and ethical code by which to live by and then is sent out and allowed to have life, through experience and personal error, to teach them that these principles are nothing but an utopist model that is impossible to live by successfully in this society without being an outcast.
Black and white and right and wrong have slowly changed in their definitions as the years have gone by. You would think that the relaxing of these strict codes has made things like decisions and life easier to live with, that would be an incorrect assumption. When things were straight forward, at least it was easier to know what you could and could not do. You could blame the outcome of events on rules or other people, the things you actually did do were the things that you were supposed to do, the right foot followed the left foot and vice versa.
My principles when I was 8 were as follows: lying is always wrong; cheating is always wrong; drinking is always wrong; drugs are always wrong; my mother is always right; my teachers know everything; death is something that happens to old people; the doctor can always cure you when you are sick. Good people go to heaven, bad people go to hell.
My principles now: lying well, that depends, will it hurt anyone? How big is the lie? Will one small lie benefit many people?; cheating, well, you would have to analyze the relationship and not judge people’s circumstances, you never know what happens behind closed doors; drinking, am I driving?; drugs, who didn’t go to college?; my mother can be wrong… sometimes a lot; I have outgrown some of my teachers, they can no longer teach me anything new, need new teachers, teachers come in different forms and not all have blackboards; cancer exists, it is not curable, people die, we don’t know where it comes from, 90% of activities give you cancer. Cancer is not the only thing; there is HPV, AIDS, MS, and NMD… no cures yet. I’m not sure there is a heaven, but I have met a lot of “good” people and heaven seems like a very self righteous and boring place, I’ll be in hell at the bar with Danny. OR maybe I’ll reincarnate, or maybe I’ll ascend to the next plane or maybe Mars or maybe…
What shades my blacks, whites and grays are also depend on the day. At the core I’m still very black and white, very yes or no, very do it or don’t.
Trying to fit new ideas into old principles is a little like trying to fit a size 40 foot into a size 37 foot. You need a stocking, a shoe horn, some stubbornness and a high threshold for pain. Sometimes, it’s hard to realize that you need new shoes; they can even be the same model, just a bigger size because you have more to fit into them.
I also used to have these green shoes in the shape of pigs that I loved. I didn’t care that they would color my feet green and that I couldn’t get it off for days. I kind of still wish that I could fit into those shoes again, and it was a sad day when my enormous elephant feet became too big to go into them.
As I got older, I had to let go of things that I did and thought of as a child. I still have a hard time letting go, I yearn for the world that I saw as more black and white and right and wrong; standing in my pig shoes. But when you start walking through life, you realize that you need variety and that if you walk long enough, your feet change and grow and you need new shoes that fit your feet better.
When the world gets hard and tiring, when you don’t know if you’re walking in the right direction or if you are making the right decisions, sometimes all you want to do is get a big shoehorn, stuff your feet into your old shoes and ride the horsy outside the Chinese shop on the street. Then you keep walking and you see a pair of sequined stiletto heels and a coffee shop, and life is not so hard anymore.
Yesterday I saw a kid who was trying to get into a little automated helicopter, but he was too big. First he tried to get his legs in and then his chest and head, but he realized that his chest wouldn’t bend in the way that he needed, so he would have to take another approach. He got out and then tried it the other way. I was walking by, but my gaze remained stuck to this child, I felt sad.
For me, it was the swing set in the backyard of my grandmother’s house. I loved that set; it was my own private Disneyland, except I didn’t have to go anywhere.
When I was little, my life was divided between two places: Madrid during the school terms and Miami three times a year during vacation. There were many months in between my visits to Miami. One summer, I went to swing on the swing sets and they began to come off the floor. I was too big for it. I had superseded the weight limit and was no longer able to swing on the set. Still, for a couple of years after that, I tried to compromise with the swing set. I sat on it gingerly and swung low so as to not cause it to fall over. It eventually went to my smaller cousins and I was no longer allowed to go on it.
I mourned the loss of the swing set, my swing set, and I resented my cousins for being small enough to play on them, I hated myself for being a big and fat kid. The swing set was an obvious life change. One day I was just too big. But what happens to those things that change so gradually that you do not realize how it has changed until everything is different.
A child’s education (generally) is structured as a construction-deconstruction model. The child is taught the strictest moral and ethical code by which to live by and then is sent out and allowed to have life, through experience and personal error, to teach them that these principles are nothing but an utopist model that is impossible to live by successfully in this society without being an outcast.
Black and white and right and wrong have slowly changed in their definitions as the years have gone by. You would think that the relaxing of these strict codes has made things like decisions and life easier to live with, that would be an incorrect assumption. When things were straight forward, at least it was easier to know what you could and could not do. You could blame the outcome of events on rules or other people, the things you actually did do were the things that you were supposed to do, the right foot followed the left foot and vice versa.
My principles when I was 8 were as follows: lying is always wrong; cheating is always wrong; drinking is always wrong; drugs are always wrong; my mother is always right; my teachers know everything; death is something that happens to old people; the doctor can always cure you when you are sick. Good people go to heaven, bad people go to hell.
My principles now: lying well, that depends, will it hurt anyone? How big is the lie? Will one small lie benefit many people?; cheating, well, you would have to analyze the relationship and not judge people’s circumstances, you never know what happens behind closed doors; drinking, am I driving?; drugs, who didn’t go to college?; my mother can be wrong… sometimes a lot; I have outgrown some of my teachers, they can no longer teach me anything new, need new teachers, teachers come in different forms and not all have blackboards; cancer exists, it is not curable, people die, we don’t know where it comes from, 90% of activities give you cancer. Cancer is not the only thing; there is HPV, AIDS, MS, and NMD… no cures yet. I’m not sure there is a heaven, but I have met a lot of “good” people and heaven seems like a very self righteous and boring place, I’ll be in hell at the bar with Danny. OR maybe I’ll reincarnate, or maybe I’ll ascend to the next plane or maybe Mars or maybe…
What shades my blacks, whites and grays are also depend on the day. At the core I’m still very black and white, very yes or no, very do it or don’t.
Trying to fit new ideas into old principles is a little like trying to fit a size 40 foot into a size 37 foot. You need a stocking, a shoe horn, some stubbornness and a high threshold for pain. Sometimes, it’s hard to realize that you need new shoes; they can even be the same model, just a bigger size because you have more to fit into them.
I also used to have these green shoes in the shape of pigs that I loved. I didn’t care that they would color my feet green and that I couldn’t get it off for days. I kind of still wish that I could fit into those shoes again, and it was a sad day when my enormous elephant feet became too big to go into them.
As I got older, I had to let go of things that I did and thought of as a child. I still have a hard time letting go, I yearn for the world that I saw as more black and white and right and wrong; standing in my pig shoes. But when you start walking through life, you realize that you need variety and that if you walk long enough, your feet change and grow and you need new shoes that fit your feet better.
When the world gets hard and tiring, when you don’t know if you’re walking in the right direction or if you are making the right decisions, sometimes all you want to do is get a big shoehorn, stuff your feet into your old shoes and ride the horsy outside the Chinese shop on the street. Then you keep walking and you see a pair of sequined stiletto heels and a coffee shop, and life is not so hard anymore.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Searching for longing
When I was growing up, I spent most of my life away from a a person that I loved very much. Let me explain. When I was one year old, my parents got a divorce and my mother and I moved to Madrid, Spain for 10 years.
My life was always split in half. When I was in Madrid, I was away from 80% of my family. When I was in Miami, I was away from the people that made up my everyday life. I think, that for this reason I created an unconscious mechanism that impedes me from missing or longing for people. In general, wherever I am is where my life is.
I have always known about this aspect of my personality, although I believes that it only applied when I was away for long period of time spanning months. I have come to realize of late that it is something that applies to all moments in my life: I don´t miss people.
It is easy to assume that because i don´t miss people I may not love or care about them. That would be a misconception. I love the people in my life very much, think of them often and take the things that they have taught me and apply them in my daily life no matter where I am, but I don´t long for them.
There is the odd moment where I will be down and need one person for one quality they possess or another. I long for my mother because she always makes me feel like there is no problem. My dad because he heslps my analytical mind. My grandfather for his firmness. My Godfather for his ass-kicking abilities... each person in my life pushes me in one direction in my life and it is the relationship that is lacking for me at times.
But this week at Pueblo Ingles I have come to the conclusion that my inability for longing is actually one component of a larger quality that I possess: the ability to instantly adapt to my present situation. I could probably move to Pueblo Ingles for a period of time and be perfectly happy here. I could have done the same thing in the Camino, when I am in Madrid, that is my life.
The thing is, I don´t undertand this quality about myself. I have rarely thought that I am a loner. I have always considered that I need to have my circle of loved ones close at hand, but now I am starting to wonder is this is a misconception that I had about myself.
In any case, this quality is probably one that will come in handy as I am out wondering around the world.
My life was always split in half. When I was in Madrid, I was away from 80% of my family. When I was in Miami, I was away from the people that made up my everyday life. I think, that for this reason I created an unconscious mechanism that impedes me from missing or longing for people. In general, wherever I am is where my life is.
I have always known about this aspect of my personality, although I believes that it only applied when I was away for long period of time spanning months. I have come to realize of late that it is something that applies to all moments in my life: I don´t miss people.
It is easy to assume that because i don´t miss people I may not love or care about them. That would be a misconception. I love the people in my life very much, think of them often and take the things that they have taught me and apply them in my daily life no matter where I am, but I don´t long for them.
There is the odd moment where I will be down and need one person for one quality they possess or another. I long for my mother because she always makes me feel like there is no problem. My dad because he heslps my analytical mind. My grandfather for his firmness. My Godfather for his ass-kicking abilities... each person in my life pushes me in one direction in my life and it is the relationship that is lacking for me at times.
But this week at Pueblo Ingles I have come to the conclusion that my inability for longing is actually one component of a larger quality that I possess: the ability to instantly adapt to my present situation. I could probably move to Pueblo Ingles for a period of time and be perfectly happy here. I could have done the same thing in the Camino, when I am in Madrid, that is my life.
The thing is, I don´t undertand this quality about myself. I have rarely thought that I am a loner. I have always considered that I need to have my circle of loved ones close at hand, but now I am starting to wonder is this is a misconception that I had about myself.
In any case, this quality is probably one that will come in handy as I am out wondering around the world.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Searching for confidence
I have a wry and mean sense of humor. I have always said (and I believe) that I simply say out loud what most people are simply too afraid or too kind to say. But I have been thinking a lot these past two days that it is simply a shield that I have set up through the years to mask my insecurity.
I am very insecure. I am always afraid that people don’t love me, that people don’t like me and that I am not worthy of being loved. I walk on a road that is paved with egg shells and I am in constant fear that something I say or do will turn someone’s opinion on me and that therefore they will stop caring for me.
Some days it doesn’t even cross my mind. While I was on the Camino, I was fine. I wasn’t constantly second guessing myself and wondering about people. I guess maybe it was because inside I knew that these people that I met were passing. The people that I met I might not ever meet again, so if they didn’t like me, then that was fine. When I got back, I innocently thought that all of that was behind me, that somewhere along my path I had shed my insecurities and that I was free from all the things that had weighed me down. In order for that to happen I think I might have to be on the Camino for a very, very long time, until perhaps I became someone else completely.
It’s so easy to be at ease when you are away from the real world; away from everything that counts. I have come back and all the fears that had temporarily taken vacation have come back, with their luggage intact. They have come back rested and with Hawaiian shirts on, ready to get back to work, eating at me slowly and with newfound zeal.
I think I might be this way because somewhere, sometime, I decided that I wasn’t worthy of love. I don’t believe I’m worthy of anyone’s love. The weird thing is that I am capable of admitting these things about my personality, but I have no idea how to fix them.
I have been told throughout my life that I am someone who is very easy to love. Every time I have been told this, I secretly wonder what the person that has said this has been smoking. What, I wonder, could these people see in me that would make them think that I am easy to love. I always chalk it up to the fact that they don’t really know me on the inside.
I don’t feel accomplished. I don’t feel like the things that I have done in my life amount to much, and I always think that I could have done so much more. When my mother or people that I know tell me that I have done great things I think that it is simply that I have painted a pretty picture for them to look at and that they are all fooled. The worst part is that with that belief comes a fear that one day I will be discovered as a fraud.
Talent, beauty, intelligence, these are all things that I am praised with but when I look in the mirror I just don’t see them. When I am feeling brave, I sit in front of the mirror searching for these things and some days I can’t find them.
I have heard that there is this exercise that you can do in order to see if you are happy with yourself: sit in front of a mirror, with no music and no one else in the room and stare at yourself for one minute, if you cannot do this then you are not happy with yourself. I am not sure if I have ever done this, but it is something that I should probably try.
A few weeks ago, a friend of mine asked me why it was that I talked about all the darker sides of my personality, bad things that had happened to me throughout my life and things that I felt I was afflicted with. He thought that I was a person who was plagued with bad things. He comes from a culture where you don’t talk about the bad things and this way they simply don’t exist.
If I talk about my dark moments and my dark sides it is because I believe: “Guerra avisada no mata soldados.” This means that wars that have been announced don’t kill soldiers. So maybe if I take my fears and my weaknesses and put them out there then perhaps at least they don’t come behind and surprise me.
Tomorrow is my best friend Sophie’s wedding. She and her husband to be, Andy, are so made for each other that being around them is refreshing and wonderful. They don’t stress, they don’t worry and they are two of the most secure people I have ever met in my life. I guess in the process, I have found myself in front of a big mirror and am wondering why it is that I am not more secure within myself.
When I look at myself all I see is what is wrong. And the funny thing is that I am not a glass-half-empty kind of gal. When a problem comes my way I usually attack it with all I’ve got and have faith that I will get through it. So why don’t I have as much faith in my attributes as I do in my resolve?
I guess I wear that sentiment on my sleeve. It’s a funny thing really because sometimes I will have deep conversation with people I have never met and a comment which comes to me after a conversation is that I am too hard on myself; people that know me well say that too.
This kind of insecurity would not go away if I was to climb Mt. Everest, own my own Fortune 500 Company, have a beautiful and healthy family and never had to worry about money again in my life. I wonder at what moment I convinced myself that I wasn’t worthy of love or that I shouldn’t be liked. I am sometimes surprised when certain members of my friends or family tell me that they miss me or that they think I’m great. I many times wish that I could share that sentiment.
Though I feel very alone in this feeling that I have, I think maybe lots of people feel this way sometimes, there is this very cheesy movie which has a line that the main character repeats to himself all the time “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough and gosh darn it, people like me.” I sometimes think that I should tattoo this on my forehead (backwards obviously) so that every time I look at the mirror I remember these things, but then, a tattoo on my forehead would be very unattractive and the simple fact of the tattoo would not take away the feelings inside.
I guess for now I will just have to practice the “fake it ‘til you make it” technique. If I simply tell myself that I am good enough, that I am smart enough and that people really do love me, maybe one day I will actually believe it.
I am very insecure. I am always afraid that people don’t love me, that people don’t like me and that I am not worthy of being loved. I walk on a road that is paved with egg shells and I am in constant fear that something I say or do will turn someone’s opinion on me and that therefore they will stop caring for me.
Some days it doesn’t even cross my mind. While I was on the Camino, I was fine. I wasn’t constantly second guessing myself and wondering about people. I guess maybe it was because inside I knew that these people that I met were passing. The people that I met I might not ever meet again, so if they didn’t like me, then that was fine. When I got back, I innocently thought that all of that was behind me, that somewhere along my path I had shed my insecurities and that I was free from all the things that had weighed me down. In order for that to happen I think I might have to be on the Camino for a very, very long time, until perhaps I became someone else completely.
It’s so easy to be at ease when you are away from the real world; away from everything that counts. I have come back and all the fears that had temporarily taken vacation have come back, with their luggage intact. They have come back rested and with Hawaiian shirts on, ready to get back to work, eating at me slowly and with newfound zeal.
I think I might be this way because somewhere, sometime, I decided that I wasn’t worthy of love. I don’t believe I’m worthy of anyone’s love. The weird thing is that I am capable of admitting these things about my personality, but I have no idea how to fix them.
I have been told throughout my life that I am someone who is very easy to love. Every time I have been told this, I secretly wonder what the person that has said this has been smoking. What, I wonder, could these people see in me that would make them think that I am easy to love. I always chalk it up to the fact that they don’t really know me on the inside.
I don’t feel accomplished. I don’t feel like the things that I have done in my life amount to much, and I always think that I could have done so much more. When my mother or people that I know tell me that I have done great things I think that it is simply that I have painted a pretty picture for them to look at and that they are all fooled. The worst part is that with that belief comes a fear that one day I will be discovered as a fraud.
Talent, beauty, intelligence, these are all things that I am praised with but when I look in the mirror I just don’t see them. When I am feeling brave, I sit in front of the mirror searching for these things and some days I can’t find them.
I have heard that there is this exercise that you can do in order to see if you are happy with yourself: sit in front of a mirror, with no music and no one else in the room and stare at yourself for one minute, if you cannot do this then you are not happy with yourself. I am not sure if I have ever done this, but it is something that I should probably try.
A few weeks ago, a friend of mine asked me why it was that I talked about all the darker sides of my personality, bad things that had happened to me throughout my life and things that I felt I was afflicted with. He thought that I was a person who was plagued with bad things. He comes from a culture where you don’t talk about the bad things and this way they simply don’t exist.
If I talk about my dark moments and my dark sides it is because I believe: “Guerra avisada no mata soldados.” This means that wars that have been announced don’t kill soldiers. So maybe if I take my fears and my weaknesses and put them out there then perhaps at least they don’t come behind and surprise me.
Tomorrow is my best friend Sophie’s wedding. She and her husband to be, Andy, are so made for each other that being around them is refreshing and wonderful. They don’t stress, they don’t worry and they are two of the most secure people I have ever met in my life. I guess in the process, I have found myself in front of a big mirror and am wondering why it is that I am not more secure within myself.
When I look at myself all I see is what is wrong. And the funny thing is that I am not a glass-half-empty kind of gal. When a problem comes my way I usually attack it with all I’ve got and have faith that I will get through it. So why don’t I have as much faith in my attributes as I do in my resolve?
I guess I wear that sentiment on my sleeve. It’s a funny thing really because sometimes I will have deep conversation with people I have never met and a comment which comes to me after a conversation is that I am too hard on myself; people that know me well say that too.
This kind of insecurity would not go away if I was to climb Mt. Everest, own my own Fortune 500 Company, have a beautiful and healthy family and never had to worry about money again in my life. I wonder at what moment I convinced myself that I wasn’t worthy of love or that I shouldn’t be liked. I am sometimes surprised when certain members of my friends or family tell me that they miss me or that they think I’m great. I many times wish that I could share that sentiment.
Though I feel very alone in this feeling that I have, I think maybe lots of people feel this way sometimes, there is this very cheesy movie which has a line that the main character repeats to himself all the time “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough and gosh darn it, people like me.” I sometimes think that I should tattoo this on my forehead (backwards obviously) so that every time I look at the mirror I remember these things, but then, a tattoo on my forehead would be very unattractive and the simple fact of the tattoo would not take away the feelings inside.
I guess for now I will just have to practice the “fake it ‘til you make it” technique. If I simply tell myself that I am good enough, that I am smart enough and that people really do love me, maybe one day I will actually believe it.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Searching for the right stuff
My mother tells me that I lead a glamorous life. That I am special and that I am different from the norm. I can’t help it, this is just the way I am, but I don’t always want to be this way. I remember when I was a little girl, always feeling like I didn’t fit in. This situation got worse when I became a teen. Having been raised in a different place I always felt like had missed a few steps growing up and everyone was in on a joke that I wasn’t privy to.
Very little has changed. I still feel like an outsider a lot of the time. The cool part about growing up is that you get to meet more people. You are not stuck to your school or neighborhood. If you don’t fit into the group that you are a part of, you can simply find one that you do fit in. The truth is, no one is that special or that unique, if this was the case, then there would be many, many lonely. There is someone for everyone. By this I don’t mean that there is someone romantically for someone else, but I do mean that there is always someone who gets you. Who doesn’t need you to explain who you are or what you stand for, how you feel or what you believe.
The thing about feeling like you are different, which is not the same as not fitting in, is that sometimes you are very alone in the decisions you make. Sometimes, you make decisions that don’t make sense even to you. That’s where conviction comes in. My conviction waivers very easily when it is put up against the opinions of the people I love. I am very susceptible to other people’s opinions of me.
Strangers I met on the Camino and that I have met throughout my life all end up telling me the same thing after only one conversation with me: you have to stop trying to please other people. The massage therapist in Los Arcos who felt my feet told me the same thing. And I wonder, where the hell does this need to please everyone come from? I think that I place all this expectation on myself and try to make everyone around me happy to the point of taking something away from my own personality.
I know that this is something that I need to stop. I think some time alone is going to be good for me, to observe this tendency in myself. The important thing to realize in order to help in this process is that this situation has very little to with others and everything to do with me. The people who love me are going to love me for me and if they don’t then I don’t need that type of love.
I feel like the most flawed human being in the world at times, and then I get my head on straight and stop giving myself so much importance. I realize that I have flaws, I have deep flaws that run under the skin and that are going to be very difficult to get rid of or work around, but I am willing to try and overcome these things.
Life away from the Camino is a lot harder than I thought. . I think I will be in transition for a while. I am in Madrid. What has made an impression on me more than anything is how little people smile whilst walking along the street. When I go out to run in the mornings in the park by my house I see old men and old women mostly walking their dogs. None of them smile, and when you smile at them they seemed more disturbed than pleased.
I think that if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m due in London tomorrow for my best friend’s wedding I might have put my pack on my back again and walked out of Madrid. There is a Camino route that leaves from Madrid and I might just hop on it when I get back. I realize that some of the times that I said or heard “Buen Camino!” that it was more out of custom than anything, but still, it seemed like a very nice thing to say and hear.
Now I totally understand how and why people do the Camino many times throughout their life. If you every get around to doing at least a bit of it, even if it’s without a pack and only for a week it would be worth your while, there is no experience like it in the world. Nature, the people, the history, the closeness to yourself and also to God, in whatever form you want to see him.
I miss the yellow arrows. Somehow they were always there, pointing me in the right direction, now I’m not so sure, the steps I take and the decisions I make are all up in the air and I’m not sure whether they will land heads or tails. A fellow pilgrim told me once that if you wait long enough, the yellow arrows eventually appear in your life. In the park where I run there are two trees with yellow arrows I take them as symbols for the fact that you can find them anywhere.
The thing about yellow arrows is that in order to find the next one you have to keep walking. Sometimes, time passes and you get worried that you have gone the wrong way, you start doubting yourself and every step you have taken since the last one, but if you have faith and keep walking, the next one eventually appears pointing you in the right direction. You just have to keep walking.
Very little has changed. I still feel like an outsider a lot of the time. The cool part about growing up is that you get to meet more people. You are not stuck to your school or neighborhood. If you don’t fit into the group that you are a part of, you can simply find one that you do fit in. The truth is, no one is that special or that unique, if this was the case, then there would be many, many lonely. There is someone for everyone. By this I don’t mean that there is someone romantically for someone else, but I do mean that there is always someone who gets you. Who doesn’t need you to explain who you are or what you stand for, how you feel or what you believe.
The thing about feeling like you are different, which is not the same as not fitting in, is that sometimes you are very alone in the decisions you make. Sometimes, you make decisions that don’t make sense even to you. That’s where conviction comes in. My conviction waivers very easily when it is put up against the opinions of the people I love. I am very susceptible to other people’s opinions of me.
Strangers I met on the Camino and that I have met throughout my life all end up telling me the same thing after only one conversation with me: you have to stop trying to please other people. The massage therapist in Los Arcos who felt my feet told me the same thing. And I wonder, where the hell does this need to please everyone come from? I think that I place all this expectation on myself and try to make everyone around me happy to the point of taking something away from my own personality.
I know that this is something that I need to stop. I think some time alone is going to be good for me, to observe this tendency in myself. The important thing to realize in order to help in this process is that this situation has very little to with others and everything to do with me. The people who love me are going to love me for me and if they don’t then I don’t need that type of love.
I feel like the most flawed human being in the world at times, and then I get my head on straight and stop giving myself so much importance. I realize that I have flaws, I have deep flaws that run under the skin and that are going to be very difficult to get rid of or work around, but I am willing to try and overcome these things.
Life away from the Camino is a lot harder than I thought. . I think I will be in transition for a while. I am in Madrid. What has made an impression on me more than anything is how little people smile whilst walking along the street. When I go out to run in the mornings in the park by my house I see old men and old women mostly walking their dogs. None of them smile, and when you smile at them they seemed more disturbed than pleased.
I think that if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m due in London tomorrow for my best friend’s wedding I might have put my pack on my back again and walked out of Madrid. There is a Camino route that leaves from Madrid and I might just hop on it when I get back. I realize that some of the times that I said or heard “Buen Camino!” that it was more out of custom than anything, but still, it seemed like a very nice thing to say and hear.
Now I totally understand how and why people do the Camino many times throughout their life. If you every get around to doing at least a bit of it, even if it’s without a pack and only for a week it would be worth your while, there is no experience like it in the world. Nature, the people, the history, the closeness to yourself and also to God, in whatever form you want to see him.
I miss the yellow arrows. Somehow they were always there, pointing me in the right direction, now I’m not so sure, the steps I take and the decisions I make are all up in the air and I’m not sure whether they will land heads or tails. A fellow pilgrim told me once that if you wait long enough, the yellow arrows eventually appear in your life. In the park where I run there are two trees with yellow arrows I take them as symbols for the fact that you can find them anywhere.
The thing about yellow arrows is that in order to find the next one you have to keep walking. Sometimes, time passes and you get worried that you have gone the wrong way, you start doubting yourself and every step you have taken since the last one, but if you have faith and keep walking, the next one eventually appears pointing you in the right direction. You just have to keep walking.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Searching for stillness
Anyone of you who knows me personally knows that I am a "culo inquiteo" (basically that I have ants in my pants). I always need to be doing something and must have something to do. I make lists and all sorts of plans, I make so many plans that it is impossible for most of them to come to fruition, but still, having plans eases my antsiness.
But after I finished the one camino, I am now in another, the path to stillness. This Camino promises to be a harder one, one that will challenge me more than any other could.
It´s my birthday today, and of all days, I never thought that I would get as much pleasure as I have out of a run, cooking and sweeping the floors. I am enjoying it and at the same time going a little bit nuts. I will try to arrange one social thing per day, not very long so that I don´t completely pull out my already thinning hair.
I went to a run today. I´m not all about making resolutions for birthdays and coming years, but I figured if ever there was a goo dplace to start, today was a good time. I was only able to jog for 20 minutes and frankly felt a little disappointed. In my head math (and I´m not good at math to begin with) since I am able to walk for nine hours a day then I should be able to run for at least a third of that time, or at least one 5k all on it´s own. I guess I need to move to Veronicaland where things like this are possible right off the bat.
I´m in an apartment alone. Our place in Madrid is small, sweet and all I need. I went food shopping yesterday and basked in the idea of cooking my own food for the first time in a long time. I made a fruit salad, roasted veggies and and omlette.
I am trying to practice a Buddhist principle that I have heard a lot about, the idea is simply to be present. If you are washing dishes then do just that, don´t wash dishes and make a list in your head of all the other things you ust do. This practice suits people like me well, though it is far from an easy one to achieve.
I went to a psychologist once and after two or three sessions, she determined that there was nothing to be done with me if I wasn´t on mind-calming drugs. As I am intimidated by authority and tend to be very, very polite I didn´t tell her what I later thought she should do with the pills, I simply stopped going. I figured it was taking a lot for me to have enough faith in myself to heal and having someone who had no faith in me to boot was going to be an automatic failed attempt.
I´m not good at being alone. I´m not good at standing still. I can´t run. I lack discipline. These are the things that I am going to try and start correcting. I know it can´t be done in one summer, I know all of this can´t be done in a year even, but I am starting now, this long and crooked path toward what I perceive to be self improvement.
I think the Camino may have not given the the answers I needed, those were not there for me to find. Instead I think Santiago opened my toolbox and showed me that I have all the tools necessary to achieve the things that I want in life. Yes I know (mother, dad, and everyone else reading this) you´ve been saying this for years, but this is not your battle to fight or your book to write, happily and sadly, the only person who can truly achieve this is me.
I can´t guarantee that I won´t go absolutely crazy on days and want to tear my hair out, but those days will pass, and eventually, I will be still.
But after I finished the one camino, I am now in another, the path to stillness. This Camino promises to be a harder one, one that will challenge me more than any other could.
It´s my birthday today, and of all days, I never thought that I would get as much pleasure as I have out of a run, cooking and sweeping the floors. I am enjoying it and at the same time going a little bit nuts. I will try to arrange one social thing per day, not very long so that I don´t completely pull out my already thinning hair.
I went to a run today. I´m not all about making resolutions for birthdays and coming years, but I figured if ever there was a goo dplace to start, today was a good time. I was only able to jog for 20 minutes and frankly felt a little disappointed. In my head math (and I´m not good at math to begin with) since I am able to walk for nine hours a day then I should be able to run for at least a third of that time, or at least one 5k all on it´s own. I guess I need to move to Veronicaland where things like this are possible right off the bat.
I´m in an apartment alone. Our place in Madrid is small, sweet and all I need. I went food shopping yesterday and basked in the idea of cooking my own food for the first time in a long time. I made a fruit salad, roasted veggies and and omlette.
I am trying to practice a Buddhist principle that I have heard a lot about, the idea is simply to be present. If you are washing dishes then do just that, don´t wash dishes and make a list in your head of all the other things you ust do. This practice suits people like me well, though it is far from an easy one to achieve.
I went to a psychologist once and after two or three sessions, she determined that there was nothing to be done with me if I wasn´t on mind-calming drugs. As I am intimidated by authority and tend to be very, very polite I didn´t tell her what I later thought she should do with the pills, I simply stopped going. I figured it was taking a lot for me to have enough faith in myself to heal and having someone who had no faith in me to boot was going to be an automatic failed attempt.
I´m not good at being alone. I´m not good at standing still. I can´t run. I lack discipline. These are the things that I am going to try and start correcting. I know it can´t be done in one summer, I know all of this can´t be done in a year even, but I am starting now, this long and crooked path toward what I perceive to be self improvement.
I think the Camino may have not given the the answers I needed, those were not there for me to find. Instead I think Santiago opened my toolbox and showed me that I have all the tools necessary to achieve the things that I want in life. Yes I know (mother, dad, and everyone else reading this) you´ve been saying this for years, but this is not your battle to fight or your book to write, happily and sadly, the only person who can truly achieve this is me.
I can´t guarantee that I won´t go absolutely crazy on days and want to tear my hair out, but those days will pass, and eventually, I will be still.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Not searching for now, just standing still
As the time passes, I am still in Santiago. I´m not going to Finisterre, not yet at least. I am not sure the words I look for lie at the end of the earth, I think what I need is inside and will come out with time, patience and peace.
Probably one of the most important things I am living at the moment is that I am in the process of learning to accept. This Camino in no way has been what I have expected, at no time. The ending has not been either, to be frank it´s been quite anticlamactic, very commercial and full of people. I would love to go back three weeks ago to where I was mid journey, but I was walking toward something.
I am deciding to feel what I feel, not try to plan things and enjoy what is going on, whether it is seeing the Cathedral from the top of a Ferris wheel, or eating CHinese food for breakfast.
The end of the world sounds like a beautiful idea, but what´s at the end of the world? TO be honest, who cares? I don´t want to know a limit just yet, I don´t want to not keep walking, maybe there is a new beginning at the end of the world, maybe there isn´t. When I was in doubt, I asked Santiago to guide me as to whether I was to go or not, just when it seemed like he wanted me to, he stopped me, through no doing of my own.
I am not sure what my path ahead holds for me, but I welcome the surprise. I look forward to feeling the pain, the glory, the happiness, the sadness and yes, even the imaginary blisters I will have on my feet from walking the next path.
My feet are tired, and I want other things. Walking to the end of the world is just that, nothing more. The answers will just as easily come at a McDOnalds as they would in front of the Atlantic, that is what I have learned on the Camino, that acceptance of the now will clear the brush and show you the path to your truth, which is different for everyone.
Veronica
P.S. When I got to Santiago I bought me a dress and shoes, I guess where some people realize they don´t need to take care of themselves as much, I want to reflect on the outside what I feel on the inside. But if I had to be in pilgrim clothes forever, that would be cool too, I have never felt so beautiful and so wanted. Wanted by women, children, old men and everyone that crosses my path true attraction is something that doesn´t need to be seen through the eyes, it´s felt within.
Probably one of the most important things I am living at the moment is that I am in the process of learning to accept. This Camino in no way has been what I have expected, at no time. The ending has not been either, to be frank it´s been quite anticlamactic, very commercial and full of people. I would love to go back three weeks ago to where I was mid journey, but I was walking toward something.
I am deciding to feel what I feel, not try to plan things and enjoy what is going on, whether it is seeing the Cathedral from the top of a Ferris wheel, or eating CHinese food for breakfast.
The end of the world sounds like a beautiful idea, but what´s at the end of the world? TO be honest, who cares? I don´t want to know a limit just yet, I don´t want to not keep walking, maybe there is a new beginning at the end of the world, maybe there isn´t. When I was in doubt, I asked Santiago to guide me as to whether I was to go or not, just when it seemed like he wanted me to, he stopped me, through no doing of my own.
I am not sure what my path ahead holds for me, but I welcome the surprise. I look forward to feeling the pain, the glory, the happiness, the sadness and yes, even the imaginary blisters I will have on my feet from walking the next path.
My feet are tired, and I want other things. Walking to the end of the world is just that, nothing more. The answers will just as easily come at a McDOnalds as they would in front of the Atlantic, that is what I have learned on the Camino, that acceptance of the now will clear the brush and show you the path to your truth, which is different for everyone.
Veronica
P.S. When I got to Santiago I bought me a dress and shoes, I guess where some people realize they don´t need to take care of themselves as much, I want to reflect on the outside what I feel on the inside. But if I had to be in pilgrim clothes forever, that would be cool too, I have never felt so beautiful and so wanted. Wanted by women, children, old men and everyone that crosses my path true attraction is something that doesn´t need to be seen through the eyes, it´s felt within.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Searching for a feeling
I am not a good receiver of gifts, especially if I like them. I always take long to process things, traumas, occurrences. When I arrived in Santiago yesterday I was in a daze, I´m afraid that daze hasn´t quite passed. There are moments when I feel numb and there are moments when I feel sad. I am sad that I will not get to continue of the Camino.
I understand those who continue walking to Finisterre, and though I might do the same tomorrow morning, it seems like a sorry attempts at holding on to something that is already gone. The saying "the journey is more important than the goal" (or something) must have been talking about the Camino.
In the coming months I´m sure all this blur I have in my head will clear and I will be able to discern one thing from another, right now I just feel sad. I have met so many wonderful people, learned from them and have been able to give them love in return that if I had a valve to measure the love in my body I would be almost on full.
Santiago is a happy place for most, it´s the end of a goal, a triumph, something that they have wanted for so long. I think that for me it started out that way and then became about the journey.
I don´t know how I am feeling yet. I wish I did, I wish I could write this beautiful sonnet, a song, a diatribe, but I have nothing. This trip has been nothing if unexpected, even in this.
Perhaps if I am able to collect my thoughts together I shall write something this afternoon. Now I stand as a writer without words, a creator without feeling and a pilgrim at the end of her road.
I´m not sad. I´m not angry. I´m not happy, excited or scared. I am in Santiago, and that´s it.
I understand those who continue walking to Finisterre, and though I might do the same tomorrow morning, it seems like a sorry attempts at holding on to something that is already gone. The saying "the journey is more important than the goal" (or something) must have been talking about the Camino.
In the coming months I´m sure all this blur I have in my head will clear and I will be able to discern one thing from another, right now I just feel sad. I have met so many wonderful people, learned from them and have been able to give them love in return that if I had a valve to measure the love in my body I would be almost on full.
Santiago is a happy place for most, it´s the end of a goal, a triumph, something that they have wanted for so long. I think that for me it started out that way and then became about the journey.
I don´t know how I am feeling yet. I wish I did, I wish I could write this beautiful sonnet, a song, a diatribe, but I have nothing. This trip has been nothing if unexpected, even in this.
Perhaps if I am able to collect my thoughts together I shall write something this afternoon. Now I stand as a writer without words, a creator without feeling and a pilgrim at the end of her road.
I´m not sad. I´m not angry. I´m not happy, excited or scared. I am in Santiago, and that´s it.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Searching for the instruction manual
My Godmother says that there is no instruction manual for life and that sometimes you make the wrong decision. She´s right. After a few days of disconnect that feel closer to a month I resurface with nothing to say, but I will try to express my feelings through this medium.
The Camino is a blur. I don´t remember any of it at the moment, blisters seem familiar and so do certain names and faces. But when i try to put my finger on anything it´s like trying to look for detail in houses from a bullet train that is crossing a small town. Two days ago I was at the pharmacy and as I was paying I hear a "hello!" when I looked up, I had no idea who the person talking to me was. She asked if I remembered her but i said I didn´t, I must have had a conversation with her at one time because she knew my name was Veronica, I felt very embarrased and ashamed.
I´m not afraid anymore. There was a time when I was afraid of everything, what i chose to do, what i didn´t choose. Too afraid to make the wrong decision on the big things, I simply decided to make smaller ones until something came up. Many things did, but they just led me farther and farther from the things I wanted and more importantly, who I am.
There is an all purpose sentence that i have been hearing all the time and it seems to have seeped in to the point where I found myself repeating it today myself: "it´s the Camino". Something goes wrong "it´s the Camino", something goes right "it´s the Camino", something freaky happens "it´s the Camino". I plan to incorporate this in my daily life and whenever anything happens i will simply turn to people and say "it´s the Camino" at which point they will right me off as either crazy or Buddhist.
I wish life had instructions. I wish that you knew what step you needed to take and where you needed to go, but it doesn´t, and I´m starting to think that I prefer things that way.
I know that I have mentioned New York, London, New Zeland and a bunch of other places as my possible next destinations, but I have no idea whatsoever of where I will end up, and I´m OK with that now.
I have decided that Miami is not for me. Not its rhythm, not its layout, not its lack of mountains or valleys, and you can keep the Everglades.
The love that I have received throught his blog, both from people I know and don´t has been with me every step of the way, telling me it´s OK to be imperfect, it´s OK to not have all the answers, that in the end, it´s OK to just be me.
I thought I had to have all the answers in my life or that i was going to fail miserably and that scared the hell out of me. I was determined to get to Santiago no matter what. But I´m already where I need to be in my life. I´m already in Santiago, and the irony is that I know I´m going to physically get there, and to Finisterre, if I don´t it´s OK because it´s not where I was meant to go, but even if I do, i´ll still have to walk, every day.
I´ve slowed down these past days, and now I want to get back to putting one foot in front of the other, it´s hard to get back into the rhythm, but I realize that I don´t always have to be walking to move forward, that I don´t have to have a direction to get somewhere, that´s it´s OK to take a break, and that no matter how scared of snakes I am, they will not disappear. The snakes are everywhere even inside and it is those snakes that are the scariest. You just keep walking and you push through.
Sometimes I walk quickly and others slowly and sometimes I stop but now I know that no matter what I do or how fast I move, one day I will no longer be able to take a step, I hope that day is a long time away, but until that day I will move at my own pace, to my own tune and on my own path. I hope to see you there, but if I don´t be blessed on your path, because it´s the one you should be on.
The Camino is a blur. I don´t remember any of it at the moment, blisters seem familiar and so do certain names and faces. But when i try to put my finger on anything it´s like trying to look for detail in houses from a bullet train that is crossing a small town. Two days ago I was at the pharmacy and as I was paying I hear a "hello!" when I looked up, I had no idea who the person talking to me was. She asked if I remembered her but i said I didn´t, I must have had a conversation with her at one time because she knew my name was Veronica, I felt very embarrased and ashamed.
I´m not afraid anymore. There was a time when I was afraid of everything, what i chose to do, what i didn´t choose. Too afraid to make the wrong decision on the big things, I simply decided to make smaller ones until something came up. Many things did, but they just led me farther and farther from the things I wanted and more importantly, who I am.
There is an all purpose sentence that i have been hearing all the time and it seems to have seeped in to the point where I found myself repeating it today myself: "it´s the Camino". Something goes wrong "it´s the Camino", something goes right "it´s the Camino", something freaky happens "it´s the Camino". I plan to incorporate this in my daily life and whenever anything happens i will simply turn to people and say "it´s the Camino" at which point they will right me off as either crazy or Buddhist.
I wish life had instructions. I wish that you knew what step you needed to take and where you needed to go, but it doesn´t, and I´m starting to think that I prefer things that way.
I know that I have mentioned New York, London, New Zeland and a bunch of other places as my possible next destinations, but I have no idea whatsoever of where I will end up, and I´m OK with that now.
I have decided that Miami is not for me. Not its rhythm, not its layout, not its lack of mountains or valleys, and you can keep the Everglades.
The love that I have received throught his blog, both from people I know and don´t has been with me every step of the way, telling me it´s OK to be imperfect, it´s OK to not have all the answers, that in the end, it´s OK to just be me.
I thought I had to have all the answers in my life or that i was going to fail miserably and that scared the hell out of me. I was determined to get to Santiago no matter what. But I´m already where I need to be in my life. I´m already in Santiago, and the irony is that I know I´m going to physically get there, and to Finisterre, if I don´t it´s OK because it´s not where I was meant to go, but even if I do, i´ll still have to walk, every day.
I´ve slowed down these past days, and now I want to get back to putting one foot in front of the other, it´s hard to get back into the rhythm, but I realize that I don´t always have to be walking to move forward, that I don´t have to have a direction to get somewhere, that´s it´s OK to take a break, and that no matter how scared of snakes I am, they will not disappear. The snakes are everywhere even inside and it is those snakes that are the scariest. You just keep walking and you push through.
Sometimes I walk quickly and others slowly and sometimes I stop but now I know that no matter what I do or how fast I move, one day I will no longer be able to take a step, I hope that day is a long time away, but until that day I will move at my own pace, to my own tune and on my own path. I hope to see you there, but if I don´t be blessed on your path, because it´s the one you should be on.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Searching for my own path
There are as many reasons for doing the Camino as there are pilgrims. You hear this all the time. While here I have also noticed that there are many ways to do the Camino: on foot, by bike, horse (though I haven´t seen that yet), with your pack on your back, having someone transporting your pack for you to your next destination, in bits, by public transport, with other people, by yourself...
After Burgos there is an area of land called the Meseta. Many pilgrims take a bus from Burgos to Leon or try to walk the way and take a bus for at leat a portion of it. They lady who owns the Ospital de Peregrinos where I stayed in Rabé de las Calzadas told me that skipping the Meseta is a mistake because it is magical. I don´t know if it is magical, it´s certainly cool and for me, has probably been the most significant spiritual bit of the whole journey. The Meseta is where I decided to let go.
I know that I have said this before, but the Camino is like life. There are parts of the Camino that take you through beautiful fields willed with natural paths and native creatures, those are the bits that everyone likes. Now a day, the Camino also takes you through large cities, industrial zones, places that smell like shit, literally, yesterday, one bit was so bad that I thought I might throw up.
I walk the Camino differently than most. I am slow, I do between 18 and 20 kilometers a day. I get distracted when I fly crosses in front of me, an since I walk next to a lot of rivers this happens very often. Some days, like yesterday, the walk was very, very hard. I was tired, my body hurt and the only thing that go me through it was singing children´s songs at the top of my lungs to forget the pain in my body. Sadly, I was 3km away from anything; I´ve never considered hitchiking more seriously in my life.
I received an email a few days ago from a very good friend, among the things he told me, he said "let go and let God". That is what I am trying to do. Today I had to forcemyself to just let go and accept that I had a pace, that my pace was the perfect pace for me and that I should not worry about other people´s paces. Ever since I did that, everything seems to have fallen into place.
I have walked alone for a few days and finally seem to have gotten my wish, maybe more than I have bargained for. I see people form groups of friends and sort of adapt their Camino to stay together with the group, but I have the opposite need. I usually am very complacent with people and follow along with whatever others want to do, I came here to do exactly what I want when I want and so far, I am being pretty successful at it.
It´s hard to explain the position where I am right now. As I walked today I was approached my an older man (in his late 60s or 70s) that asked me if I was alone, having learned my lesson as I will explain in a second, I told him I stopped to go to the bathroom and my friends got ahead of me. He asked where my boyfriend was and when I said home (I am stil slow on the uptake) he said I would not be making love anytime soon. This is the second old man that approaches me to talk to me about sex! The first one was at a cafeteria where I had stopped to get something to eat.
A man in his 70s asked me to join him and having had thus far a great experience with town folk I did, after some pleasant talk, the conversation turned on a note I didn´t like when he said "you look like a veteran" having left my cat of nine tails and thigh-high leather boots at home I had no idea what he was talking about. HE began to talk about sex, and this man was absolutely disgusting. His nails were black underneeth, he must have been 120 years old, he was 4´10, fat and look like he hadn´t showered in days, not to mention he drooled when he ate. He began to describe what he liked to do to women which I will spare you in case you happen to be eating while reading this entry.
Now, assesing the knee to bollocks situation is always an option, but you have to be smart about it. I was a pilgrim walking alone, they know what path you travel on and I didn´t want to put myself in a compromising situation, so I nodded to everything he said, took his number when he offered it and got the hell out as soon as I could. Needless to say I have made a vow of chastity for the next 6 years after the though of what that man said.
After today´s incident, only about 50 maters after I was approached by an older couple who smiled nicely and told me what a wonderful things I was doing, I told them what had just occured and they were outraged. They bought me a "cortado" and we chatted, it put me in the best of moods! They told me about their life story and it was sucha beautiful one that I never wanted to leave. They had been together for 47 years and they hed a child, they had a house in Asturias and one day hopes to do the Camino. EVentually, as the sun was getting stronger, I had to leave, and they walked me toward the Camino, but not before giving me a jar of honey from their very own bee farm!
The lady said it might be too heavy, and it was a big jar, but to me, it looked like she was giving me a large jar of sticky, sweet love. I took the jar of love and felt the added weight in my pack, but happily walked on feeling happy with my latest encounter and having completely forgotten the one before.
Today´s walk was pretty nice and slow paced, it was a short one, only 18k. As I walked into Leon, I saw that my favorite band Estopa is playing here tonght! I thought, "today must really be my lucky day!". You see, I have never ever seen Estopa as they don´t tour the US and they are never where I am in the world. I always miss them by a couple of days, but somehow, they are here, in Leon for one night, and it happened to bethe night before my rest day (I would have gone to see them anyway!).
I don´t know if the events of today have anything to do with my decision to just be accepting this morning, but whereas I got out of bed this morning filled with doubt and fear, I will go to bed tonight with a jar of love and an earfull of great music!
After Burgos there is an area of land called the Meseta. Many pilgrims take a bus from Burgos to Leon or try to walk the way and take a bus for at leat a portion of it. They lady who owns the Ospital de Peregrinos where I stayed in Rabé de las Calzadas told me that skipping the Meseta is a mistake because it is magical. I don´t know if it is magical, it´s certainly cool and for me, has probably been the most significant spiritual bit of the whole journey. The Meseta is where I decided to let go.
I know that I have said this before, but the Camino is like life. There are parts of the Camino that take you through beautiful fields willed with natural paths and native creatures, those are the bits that everyone likes. Now a day, the Camino also takes you through large cities, industrial zones, places that smell like shit, literally, yesterday, one bit was so bad that I thought I might throw up.
I walk the Camino differently than most. I am slow, I do between 18 and 20 kilometers a day. I get distracted when I fly crosses in front of me, an since I walk next to a lot of rivers this happens very often. Some days, like yesterday, the walk was very, very hard. I was tired, my body hurt and the only thing that go me through it was singing children´s songs at the top of my lungs to forget the pain in my body. Sadly, I was 3km away from anything; I´ve never considered hitchiking more seriously in my life.
I received an email a few days ago from a very good friend, among the things he told me, he said "let go and let God". That is what I am trying to do. Today I had to forcemyself to just let go and accept that I had a pace, that my pace was the perfect pace for me and that I should not worry about other people´s paces. Ever since I did that, everything seems to have fallen into place.
I have walked alone for a few days and finally seem to have gotten my wish, maybe more than I have bargained for. I see people form groups of friends and sort of adapt their Camino to stay together with the group, but I have the opposite need. I usually am very complacent with people and follow along with whatever others want to do, I came here to do exactly what I want when I want and so far, I am being pretty successful at it.
It´s hard to explain the position where I am right now. As I walked today I was approached my an older man (in his late 60s or 70s) that asked me if I was alone, having learned my lesson as I will explain in a second, I told him I stopped to go to the bathroom and my friends got ahead of me. He asked where my boyfriend was and when I said home (I am stil slow on the uptake) he said I would not be making love anytime soon. This is the second old man that approaches me to talk to me about sex! The first one was at a cafeteria where I had stopped to get something to eat.
A man in his 70s asked me to join him and having had thus far a great experience with town folk I did, after some pleasant talk, the conversation turned on a note I didn´t like when he said "you look like a veteran" having left my cat of nine tails and thigh-high leather boots at home I had no idea what he was talking about. HE began to talk about sex, and this man was absolutely disgusting. His nails were black underneeth, he must have been 120 years old, he was 4´10, fat and look like he hadn´t showered in days, not to mention he drooled when he ate. He began to describe what he liked to do to women which I will spare you in case you happen to be eating while reading this entry.
Now, assesing the knee to bollocks situation is always an option, but you have to be smart about it. I was a pilgrim walking alone, they know what path you travel on and I didn´t want to put myself in a compromising situation, so I nodded to everything he said, took his number when he offered it and got the hell out as soon as I could. Needless to say I have made a vow of chastity for the next 6 years after the though of what that man said.
After today´s incident, only about 50 maters after I was approached by an older couple who smiled nicely and told me what a wonderful things I was doing, I told them what had just occured and they were outraged. They bought me a "cortado" and we chatted, it put me in the best of moods! They told me about their life story and it was sucha beautiful one that I never wanted to leave. They had been together for 47 years and they hed a child, they had a house in Asturias and one day hopes to do the Camino. EVentually, as the sun was getting stronger, I had to leave, and they walked me toward the Camino, but not before giving me a jar of honey from their very own bee farm!
The lady said it might be too heavy, and it was a big jar, but to me, it looked like she was giving me a large jar of sticky, sweet love. I took the jar of love and felt the added weight in my pack, but happily walked on feeling happy with my latest encounter and having completely forgotten the one before.
Today´s walk was pretty nice and slow paced, it was a short one, only 18k. As I walked into Leon, I saw that my favorite band Estopa is playing here tonght! I thought, "today must really be my lucky day!". You see, I have never ever seen Estopa as they don´t tour the US and they are never where I am in the world. I always miss them by a couple of days, but somehow, they are here, in Leon for one night, and it happened to bethe night before my rest day (I would have gone to see them anyway!).
I don´t know if the events of today have anything to do with my decision to just be accepting this morning, but whereas I got out of bed this morning filled with doubt and fear, I will go to bed tonight with a jar of love and an earfull of great music!
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Searching for forgiveness (a letter to God)
Dear God,
On the Camino they say that pilgrims find enlightenment and that through that we come closer to you. That we find you and that we realize things about ourselves and our lives that were lacking. I have been doing a lot of thinking all these 453 km that I have walked as of today and I have come up with a few things that I need to apologize for, a few things I need to make amends for and a few things that I would like to promise.
I am sorry for every time that I have not taken a set-temperature when I have had the chance. When I get home, I´m going to take hot showers that remain that way all throughout. My pennance is to perform the shower dance on a bi-daily basis where I get in the shower thinking the water is hot only to find that in 10 seconds after I´m in it turns alpine cold, 10 seconds after that it goes hell hot. I must at all times jump in and out of the water trying only to be under the stream during the two seconds in between temperatures where it is lukewarm.
My cuticles know not what I do. It was not their decision to come on the Camino. Please don´t punish them. The poor things they are dried and damaged to the point of tearing and bleeding when I reach into pockets to look for things on the go as I do most of the day. My right thumb is the worst as it is the one that goes into my pocket the most. When I get back, I promise to never scoff at weekly manicures and pedicures, and God, thank you for giving me good, non-smelling feet, I´m not sure I could have delt with both underarm and foot funk all on the same body.
When I get home I promise to put a shrine up to the Degree gods. They have truly saved my life and stopped me from smelling like a rat that rolled around in someone´s morning mouth and died (because I could very easily).
In the future, I will perform weekly rain dances to keep the snails happy. The snail has now become my inner spirit creature as there is no other choice but to admire a creature that carries all of its house on its back. I will prosthelitize the word of the snail and let those who are shopaholics head the warning that they might one day be reincarnated into a snail and have a heavy karma to bear.
I would like to apologize for ever thinking that asphalt was ugly or unappealing. In your wisdom you have had me walk for three weeks on other terrain in order to compare and see the superiority of asphalt. The loose stones that shifted under my shoes and made my feet rub against my socks will never be forgotten. The day-after-the rain mud that sticks your foot to the ground like chewing gum and then remains on your boots, weighing down your legs at the layers dry and stick toone another will always be stuck in my brain. The uphill ascents and the downhill descents will always be the peaks and valleys of the ideas that I ponder. Asphalt #1.
Everyone that comes to my house will have to bow down to the central air and heating systems that we have installed as I will make reverence to those of the houses I visit.
I promise to no longer take my car to drive from one side of the mini mall to the other in solidarity with those who are less fortunate than I and are walking the Camino at that moment.
If you help me through this I promise I will make a monthly Pilgrimage to La Carreta and have me a Palomilla with all the trimmings and I will even have a cafecito to end the meal.
I will always try to carry with me the wonderful Camino custom of always greeting random people on the street, even if you have passed each other 25 times in that day. I will salute the people in Miami with Buen Camino! even at the risk of being thrown into a mental institution and being thought crazy.
That´s all for now.
Veronica
On the Camino they say that pilgrims find enlightenment and that through that we come closer to you. That we find you and that we realize things about ourselves and our lives that were lacking. I have been doing a lot of thinking all these 453 km that I have walked as of today and I have come up with a few things that I need to apologize for, a few things I need to make amends for and a few things that I would like to promise.
I am sorry for every time that I have not taken a set-temperature when I have had the chance. When I get home, I´m going to take hot showers that remain that way all throughout. My pennance is to perform the shower dance on a bi-daily basis where I get in the shower thinking the water is hot only to find that in 10 seconds after I´m in it turns alpine cold, 10 seconds after that it goes hell hot. I must at all times jump in and out of the water trying only to be under the stream during the two seconds in between temperatures where it is lukewarm.
My cuticles know not what I do. It was not their decision to come on the Camino. Please don´t punish them. The poor things they are dried and damaged to the point of tearing and bleeding when I reach into pockets to look for things on the go as I do most of the day. My right thumb is the worst as it is the one that goes into my pocket the most. When I get back, I promise to never scoff at weekly manicures and pedicures, and God, thank you for giving me good, non-smelling feet, I´m not sure I could have delt with both underarm and foot funk all on the same body.
When I get home I promise to put a shrine up to the Degree gods. They have truly saved my life and stopped me from smelling like a rat that rolled around in someone´s morning mouth and died (because I could very easily).
In the future, I will perform weekly rain dances to keep the snails happy. The snail has now become my inner spirit creature as there is no other choice but to admire a creature that carries all of its house on its back. I will prosthelitize the word of the snail and let those who are shopaholics head the warning that they might one day be reincarnated into a snail and have a heavy karma to bear.
I would like to apologize for ever thinking that asphalt was ugly or unappealing. In your wisdom you have had me walk for three weeks on other terrain in order to compare and see the superiority of asphalt. The loose stones that shifted under my shoes and made my feet rub against my socks will never be forgotten. The day-after-the rain mud that sticks your foot to the ground like chewing gum and then remains on your boots, weighing down your legs at the layers dry and stick toone another will always be stuck in my brain. The uphill ascents and the downhill descents will always be the peaks and valleys of the ideas that I ponder. Asphalt #1.
Everyone that comes to my house will have to bow down to the central air and heating systems that we have installed as I will make reverence to those of the houses I visit.
I promise to no longer take my car to drive from one side of the mini mall to the other in solidarity with those who are less fortunate than I and are walking the Camino at that moment.
If you help me through this I promise I will make a monthly Pilgrimage to La Carreta and have me a Palomilla with all the trimmings and I will even have a cafecito to end the meal.
I will always try to carry with me the wonderful Camino custom of always greeting random people on the street, even if you have passed each other 25 times in that day. I will salute the people in Miami with Buen Camino! even at the risk of being thrown into a mental institution and being thought crazy.
That´s all for now.
Veronica
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Searching for patience, and I want it now!
I keep saying that the Camino is to life like a model is to an architect: the smaller version can be picked up examined, flipped over, changed and gives the viewer perspective of the big picture.
Well the longer I am on this Camino, the more perspective I lose, the mose liquid my thoughts become and the more I fear I am losing myself. I try to make decisions and I cannot. I find that five minutes feel like a lifetime and that people I just met feel like fmaily and sometimes friends.
Tonight I had dinner with 5 german-speaking people, only one of which speaks english very well and I couldn´t have felt more welcomed to their table (not to mention the food was delicious).
I used to think that I could think myself through anything. My thinking was: God made me intelligent so that I could lead with my brain and solve problems as they came my way. The problem is, he also gave me a heart, and it seems they are always at odds with one another. Why would God create me in a such a way where parts of me could never see eye to eye and I am always finding myself in conflict?
After the city of Burgos, many pilgrims take a bus to Leon, the next big city to try and avoid the Meseta of Palencia. The Meseta is wide, monotonous and very, very long. There is a path along it that is 18k long and there is nothing on the path. When I say nothing I mean no towns, water or even shade. This is known as the most trying stretch for a pilgrim. There was a Bulgarian lady that arrived at the albergue last night and in that 18k had decided to get a divorce. I thought the 18k wasn´t bad at all, but I have delayed reactions to things.
My grandmother was shot dead when I was 11. It didn´t hit me until almost a year later, when everyone else was at that point, functional again. If I were to classify myself as one of the five senses, I would probably be smell. The nose has an automatic self defense mechanism, when something smells really bad or strong, it shuts down and doesn´t smell anymore. When something impacts me, my brain shuts down, I don´t realize what is happening until time passes and I have had time to process things, this is what had been building since Burgos.
The Meseta Castellana is boring. Well, in comparison to the grandeur of the pyrinees and the beauty of Navarra, it´s nothing special, lots of wide open spaces and blue skies which make you marvel at the beginning, but quickly become as picture perfect and monotonous as you Windows screen saver (which I am now walking through on a regular basis). In addition to being boring, it has become commercial. With the high unemploym,ent rate in the country, everyone has done something to cater to pilgrims. Long gone are the days where a pilgrim has to walk for 40k+ in a day just to get to the next shelter, or have to sleep under a tree (if there is one) surrounded by enormous bugs, iguanas and snakes. I have heard nothing but complaints about this from "old school" pilgrims who say that the Cmaino has lost its soul. That´s ok, I now refer to myself as Pilgrim Light same great smell, burning half the calories.
I would like to propose a counter argument to these pilgrims based on Maslow´s hierarchy of needs. The needs look like our food pyramid, with the most important needs that should be met are food, water, shelter, sexual needs, then safety, love and belonging, self-esteem and then self-actualization. When a pilgrim is in need of one of their most basic needs (food, water, shelter...) that is all they can concentrate on, as would happen to any human. This leaves little time for contemplation.
However, when the pilgrim is simply walking, not hungry, not thirsty, not worrying about shelter or safety, it allows him or her to think... just think. Sometimes the perils that pilgrims must face on the outside pale in comparison to those which they must face in their innermost selves. That, for me is the true pilgrimage, not the blisters, sunburn, dehydration, illness or exhaustion (and though I may not do 40km a day, I´ve have them all thank you!).
I have a very hard shell. It protects me from outside forces like pain, illness and all kinds of weather. But like the boots I had to send back to Madrid, a hard shell may protect you from outside forces, but can´t protect you from the destruction that is going on inside.
I finished the 18k at 3pm, my deamons started knowcking five hours later.
I am currently caught in a web between my head and my heart. It´s like I´m standing over a cliff on a cold breezy day and I can feel the moisture on my face and I´m looking to the other side, wondering if I should try to jump to where I want to go, stay where I am, fall into the nothing or build a bridge. The problem is, I´m a writer not a structural engineer, I don´t know how to build a bridge.
Luckily we are not talking about the Grand Canyon, we are talking about the inner me, deeper, a lot more dangerous, but in the end, territory I have some knowledge in. The Secret tells us that all we have to do is ask the Universe and it will provide. Well..
Dear Universe,
I WANT FUCKING ANSWERS!
Sincerely, Veronica
It´s not that simple. What I need to take is what I am not good at taking: time. I am not a creature of patience. But this is one more lesson Mr. Camino, one more of the many lessons you want me to learn on this journey I have decided to take. I have no idea what I have already learned as it´s all cakemix in my head, gooe and sticky all at the same time.
So it´s time for a verdict:
THE BAD NEWS: Truthfully I´m not sure I can handle everything in my head at the moment.
THE GOOD NEWS: I don´t have to handle everything right now. All I have to handle is my feet, my pack, the sun and the path, and barring a few blisters, I´ve almost got those down.
Well the longer I am on this Camino, the more perspective I lose, the mose liquid my thoughts become and the more I fear I am losing myself. I try to make decisions and I cannot. I find that five minutes feel like a lifetime and that people I just met feel like fmaily and sometimes friends.
Tonight I had dinner with 5 german-speaking people, only one of which speaks english very well and I couldn´t have felt more welcomed to their table (not to mention the food was delicious).
I used to think that I could think myself through anything. My thinking was: God made me intelligent so that I could lead with my brain and solve problems as they came my way. The problem is, he also gave me a heart, and it seems they are always at odds with one another. Why would God create me in a such a way where parts of me could never see eye to eye and I am always finding myself in conflict?
After the city of Burgos, many pilgrims take a bus to Leon, the next big city to try and avoid the Meseta of Palencia. The Meseta is wide, monotonous and very, very long. There is a path along it that is 18k long and there is nothing on the path. When I say nothing I mean no towns, water or even shade. This is known as the most trying stretch for a pilgrim. There was a Bulgarian lady that arrived at the albergue last night and in that 18k had decided to get a divorce. I thought the 18k wasn´t bad at all, but I have delayed reactions to things.
My grandmother was shot dead when I was 11. It didn´t hit me until almost a year later, when everyone else was at that point, functional again. If I were to classify myself as one of the five senses, I would probably be smell. The nose has an automatic self defense mechanism, when something smells really bad or strong, it shuts down and doesn´t smell anymore. When something impacts me, my brain shuts down, I don´t realize what is happening until time passes and I have had time to process things, this is what had been building since Burgos.
The Meseta Castellana is boring. Well, in comparison to the grandeur of the pyrinees and the beauty of Navarra, it´s nothing special, lots of wide open spaces and blue skies which make you marvel at the beginning, but quickly become as picture perfect and monotonous as you Windows screen saver (which I am now walking through on a regular basis). In addition to being boring, it has become commercial. With the high unemploym,ent rate in the country, everyone has done something to cater to pilgrims. Long gone are the days where a pilgrim has to walk for 40k+ in a day just to get to the next shelter, or have to sleep under a tree (if there is one) surrounded by enormous bugs, iguanas and snakes. I have heard nothing but complaints about this from "old school" pilgrims who say that the Cmaino has lost its soul. That´s ok, I now refer to myself as Pilgrim Light same great smell, burning half the calories.
I would like to propose a counter argument to these pilgrims based on Maslow´s hierarchy of needs. The needs look like our food pyramid, with the most important needs that should be met are food, water, shelter, sexual needs, then safety, love and belonging, self-esteem and then self-actualization. When a pilgrim is in need of one of their most basic needs (food, water, shelter...) that is all they can concentrate on, as would happen to any human. This leaves little time for contemplation.
However, when the pilgrim is simply walking, not hungry, not thirsty, not worrying about shelter or safety, it allows him or her to think... just think. Sometimes the perils that pilgrims must face on the outside pale in comparison to those which they must face in their innermost selves. That, for me is the true pilgrimage, not the blisters, sunburn, dehydration, illness or exhaustion (and though I may not do 40km a day, I´ve have them all thank you!).
I have a very hard shell. It protects me from outside forces like pain, illness and all kinds of weather. But like the boots I had to send back to Madrid, a hard shell may protect you from outside forces, but can´t protect you from the destruction that is going on inside.
I finished the 18k at 3pm, my deamons started knowcking five hours later.
I am currently caught in a web between my head and my heart. It´s like I´m standing over a cliff on a cold breezy day and I can feel the moisture on my face and I´m looking to the other side, wondering if I should try to jump to where I want to go, stay where I am, fall into the nothing or build a bridge. The problem is, I´m a writer not a structural engineer, I don´t know how to build a bridge.
Luckily we are not talking about the Grand Canyon, we are talking about the inner me, deeper, a lot more dangerous, but in the end, territory I have some knowledge in. The Secret tells us that all we have to do is ask the Universe and it will provide. Well..
Dear Universe,
I WANT FUCKING ANSWERS!
Sincerely, Veronica
It´s not that simple. What I need to take is what I am not good at taking: time. I am not a creature of patience. But this is one more lesson Mr. Camino, one more of the many lessons you want me to learn on this journey I have decided to take. I have no idea what I have already learned as it´s all cakemix in my head, gooe and sticky all at the same time.
So it´s time for a verdict:
THE BAD NEWS: Truthfully I´m not sure I can handle everything in my head at the moment.
THE GOOD NEWS: I don´t have to handle everything right now. All I have to handle is my feet, my pack, the sun and the path, and barring a few blisters, I´ve almost got those down.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Finding humility
The most common question that goes around on the Camino is "Why?". This inquiry is in reference to the reason why you in particular took this journey, this hard, trying and long journey. I was asked this question yesterday and realized that I don´t really know.
When I left San Juan de Ortega (the stop right before Burgos) I was feeling ill. It was the second day that I was feeling this way, and somehow, I knew that I was brewing an infection. I walked ahead from David who has to go slow due to his tendinitis. I was to get to Burgos earlier and head straight to the doctor. I did alright for the first 20km or so, at which point all my body ached and I stopped to take a drink of water and rest for a moment. Well, that did it, I could no longer walk, my pack, which lately had felt like a feather on my back, now felt like a boulder I had to carry on my frail pain-ridden body.
As I am stubborn as all hell, I tried to gather the strength and energy to finish the path to Burgos on foot. I wanted to be able to tell myself that I had completed the entire Camino on foot, like in the olden days. But I had to level with myself, I could in theory finish by foot, but then I was afraid I would push myself too far and make myself much worse. With pain in my heart and tears in my eyes I walked one more block to the bus stop that would take me into the center of Burgos. I paid the bus driver the fare and silently cried at my weakness, my failure and my lack of stealth.
I thought: I should be made of stronger stuff, my feet, my period, my weak immune system. I must be nothing more than a Cuban American Princess who should never have left home, like my grandmother has told me. I wanted to run off the bus and walk back to where I had taken it, but my body was too weak to even entertain this idea for too long.
Two pilgrims that I had met before got on the bus a couple of stops after me and we together made our way to the Albergue. I checked in and went straight to the doctor, where I was informed that I was suffering from a laryngitis infection. She gave me antibiotics and powerful drugs and ordered that I should rest at least a day. I went back to the albergue and showered, shivering even in this very warm and very modern albergue due to the immense fever that was slowly getting the best of me.
Despite the fact that my hair was so dirty it was stuck to my head, I didn´t wash it, I picked it up in a bun and applied cream to my very warm and red face. and decided there was nothing I could do about my feverish eyes. I got a bite to eat and had my meds. I lied down in bed, a single bed on the fifth floor that is usually reserved for disabled people as this albergue is compliant with all ADA regulations. Since there are no disabled people staying here now, the hospitaleiro allowed David and I to have the single beds, David did not arrive until 4 hours later.
As I was lying down, my fever spiked and my cheeks burned. I satyed in bed most of the evening, except for the moment when my german friends brought me something to eat downstairs.
I barely moved that night, not even the restricting shape of the mummy-like sleeping bad bothered me that night. Usually, I move around so much that the fact that I have to keep my feet tightly together makes me wake up. The next morning Luis the hospitalero allowed us to stay one more night due to my doctor´s note. I was too weak to do much, cold for most of the day but sad because I felt I wasn´t strong enough to do what so many people, older people, were doing so easily.
I am still here two nights later, having taken another day´s rest in order to completely get better before I venture into cold April showers again.
Where I thought I was weak, I am coming to terms with my humanity and realizing that sometimes you need to take a step back in order to appreciate the things that are meant to happen. Yesterday I was asked again why it was that I did the Camino. We were having lunch and I was really missing Cuban warmth. What we call "que te pasen la mano". All I wanted was to lay my head on my mothers legs and have her stroke my hair, in an act that mean that everything was going to be OK and that I was not alone. And then I realized why I was there at that moment.
I have always been a very protected girl. At least I have always known that no matter what happens, I have a safety net underneath me in case I fall. I think that one of the reasons I might have come is to see if I can make it alone. Even thought people have told me that I will never be alone, and I rarely have been on this journey, I didn´t want to even speak to people while I was here, but that was unrealistic.
I was surrounded by people yesterday and nonetheless, by not having anyone to give me a hug, I felt alone. I was not protected, I was not with my people.
The moment passed and after I took a nap I began to feel better. I was again in better spirits and talked to everyone. In the evening, I began to chat with a guy named Daniel. The conversation became very deep, about the meaning of life and our approach to it. Sometime between that conversation and this morning I was humbled, i began to let go and I started to accept that perhaps stopping was something I had to do.
Daniel told me that at one point he simply began to trust that everything would be OK, and that he had faith that it did. He said that at times in his life he has wished to know where he would be in the future, just to know that there was a direction in which he was to travel, but then he said that if he knew what direction he was to take that he would probably run the other way. I recalled a wish that have had many times, I would have loved to flash forward and know that I am going to be OK, that my people are going to be OK, I don´t want to know what difficulties I will have along the way, just that the outcome will be good.
I then realized, that like David, I would probably want to run in a different path, that is just my nature.
David told me that he thought he had enough money to finish and get home, that he wasn´t sure, but that he trusted that he would be fine. He talked about a heart at peace vs a heart at war, and I wondered what the hell I was fighting so hard for.
Sometimes I´m so used to just fighting, for everything, to kick a bad habit, to make a good one, to try harder, to arrive at a chosen destination.
After another long, philosophical breakfast with someone named Nicholas this morning, I went out by myself to walk around the city. Something bizarre happened to me: my mind was quiet. I wasn´t worried about making it to Santiago, about my family, about my boyfriend, about my career, I wasn´t worried about anything. I simply walked around the city and went at the pace of my choosing, walked down to the edge of the river when it called, touched the water to see if it was cold, watched the ducks swim with and against the current, I simply was and I simply am.
I trust I will make it to Santiago, but I don´t know when. I trust that my life will go in the direction it needs to, though I don´t know which. I trust that tomorrow morning, I will wake up and the earth will still exist, but I don´t know that It will. I trust that I will have children one day, but I don´t know how many.
Daniel said that events in nature happen exactly when they are meant to happen, and not a moment sooner, because nature is perfect. The water that flows down a river parts only after it hits a rock, and not before. The water does not see the rock and split itself up in preparation.
I meant to be so prepared for this trip. But no matter how many lists I have made, how many special equipment I bought or how many times I went over the maps, this journey hasn´t been a thing like I had expected. I didn´t expect 16 blisters, I didn´t expect the pain, I didn´t expect the people and I didn´t expect the tears. I have cried so much on this trip I feel more like fountain than a pilgrim.
I have cried at the sight of beauty, at the presence of God, missing my family, missing my boyfriend, at the loss of expectation and at the thought of the unknown ahead, at fear and even about a dead snake I almost stepped on.
There is a song called "You Humble Me Lord". I am not a person who is prone to outwardly admitting that I have been humbled, but I feel smaller and more human every day. I have always wanted to conquer the world in my own way, prove my strength and stand out. I know now that I must first tackle me before I can move on to anything else, and I have a feeling that´s going to be a lifelong project.
But luckily, even in the moments that I try to be alone in order to stand up on my own, life comes back and shows me that it´s much easier to get up in the morning when you have someone to "pasarte la mano" and now I wonder why I would ever want it any other way.
A little bit smaller, but bursting with love, I remain humbly yours,
Veronica
When I left San Juan de Ortega (the stop right before Burgos) I was feeling ill. It was the second day that I was feeling this way, and somehow, I knew that I was brewing an infection. I walked ahead from David who has to go slow due to his tendinitis. I was to get to Burgos earlier and head straight to the doctor. I did alright for the first 20km or so, at which point all my body ached and I stopped to take a drink of water and rest for a moment. Well, that did it, I could no longer walk, my pack, which lately had felt like a feather on my back, now felt like a boulder I had to carry on my frail pain-ridden body.
As I am stubborn as all hell, I tried to gather the strength and energy to finish the path to Burgos on foot. I wanted to be able to tell myself that I had completed the entire Camino on foot, like in the olden days. But I had to level with myself, I could in theory finish by foot, but then I was afraid I would push myself too far and make myself much worse. With pain in my heart and tears in my eyes I walked one more block to the bus stop that would take me into the center of Burgos. I paid the bus driver the fare and silently cried at my weakness, my failure and my lack of stealth.
I thought: I should be made of stronger stuff, my feet, my period, my weak immune system. I must be nothing more than a Cuban American Princess who should never have left home, like my grandmother has told me. I wanted to run off the bus and walk back to where I had taken it, but my body was too weak to even entertain this idea for too long.
Two pilgrims that I had met before got on the bus a couple of stops after me and we together made our way to the Albergue. I checked in and went straight to the doctor, where I was informed that I was suffering from a laryngitis infection. She gave me antibiotics and powerful drugs and ordered that I should rest at least a day. I went back to the albergue and showered, shivering even in this very warm and very modern albergue due to the immense fever that was slowly getting the best of me.
Despite the fact that my hair was so dirty it was stuck to my head, I didn´t wash it, I picked it up in a bun and applied cream to my very warm and red face. and decided there was nothing I could do about my feverish eyes. I got a bite to eat and had my meds. I lied down in bed, a single bed on the fifth floor that is usually reserved for disabled people as this albergue is compliant with all ADA regulations. Since there are no disabled people staying here now, the hospitaleiro allowed David and I to have the single beds, David did not arrive until 4 hours later.
As I was lying down, my fever spiked and my cheeks burned. I satyed in bed most of the evening, except for the moment when my german friends brought me something to eat downstairs.
I barely moved that night, not even the restricting shape of the mummy-like sleeping bad bothered me that night. Usually, I move around so much that the fact that I have to keep my feet tightly together makes me wake up. The next morning Luis the hospitalero allowed us to stay one more night due to my doctor´s note. I was too weak to do much, cold for most of the day but sad because I felt I wasn´t strong enough to do what so many people, older people, were doing so easily.
I am still here two nights later, having taken another day´s rest in order to completely get better before I venture into cold April showers again.
Where I thought I was weak, I am coming to terms with my humanity and realizing that sometimes you need to take a step back in order to appreciate the things that are meant to happen. Yesterday I was asked again why it was that I did the Camino. We were having lunch and I was really missing Cuban warmth. What we call "que te pasen la mano". All I wanted was to lay my head on my mothers legs and have her stroke my hair, in an act that mean that everything was going to be OK and that I was not alone. And then I realized why I was there at that moment.
I have always been a very protected girl. At least I have always known that no matter what happens, I have a safety net underneath me in case I fall. I think that one of the reasons I might have come is to see if I can make it alone. Even thought people have told me that I will never be alone, and I rarely have been on this journey, I didn´t want to even speak to people while I was here, but that was unrealistic.
I was surrounded by people yesterday and nonetheless, by not having anyone to give me a hug, I felt alone. I was not protected, I was not with my people.
The moment passed and after I took a nap I began to feel better. I was again in better spirits and talked to everyone. In the evening, I began to chat with a guy named Daniel. The conversation became very deep, about the meaning of life and our approach to it. Sometime between that conversation and this morning I was humbled, i began to let go and I started to accept that perhaps stopping was something I had to do.
Daniel told me that at one point he simply began to trust that everything would be OK, and that he had faith that it did. He said that at times in his life he has wished to know where he would be in the future, just to know that there was a direction in which he was to travel, but then he said that if he knew what direction he was to take that he would probably run the other way. I recalled a wish that have had many times, I would have loved to flash forward and know that I am going to be OK, that my people are going to be OK, I don´t want to know what difficulties I will have along the way, just that the outcome will be good.
I then realized, that like David, I would probably want to run in a different path, that is just my nature.
David told me that he thought he had enough money to finish and get home, that he wasn´t sure, but that he trusted that he would be fine. He talked about a heart at peace vs a heart at war, and I wondered what the hell I was fighting so hard for.
Sometimes I´m so used to just fighting, for everything, to kick a bad habit, to make a good one, to try harder, to arrive at a chosen destination.
After another long, philosophical breakfast with someone named Nicholas this morning, I went out by myself to walk around the city. Something bizarre happened to me: my mind was quiet. I wasn´t worried about making it to Santiago, about my family, about my boyfriend, about my career, I wasn´t worried about anything. I simply walked around the city and went at the pace of my choosing, walked down to the edge of the river when it called, touched the water to see if it was cold, watched the ducks swim with and against the current, I simply was and I simply am.
I trust I will make it to Santiago, but I don´t know when. I trust that my life will go in the direction it needs to, though I don´t know which. I trust that tomorrow morning, I will wake up and the earth will still exist, but I don´t know that It will. I trust that I will have children one day, but I don´t know how many.
Daniel said that events in nature happen exactly when they are meant to happen, and not a moment sooner, because nature is perfect. The water that flows down a river parts only after it hits a rock, and not before. The water does not see the rock and split itself up in preparation.
I meant to be so prepared for this trip. But no matter how many lists I have made, how many special equipment I bought or how many times I went over the maps, this journey hasn´t been a thing like I had expected. I didn´t expect 16 blisters, I didn´t expect the pain, I didn´t expect the people and I didn´t expect the tears. I have cried so much on this trip I feel more like fountain than a pilgrim.
I have cried at the sight of beauty, at the presence of God, missing my family, missing my boyfriend, at the loss of expectation and at the thought of the unknown ahead, at fear and even about a dead snake I almost stepped on.
There is a song called "You Humble Me Lord". I am not a person who is prone to outwardly admitting that I have been humbled, but I feel smaller and more human every day. I have always wanted to conquer the world in my own way, prove my strength and stand out. I know now that I must first tackle me before I can move on to anything else, and I have a feeling that´s going to be a lifelong project.
But luckily, even in the moments that I try to be alone in order to stand up on my own, life comes back and shows me that it´s much easier to get up in the morning when you have someone to "pasarte la mano" and now I wonder why I would ever want it any other way.
A little bit smaller, but bursting with love, I remain humbly yours,
Veronica
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Searching for the right DNA
I´m in Burgos. To be more precise I´m taking a rest in Burgos as I have a faringitis infection due to the ridiculous changes in temperature we have been having.
As I am on a journey with religious undertones I have been giving a lot of thought to the subject of God. But about two days ago I realized that God or the delegates of the weather must be women. They couldn´t make up their damn minds about the weather! Within a period of 90 minutes we had blistering sun, pouring rain, hail, torrential winds, sun again, more rain, wind... It was awful! I was trying to b so careful as well, I´m sure that and the albergue we stayed in a couple of days ago are what seriously did me in!
I left you last in Najera. I met loads of people there while feeling miserable. I got my period that day and was simply a complete disaster. I burst into tears mid meal and whined about missing my mother and boyfriend and I think poor David didn´t know what to do with himself.
More than recounting a series of events, let me talk to you a little about all the things that you don´t read about on the internet or in the giude books.
1. EVERY PLACE YOU WALK THROUGH IS HISTORICAL: No matter where you go, whether it´s a cross in the middle of the road or a person of interest, everything that you encounter matters. Now, depending upon how you are doing physically will equal the amount of care that goes into it. Most of the time, if you are so tired that you can´t go on but still have 3km to your next albergue and you have blisters and you have tendonitis you don´t give a crap what you are walking by on the road. And forget the times where there is a sign that is indicating a 5k diversion just so you can see a church that no one has been to in 200 years! Trust me only the repeat Camino takers go there (I will get to those later).
2. THE SMALLER THE TOWN THE BIGGER THE CHURCH: You know the Notre Dame cathedral in Paris? It´s got nothing on the one in Los Arcos, Navarra, population: 1277 (real number). There is seating there for everyone in town, all the pilgrims and everyone they´ve ever met! And that´s assuming all the people on question are catholic. Well even if they´re not they are forced to go as curch goers are in need of the body warmth.
3. JUST BECAUSE THERE ARE SHOWERS, DOES NOT MEAN PEOPLE WILL USE THEM. Most pilgrims ask a very simple and obvious question when they first enter an albergue: "¿Hay agua caliente?" more often than not, the answer is yes. We had been forewarned about the albergue in San Juan de Ortega. It is an old monastery that had been converted into a hostel for pilgrims. They have the tradition of serving sopa castellana (garlic soup) to the pilgrims every night t 6:30pm. It would serve them better to allow the pilgrims to bathe in the soup as it would be warmer and smell better than the showers. The water was freezing, but it was a walk in the park compared to the 50- it seemed to be in the bedroom. I put on three blankets plus my sleeping bag and was still trmbling form the cold! I was at this point already getting sick and this just made it much, much worse. I was instructed to go to the bar and have a cognac. I did, and seeing that I am a lightweight, by the time I was finished I was almost dancing. A little while later, an older gentleman said that I needed to have another before bed so that I could sweat out whatever I had. WOW. I am a light weight and two glasses of Cognac almost put me in a coma! I was seeing like 100 pilgrims in the bar when there were only 50. The albergue was so cold and drafty that I didn´t sweat and coupldn´t smell a thing (that´s the plus side).
But forget it! The night before, we had spent the night in Belorado in a very small albergue. It had rained that day. Have you ever smelled wet dog? You know how gross that is? Well imagine wet pilgrim! Everyone´s feet had had a chance to macerate in their wet boots and get all gungy and the albergue was about the size of my bedroom at home so the aroma was concentrated. My friend David actually asked me if getting wet on the road counted as his shower for the day!
4. NO MATTER HOW MANY BLISTER CURES YOU TRY AND REGARDLESS OF THE ORDER, ONLY THE 7TH WILL WORK. I am now the utmost expert on the subject of blisters, well and feet in general. About 45% of our conversations on a daily basis consist of feet, footwear, leg pain, tendonitis, athlete´s foot and a number of other darling subjects. First I was told that blisters should be punctured. Then I found out that they close on their own and fill up again if you keep walking.
Then they told me that I should use the Band-Aid Blister equivalent called Compeed. Compeeds work great! if you are not a pilgrim. They stick to your skin and provide comfor for your already-made blister. But, if you keep walking, all they do is melt and create this gooey muck that sticks to the kin on your blister and consequently makes your sock stick to your foot, so now you have to tear your sock off of your foot and usually rip some skin off along with it.
They also recommend that you run thread through the blister so that it won´t close. Well, depending upon the size and shape of the blister this might work or not.
There is also the option of cutting the skin, which I did which is strictly orbidden by all those of the Blister brigade as the skin underneath stands a bigger chance of getting infected (my pinkies dried just fine thank you!)
There are two gangs in the blister curing world: the Betadine Bandits and the Mercurochrome Mafia. One is completely opposed to the methods of the other and they duke it out whenever they come in contact, though all they do is end up red in the face.
FINALLY, what worked for me is the most awful, terrible cure of all! The massage therapist at Los Arcos gave me a syringe and told me to drain the liquid from my blisters as they appeared and then inject BEtadine into the blister. IT HURTS LIKE A BITCH! There is no blowing, rubbing, kissing or shaking to be done as the fire is inside your skin and will only go away when the intense throbbing takes over. Not to mention that you feel like a complete crack addict as you are sitting on a bunk bed or in a bathroom injecting the spaces between and on your toes. But let me tell you... it works! By the net morning or if you have to do it twice, following evening, the blister is completely dry on the inside and out and it not longer hurts!!!!!!!!!!!!
5. YOU MUST PAY TO SEE CHURCHES NOW. Gone are the days of sanctuary at a church. You must pay to pray! Well not quite. If you are there to see the church then you must pay to walk into the church, as you would a museum. If you are there to pray, you are allowed to walk through a side door where you are incased behind bars or plexi glass, and there you may sit to pray and reflect, usually next to a leper or two. The historical relics and livestock are for paying non-believers damn it!
In Santo Domingo de la Calzada there is a legend:
QUOTE: "SANTO DOMINGO DE LA CALZADA
WHERE THE HEN SANG AFTER BEING ROASTED"
A German family-father, mother and son-on pilgrimage to St. James´ tomb stopped to spend the night at an inn in Santo Domingo. The innkeeper´s daughter fancied the son and propositioned him, but he rejected her advances. Furious at the refusal, she hid some silver vessels in the young man´s bag and notified the authorities of the theft the next morning after the family had left the inn. The boy was promptly arrested, hanged and, as was the custom in the Middle Ages, his body left hanging on the gibbet as warning to others who would commit similar crimes. His parents, meanwhile, continued their sorrowful journey to Santiago.
On their way home again, they once more arrived at Santo Domingo. Approaching the square where their son´s body still hung, they were startled to discover that he was still alive! Their son, calling out from gibbet, hailed them and told them that his life had been spared by Santiago (in some versions it is Santo Domingo who saves the boy), who had kept him alive by supporting his weight the entire time. The astonished parents ran to report the news to the city official, who was just sitting down to eat his lunch when they arrived. Scoffing at their story and unwilling to abandon the table, he replied that their son was as alive as the roasted chickens on his plate. No sooner had he said this than the chickens leapt up, sprouted feathers and flew away cackling! Needless to say, their son was quickly cut down from the gibbet and pardoned of the crime.
Part of the wooden gibbet on which the young man was hanged is preserved in the cathedral, displayed in the transept over Santo Domingo´s tomb. Even more astonishing to visitors unfamiliar with the legend, a live rooster and hen are kept in a pen in a wall in the west transept. Popular legend has it that the rooster and chickens you see in the cage, replaced each month by new birds, are descendants of the original, miraculous pair.
6. THE CAMINO IS MORE ADDICTING THAN CRACK. There are people on the Camino that have done it seven, eight and 10 times! They say that the Camino calls them and they use somethimes all their vacation time in a year simply to do the Camino. I met a 75-year old doctor who had done the Camino 10 times! He said his wife threatened to divorce him, but that Santiago called. And that no matter when he planned to go, that he would end up being called before then to go. He has also saved 3 lived on the Cmaino, one from heat exhaustion, another was a cyclist who had a terrible falla nd was bleeding out, and the last was a man who had a heart attack 10 feet in front of him. I´m sort of glad he´s no longer around me, means he doesn´t need to be so close!
7. YUO DON´T HAVE TO BE CRIME FREE TO BE A PILGRIM. We have spent the last week doing the Camino with a group of convicts who were doing a piece of the Cmaino as a rehabilitation exercise. The arrived in Burgos today and have gone back to the detention center in Palencia. Apparently, it was a very international group as they had a Colombian cook, a Mexican Santero, an Argentinian journalist and a Venezuelan boy toy in the bunch. At first, several people commented that they had read an article about a group of convicts that were doing a piece of el Camino. Then we crossed this group of tourists coming out of Logroño and thought nothing of it. Soon, rumors started to fly and later, David asked one point blank who told him that they were in fact that group. I have to tell you, I have never met a nicer bunch of guys. I asked one point blank if they were the group and he said they weren´t. I then asked him where he was living, he said Palencia (though he was from Venezuela), then I asked about 7 other guys from the group where they lived and they all said Palencia. Can´t keep a good journalist down eh?
8. SPAIN IS GENETICALLY ENGINEERING PILGRIMS. OK seriously! What is it with these men in their 60s who all fly by the 20 and 30-somethings throughout the day. And then when the younger kids get to the hostels we are all hurt and crap and they are pretty much planning a party? I am convinced that Spain genetically engineers these men to come out of pods already int heir 60s and they make them out to be pilgrims! You see, they look like they are wearing boots but in fact they are calluses that are made in the shape of hiking boots. Instead of hair they are actually magnetic compass arrows so they never get lost and their skin is not porous so that they don´t sweat and lose water. I mean seriously! These men look at you and say "you´re tired already? I´ve done 30kms today, and I plan to do 40 after lunch!" I mean seriously!
9. GOD IS THE MOST MAGNIFICENT ARTIST. YEsterday I had a fever, I was tired and all my muscles hurt. But I was surrounded by the most amazingly beautiful nature I could never have imagined existed. My uncle Mark once told me that going to see the Seqoias was the closest thing he had ever witnessed where he felt the presence of God. I now know what he feels like. How ballsy of artists that try to mimic this beauty, because it´s simply impossible., I keep trying to take picture after picture so that, when I arrive home I might be able to share with my friends and family some of what I have seen. I´m afraid I will do it all a disservice as it´s impossible to capture with any lense that is not attached to a retina. I guess even in that, man will always try to mimic God but fall short. Nothing, we could ever build will be so beautiful and perfect.
The beauty of the camino is a drug. I can´t be thankful enough for being surrounded by so much beauty. I thought yesterday that I couldn´t wait to do this again... and I haven´t even finished this time around! I have always said I am a city girl and I am, but nature is too beautiful to pass up forever.
Love,
V
As I am on a journey with religious undertones I have been giving a lot of thought to the subject of God. But about two days ago I realized that God or the delegates of the weather must be women. They couldn´t make up their damn minds about the weather! Within a period of 90 minutes we had blistering sun, pouring rain, hail, torrential winds, sun again, more rain, wind... It was awful! I was trying to b so careful as well, I´m sure that and the albergue we stayed in a couple of days ago are what seriously did me in!
I left you last in Najera. I met loads of people there while feeling miserable. I got my period that day and was simply a complete disaster. I burst into tears mid meal and whined about missing my mother and boyfriend and I think poor David didn´t know what to do with himself.
More than recounting a series of events, let me talk to you a little about all the things that you don´t read about on the internet or in the giude books.
1. EVERY PLACE YOU WALK THROUGH IS HISTORICAL: No matter where you go, whether it´s a cross in the middle of the road or a person of interest, everything that you encounter matters. Now, depending upon how you are doing physically will equal the amount of care that goes into it. Most of the time, if you are so tired that you can´t go on but still have 3km to your next albergue and you have blisters and you have tendonitis you don´t give a crap what you are walking by on the road. And forget the times where there is a sign that is indicating a 5k diversion just so you can see a church that no one has been to in 200 years! Trust me only the repeat Camino takers go there (I will get to those later).
2. THE SMALLER THE TOWN THE BIGGER THE CHURCH: You know the Notre Dame cathedral in Paris? It´s got nothing on the one in Los Arcos, Navarra, population: 1277 (real number). There is seating there for everyone in town, all the pilgrims and everyone they´ve ever met! And that´s assuming all the people on question are catholic. Well even if they´re not they are forced to go as curch goers are in need of the body warmth.
3. JUST BECAUSE THERE ARE SHOWERS, DOES NOT MEAN PEOPLE WILL USE THEM. Most pilgrims ask a very simple and obvious question when they first enter an albergue: "¿Hay agua caliente?" more often than not, the answer is yes. We had been forewarned about the albergue in San Juan de Ortega. It is an old monastery that had been converted into a hostel for pilgrims. They have the tradition of serving sopa castellana (garlic soup) to the pilgrims every night t 6:30pm. It would serve them better to allow the pilgrims to bathe in the soup as it would be warmer and smell better than the showers. The water was freezing, but it was a walk in the park compared to the 50- it seemed to be in the bedroom. I put on three blankets plus my sleeping bag and was still trmbling form the cold! I was at this point already getting sick and this just made it much, much worse. I was instructed to go to the bar and have a cognac. I did, and seeing that I am a lightweight, by the time I was finished I was almost dancing. A little while later, an older gentleman said that I needed to have another before bed so that I could sweat out whatever I had. WOW. I am a light weight and two glasses of Cognac almost put me in a coma! I was seeing like 100 pilgrims in the bar when there were only 50. The albergue was so cold and drafty that I didn´t sweat and coupldn´t smell a thing (that´s the plus side).
But forget it! The night before, we had spent the night in Belorado in a very small albergue. It had rained that day. Have you ever smelled wet dog? You know how gross that is? Well imagine wet pilgrim! Everyone´s feet had had a chance to macerate in their wet boots and get all gungy and the albergue was about the size of my bedroom at home so the aroma was concentrated. My friend David actually asked me if getting wet on the road counted as his shower for the day!
4. NO MATTER HOW MANY BLISTER CURES YOU TRY AND REGARDLESS OF THE ORDER, ONLY THE 7TH WILL WORK. I am now the utmost expert on the subject of blisters, well and feet in general. About 45% of our conversations on a daily basis consist of feet, footwear, leg pain, tendonitis, athlete´s foot and a number of other darling subjects. First I was told that blisters should be punctured. Then I found out that they close on their own and fill up again if you keep walking.
Then they told me that I should use the Band-Aid Blister equivalent called Compeed. Compeeds work great! if you are not a pilgrim. They stick to your skin and provide comfor for your already-made blister. But, if you keep walking, all they do is melt and create this gooey muck that sticks to the kin on your blister and consequently makes your sock stick to your foot, so now you have to tear your sock off of your foot and usually rip some skin off along with it.
They also recommend that you run thread through the blister so that it won´t close. Well, depending upon the size and shape of the blister this might work or not.
There is also the option of cutting the skin, which I did which is strictly orbidden by all those of the Blister brigade as the skin underneath stands a bigger chance of getting infected (my pinkies dried just fine thank you!)
There are two gangs in the blister curing world: the Betadine Bandits and the Mercurochrome Mafia. One is completely opposed to the methods of the other and they duke it out whenever they come in contact, though all they do is end up red in the face.
FINALLY, what worked for me is the most awful, terrible cure of all! The massage therapist at Los Arcos gave me a syringe and told me to drain the liquid from my blisters as they appeared and then inject BEtadine into the blister. IT HURTS LIKE A BITCH! There is no blowing, rubbing, kissing or shaking to be done as the fire is inside your skin and will only go away when the intense throbbing takes over. Not to mention that you feel like a complete crack addict as you are sitting on a bunk bed or in a bathroom injecting the spaces between and on your toes. But let me tell you... it works! By the net morning or if you have to do it twice, following evening, the blister is completely dry on the inside and out and it not longer hurts!!!!!!!!!!!!
5. YOU MUST PAY TO SEE CHURCHES NOW. Gone are the days of sanctuary at a church. You must pay to pray! Well not quite. If you are there to see the church then you must pay to walk into the church, as you would a museum. If you are there to pray, you are allowed to walk through a side door where you are incased behind bars or plexi glass, and there you may sit to pray and reflect, usually next to a leper or two. The historical relics and livestock are for paying non-believers damn it!
In Santo Domingo de la Calzada there is a legend:
QUOTE: "SANTO DOMINGO DE LA CALZADA
WHERE THE HEN SANG AFTER BEING ROASTED"
A German family-father, mother and son-on pilgrimage to St. James´ tomb stopped to spend the night at an inn in Santo Domingo. The innkeeper´s daughter fancied the son and propositioned him, but he rejected her advances. Furious at the refusal, she hid some silver vessels in the young man´s bag and notified the authorities of the theft the next morning after the family had left the inn. The boy was promptly arrested, hanged and, as was the custom in the Middle Ages, his body left hanging on the gibbet as warning to others who would commit similar crimes. His parents, meanwhile, continued their sorrowful journey to Santiago.
On their way home again, they once more arrived at Santo Domingo. Approaching the square where their son´s body still hung, they were startled to discover that he was still alive! Their son, calling out from gibbet, hailed them and told them that his life had been spared by Santiago (in some versions it is Santo Domingo who saves the boy), who had kept him alive by supporting his weight the entire time. The astonished parents ran to report the news to the city official, who was just sitting down to eat his lunch when they arrived. Scoffing at their story and unwilling to abandon the table, he replied that their son was as alive as the roasted chickens on his plate. No sooner had he said this than the chickens leapt up, sprouted feathers and flew away cackling! Needless to say, their son was quickly cut down from the gibbet and pardoned of the crime.
Part of the wooden gibbet on which the young man was hanged is preserved in the cathedral, displayed in the transept over Santo Domingo´s tomb. Even more astonishing to visitors unfamiliar with the legend, a live rooster and hen are kept in a pen in a wall in the west transept. Popular legend has it that the rooster and chickens you see in the cage, replaced each month by new birds, are descendants of the original, miraculous pair.
6. THE CAMINO IS MORE ADDICTING THAN CRACK. There are people on the Camino that have done it seven, eight and 10 times! They say that the Camino calls them and they use somethimes all their vacation time in a year simply to do the Camino. I met a 75-year old doctor who had done the Camino 10 times! He said his wife threatened to divorce him, but that Santiago called. And that no matter when he planned to go, that he would end up being called before then to go. He has also saved 3 lived on the Cmaino, one from heat exhaustion, another was a cyclist who had a terrible falla nd was bleeding out, and the last was a man who had a heart attack 10 feet in front of him. I´m sort of glad he´s no longer around me, means he doesn´t need to be so close!
7. YUO DON´T HAVE TO BE CRIME FREE TO BE A PILGRIM. We have spent the last week doing the Camino with a group of convicts who were doing a piece of the Cmaino as a rehabilitation exercise. The arrived in Burgos today and have gone back to the detention center in Palencia. Apparently, it was a very international group as they had a Colombian cook, a Mexican Santero, an Argentinian journalist and a Venezuelan boy toy in the bunch. At first, several people commented that they had read an article about a group of convicts that were doing a piece of el Camino. Then we crossed this group of tourists coming out of Logroño and thought nothing of it. Soon, rumors started to fly and later, David asked one point blank who told him that they were in fact that group. I have to tell you, I have never met a nicer bunch of guys. I asked one point blank if they were the group and he said they weren´t. I then asked him where he was living, he said Palencia (though he was from Venezuela), then I asked about 7 other guys from the group where they lived and they all said Palencia. Can´t keep a good journalist down eh?
8. SPAIN IS GENETICALLY ENGINEERING PILGRIMS. OK seriously! What is it with these men in their 60s who all fly by the 20 and 30-somethings throughout the day. And then when the younger kids get to the hostels we are all hurt and crap and they are pretty much planning a party? I am convinced that Spain genetically engineers these men to come out of pods already int heir 60s and they make them out to be pilgrims! You see, they look like they are wearing boots but in fact they are calluses that are made in the shape of hiking boots. Instead of hair they are actually magnetic compass arrows so they never get lost and their skin is not porous so that they don´t sweat and lose water. I mean seriously! These men look at you and say "you´re tired already? I´ve done 30kms today, and I plan to do 40 after lunch!" I mean seriously!
9. GOD IS THE MOST MAGNIFICENT ARTIST. YEsterday I had a fever, I was tired and all my muscles hurt. But I was surrounded by the most amazingly beautiful nature I could never have imagined existed. My uncle Mark once told me that going to see the Seqoias was the closest thing he had ever witnessed where he felt the presence of God. I now know what he feels like. How ballsy of artists that try to mimic this beauty, because it´s simply impossible., I keep trying to take picture after picture so that, when I arrive home I might be able to share with my friends and family some of what I have seen. I´m afraid I will do it all a disservice as it´s impossible to capture with any lense that is not attached to a retina. I guess even in that, man will always try to mimic God but fall short. Nothing, we could ever build will be so beautiful and perfect.
The beauty of the camino is a drug. I can´t be thankful enough for being surrounded by so much beauty. I thought yesterday that I couldn´t wait to do this again... and I haven´t even finished this time around! I have always said I am a city girl and I am, but nature is too beautiful to pass up forever.
Love,
V
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Searching for my memories
It´s been almost four days since my last blog entry, and I´ve been trying ever since to organize my thoughts. Love, is somehting that you never know when or where you will find it. By love I am not talking about Eros, romantic love, but love of the person that you cross on the street, of the people you are taking a journey with or even the person you have still to meet.
I am tired. The curse of womanhood is upon me and I´m afraid that between my exhaustion, that and the events since I have last wrote I am utterly exhausted. The prescription of the day will be two benadryl and bed in a bit, after I write and go and get some fruit and stuff for tomorrow.
In Estella, where I last wrote I was in a lot of pain and my blisters weren´t healing, the ones on my pinkies wrapped around my toe and I got pissed so I cut the skin off, good thing too because the lower layers were coming off from being wet for so long. The following day they were half way to dry (yay!).
The following day I said "screw this" and put on my sneakers, immidiately my feet felt much, much better. Although the arches of my feet hurt after a couple of days from the lack of support from my running shoes on the rocky path, my blisters and my impending tendinitis appreciated it.
Los Arcos is a town that for a Pilgrim is a little bit of a liar, after you officially arrive through the town you have to walk straight through it to get to the Albergure, by that time you are so tired that you just want to sit down and yuo don´t care where the hell you do it. I passed, fell behaind and caught up to several friends along the way that day, always wishing one another "Buen Camino!" no matter how many times yu had already wished each other so.
The Hosteliers at the Albergue were a bit strict and angry looking, but my good mood at having arrived early and in better shape than any other day was not to be thwarted. The time I spent walking alone that day (which was most of the way) was pretty good as I got lots of ideas and spent most of the journey singing, much to the delight of passers by, who gave me lots of compliments. I think I spent close to 30 minutes singing a Disney medley as I am a big fan and have a huge repertoire.
I landed in my room and a few minutes later was followed by my new German friend Daniela, who had the bunk above me. We went to lunch and hung out for a bit and had a quiet afternoon. There was a man who came from Logrono to tend to Pilgrim´s feet and give us massages. I happily paid him 15 Euros for a foot massage, he told me I wasn´t drinking enough water and about three other things that I had been suffering from that I figured he couldn´t possibly know. Only my touching my feet, he knew that I had had throat problems as a child, that I had sinus issues and that I hadn´t been to the bathroom in two days. I was floored! How did this man know this about me simply by touching my feet. He then said " you have a hyper sense of responsibility." and then I wanted to know if he had been reading my journal because it couldn´t be so!
He gave me a syringe and a new way of curing my blisters which consists of draining the liquid with a syringe and injecting Betadie in the blister for it to dry. This process is miraculous! It works! And it is PAINFUL AS ALL HELL! You know how when you apply something to cure a cut you can blow on it to relieve the sting? Well by injecting the BEtine in the blister there is no relief to be had! The sting and throbbing is endless, but worth every seocnd of pain as the next morning the blister is almost totally dry!
That night, all the pilgrims had dinner together as this group decided to make us dinner and we all contributed only 3 Euros. Goes to show where you can feed you you can feed two and so forth. The dinner was nice, but what was totally great was that some of the Spanish guys broke out into song after dinner and then we all contributed songs from our own countries. I sang the Guantanamera and Unforgetable. We danced, laughed and had a ball and got to know a lot more people I had seen many times before but hadn´t actually spoken with.
I´m sure you remember about the 75-year-old grandmother I told you about. I was speaking to her granddaughter Melissa Mclaughlin and I found another layer to the grandmother story that was even cooler. It turns out, Melissa just met her grandmother. Melissa was adopted. HEr parents had always said that of melissa wanted to meet her birth parents that that would be cool One day Melissa decided to do just that and found her mother. She said that her mom is a nice lady but that when she met her grandmother she felt and instant connection. They had spoken about three times when her grandmother called her up and told her she was doing an 800km walk (her third, her first had been to Rome) for her 75th birthday and would Melissa like to come so that they could get to know each other. And so they are. Isn´t that just the most inspiring story you have ever heard?
That night when I went to bed, I realized I had no sleeping bag! I had left my sleeping bag in Estella! The meanie hostelier lady gave me a hard time as she didn´t believe I had forgotten it, but then finally gave me a blanket.
The following day, most people walked to Logroño but about 10 of us walked to the town before where our friend Pedro (May - promounced MA-I) is from. He was inviting us all to his culinary society where his parents would make us all paella! A Culinary Society is like a kitchen + dining room that you can cook in and throw parties, they have a wine cellar and the ability to buy the wine in boxes so that it´s cheaper. You bring your food and cook but then there are people there to clean after you, it´s great for people who want to entertain and as in most of Europe live in a small apartment.
During the day, Mai was nice enough to take three of us (Daniela, Christian - both German - and I) to the mall so that I could buy new shoes and a sleeping bag and the guys a couple of things too. I also got a water bottle as the stupid Camel Pack is more of a pain in the ass than it´s worth, it spills, it warms, it bunches up in your pack, and if you don´t put it in right you get no water through your straw!
After all my purchases and going to the post office to send grandpa my boots and sneakers I did and enormous happy dance with Daniela in tow through half the mall (I had promised her after all).
The paella was delicious!!!!!! And we got to try two wines from another region. I tried to pair this one wine with dark chocolate and though it did change the taste, I´m not sure it was as effective as when Danny did it for me. Seeing as I´m sure I got it all wrong. I am not a sommelier after all.
The following day most of us were supposed to do a small stint to Logroño only 11km away but my friend David and I got abandoned and the Germans, the Belges and Mai took off almost 30 kms to Najera.
David and I arrived at Logroño at 11am. The hostel didn´t allow you to leave packs til 12 so we went into a coffee shop about two blocks away. The lady asked us of we wanted to toast with jam and I said that I would please. I asked her to put some ham on it. She looked at me in surpris and said it was a weird combination. I told her about the Elena Ruth sandwich but that I preferred goat cheese, raspberry preserves and turkey grille din a sandwhich. She was so jazzed wiht the idea that as of this morning there is a Veronica´s Sandwich in Logroño. David was tripping out for the rest of the day saying "Dude! You were only in town 10 minutes and they name a sandwich after you?!"
We dumped our sacks and walked around. Logroño is beautiful. I went last year for Pablo and Marta's wedding but as I had a sinus infection, saw very little of it! We went for pinchos, which seems to be David's famous passtime, and saw the sites. When we arrived back at the Albergue 5 hours later there was a huge group waiting for them to open the doors. It is customary for Albergues to open at 1pm for tired pilgrims but I guess in La Rioja they don´t opne til four, which pisses off a lot of exhausted pilgrims. The man in the hostel was awful to a girl and there was a big huff. They had taken our passports at the door and that wasn´t customary either! We didn´t like the scene so we left. The only other hostel was full from the overflow and bad juju so David and I suited up again and walked 12km to the next town.
It was awful. Thinking we hadn´t to walk anymore we had done the tourism thing, had a couple of glasses of wime (I mean it is La Rioja) and were exhausted. Those 12k felt like 21. We got to the next town almost at 10pm. The mosquitoes killed me as it was sunset and upon seeing us, the lady at the hostel told us where we could get warm soup.
We slept OK and saw some friend we knew. Today was kind of hard as our bodies were still recouping form yesterday so upon arrival at the hostel today we decided to take it easy no matter what sites there are to see.
We walked most of today without talking, side by side but as if we didn´t know each other. That´s how it works really. It´s someone you don´t know so there´s no preassure.
Today was a real treat for me in one way. I really appreciated and thought of my friend Danny. As I walked through the vineyards I got to see a bit of the raw material for all the things he´s always talking about. I got to see the nature around the wine that influences the wine´s taste. David is an environmentalist and knows alot about nature so he picked rosemary for us to chew on and lavendar for me to smell, I also saw basil, lemongrass and other things growing on the side of the path just around the vines. So when you taste apple or smell rosemary in a wine, be sure that less than 20 feet from the field there was a tree or a bush.
I cried today from exhaustion and because I missed my boyfriend. But tonight I will sleep well and tomorrow will be another cool day.
with all my love,
V
I am tired. The curse of womanhood is upon me and I´m afraid that between my exhaustion, that and the events since I have last wrote I am utterly exhausted. The prescription of the day will be two benadryl and bed in a bit, after I write and go and get some fruit and stuff for tomorrow.
In Estella, where I last wrote I was in a lot of pain and my blisters weren´t healing, the ones on my pinkies wrapped around my toe and I got pissed so I cut the skin off, good thing too because the lower layers were coming off from being wet for so long. The following day they were half way to dry (yay!).
The following day I said "screw this" and put on my sneakers, immidiately my feet felt much, much better. Although the arches of my feet hurt after a couple of days from the lack of support from my running shoes on the rocky path, my blisters and my impending tendinitis appreciated it.
Los Arcos is a town that for a Pilgrim is a little bit of a liar, after you officially arrive through the town you have to walk straight through it to get to the Albergure, by that time you are so tired that you just want to sit down and yuo don´t care where the hell you do it. I passed, fell behaind and caught up to several friends along the way that day, always wishing one another "Buen Camino!" no matter how many times yu had already wished each other so.
The Hosteliers at the Albergue were a bit strict and angry looking, but my good mood at having arrived early and in better shape than any other day was not to be thwarted. The time I spent walking alone that day (which was most of the way) was pretty good as I got lots of ideas and spent most of the journey singing, much to the delight of passers by, who gave me lots of compliments. I think I spent close to 30 minutes singing a Disney medley as I am a big fan and have a huge repertoire.
I landed in my room and a few minutes later was followed by my new German friend Daniela, who had the bunk above me. We went to lunch and hung out for a bit and had a quiet afternoon. There was a man who came from Logrono to tend to Pilgrim´s feet and give us massages. I happily paid him 15 Euros for a foot massage, he told me I wasn´t drinking enough water and about three other things that I had been suffering from that I figured he couldn´t possibly know. Only my touching my feet, he knew that I had had throat problems as a child, that I had sinus issues and that I hadn´t been to the bathroom in two days. I was floored! How did this man know this about me simply by touching my feet. He then said " you have a hyper sense of responsibility." and then I wanted to know if he had been reading my journal because it couldn´t be so!
He gave me a syringe and a new way of curing my blisters which consists of draining the liquid with a syringe and injecting Betadie in the blister for it to dry. This process is miraculous! It works! And it is PAINFUL AS ALL HELL! You know how when you apply something to cure a cut you can blow on it to relieve the sting? Well by injecting the BEtine in the blister there is no relief to be had! The sting and throbbing is endless, but worth every seocnd of pain as the next morning the blister is almost totally dry!
That night, all the pilgrims had dinner together as this group decided to make us dinner and we all contributed only 3 Euros. Goes to show where you can feed you you can feed two and so forth. The dinner was nice, but what was totally great was that some of the Spanish guys broke out into song after dinner and then we all contributed songs from our own countries. I sang the Guantanamera and Unforgetable. We danced, laughed and had a ball and got to know a lot more people I had seen many times before but hadn´t actually spoken with.
I´m sure you remember about the 75-year-old grandmother I told you about. I was speaking to her granddaughter Melissa Mclaughlin and I found another layer to the grandmother story that was even cooler. It turns out, Melissa just met her grandmother. Melissa was adopted. HEr parents had always said that of melissa wanted to meet her birth parents that that would be cool One day Melissa decided to do just that and found her mother. She said that her mom is a nice lady but that when she met her grandmother she felt and instant connection. They had spoken about three times when her grandmother called her up and told her she was doing an 800km walk (her third, her first had been to Rome) for her 75th birthday and would Melissa like to come so that they could get to know each other. And so they are. Isn´t that just the most inspiring story you have ever heard?
That night when I went to bed, I realized I had no sleeping bag! I had left my sleeping bag in Estella! The meanie hostelier lady gave me a hard time as she didn´t believe I had forgotten it, but then finally gave me a blanket.
The following day, most people walked to Logroño but about 10 of us walked to the town before where our friend Pedro (May - promounced MA-I) is from. He was inviting us all to his culinary society where his parents would make us all paella! A Culinary Society is like a kitchen + dining room that you can cook in and throw parties, they have a wine cellar and the ability to buy the wine in boxes so that it´s cheaper. You bring your food and cook but then there are people there to clean after you, it´s great for people who want to entertain and as in most of Europe live in a small apartment.
During the day, Mai was nice enough to take three of us (Daniela, Christian - both German - and I) to the mall so that I could buy new shoes and a sleeping bag and the guys a couple of things too. I also got a water bottle as the stupid Camel Pack is more of a pain in the ass than it´s worth, it spills, it warms, it bunches up in your pack, and if you don´t put it in right you get no water through your straw!
After all my purchases and going to the post office to send grandpa my boots and sneakers I did and enormous happy dance with Daniela in tow through half the mall (I had promised her after all).
The paella was delicious!!!!!! And we got to try two wines from another region. I tried to pair this one wine with dark chocolate and though it did change the taste, I´m not sure it was as effective as when Danny did it for me. Seeing as I´m sure I got it all wrong. I am not a sommelier after all.
The following day most of us were supposed to do a small stint to Logroño only 11km away but my friend David and I got abandoned and the Germans, the Belges and Mai took off almost 30 kms to Najera.
David and I arrived at Logroño at 11am. The hostel didn´t allow you to leave packs til 12 so we went into a coffee shop about two blocks away. The lady asked us of we wanted to toast with jam and I said that I would please. I asked her to put some ham on it. She looked at me in surpris and said it was a weird combination. I told her about the Elena Ruth sandwich but that I preferred goat cheese, raspberry preserves and turkey grille din a sandwhich. She was so jazzed wiht the idea that as of this morning there is a Veronica´s Sandwich in Logroño. David was tripping out for the rest of the day saying "Dude! You were only in town 10 minutes and they name a sandwich after you?!"
We dumped our sacks and walked around. Logroño is beautiful. I went last year for Pablo and Marta's wedding but as I had a sinus infection, saw very little of it! We went for pinchos, which seems to be David's famous passtime, and saw the sites. When we arrived back at the Albergue 5 hours later there was a huge group waiting for them to open the doors. It is customary for Albergues to open at 1pm for tired pilgrims but I guess in La Rioja they don´t opne til four, which pisses off a lot of exhausted pilgrims. The man in the hostel was awful to a girl and there was a big huff. They had taken our passports at the door and that wasn´t customary either! We didn´t like the scene so we left. The only other hostel was full from the overflow and bad juju so David and I suited up again and walked 12km to the next town.
It was awful. Thinking we hadn´t to walk anymore we had done the tourism thing, had a couple of glasses of wime (I mean it is La Rioja) and were exhausted. Those 12k felt like 21. We got to the next town almost at 10pm. The mosquitoes killed me as it was sunset and upon seeing us, the lady at the hostel told us where we could get warm soup.
We slept OK and saw some friend we knew. Today was kind of hard as our bodies were still recouping form yesterday so upon arrival at the hostel today we decided to take it easy no matter what sites there are to see.
We walked most of today without talking, side by side but as if we didn´t know each other. That´s how it works really. It´s someone you don´t know so there´s no preassure.
Today was a real treat for me in one way. I really appreciated and thought of my friend Danny. As I walked through the vineyards I got to see a bit of the raw material for all the things he´s always talking about. I got to see the nature around the wine that influences the wine´s taste. David is an environmentalist and knows alot about nature so he picked rosemary for us to chew on and lavendar for me to smell, I also saw basil, lemongrass and other things growing on the side of the path just around the vines. So when you taste apple or smell rosemary in a wine, be sure that less than 20 feet from the field there was a tree or a bush.
I cried today from exhaustion and because I missed my boyfriend. But tonight I will sleep well and tomorrow will be another cool day.
with all my love,
V
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Searching for Sherwin Williams
Desperation: When you are willing to risk your life in shark-infested waters in search of freedom. When you steal a piece of bread to stop your children from crying. When you fantacize about going home and throwing away all your worldly posessions because you feel the load on your back will be lighter because of it.
I´m a city girl. It´s becoming more apparent the more I am on this walk. The sun on my skin, the blisters on my feet, the fact that asphault feels like a relief to me when everyone else says that it´s harder to walk on. I wasn´t cut out for this thing, but still, it´s a priviledge to do it and I intend on taking every opportunity I can in order to enjoy it.
At about 10am this morning I was over it. I was done, all that I wanted to do was to take a hot bath, walk into Massage Envy, throw down my credit card and have them massage me til my skin fell off. Today was hard. Not quite as painful as day two had been, but it was certainly the second-hardest day. I almost chucked my boots into a rivine.
The only thing that I bought in person and not therough the internet were my boots. I walked into REI and told the man what I was doing, what the terrain consisted of and what it was all about. He sais he was familiar. He recommended the boots I bought over the nicer-feeling, softer ones, because he said that they would protect my feet from outside peril. What he didn´t say was that they would destroy my feet on the inside in the process.
I am now up to 12 blisters (and that´s not counting the new ones forming under the ones I already have). Somewhere aroung 2pm the pain starts. By 3pm the pain is so bad that the width of my steps decreases by half and I have to take twice as many to get to where I´m going.
But all the people around me are incredibly nice. Everyone is concerned for my feet and gasp whenever they see their state. I figure that before they see them they think I exagerate the condition. So when Ihear gasps of horror, I see that they get why I walked hunched over.
I was going to mail my boots to Madrid, but someone told me there is rain coming and I should keep them at hand. So tomorrow I will try out walking all day in my sneakers and see if that helps.
As I walked, I thought of my old job at the lawfirm, where I would sit all day at my desk and had a paint bucked under my table for when my legs hurt so that I could my feet up. I don´t think anyone in the history of the world has missed a paint bucket, and if they have, it wasn´t as much as I did today.
I look like complete crap in all my pictures, fat, sweaty, red-faced. I don´t think I´ve ever wanted to wear make-up this much in my life. I almost want to make a promise to the patron saint of Cuba and patron of all things girlie that I will fix my hair and put on make up every day, but then I remember that that usually comes with heels... then I change my mind.
I´m a city girl. It´s becoming more apparent the more I am on this walk. The sun on my skin, the blisters on my feet, the fact that asphault feels like a relief to me when everyone else says that it´s harder to walk on. I wasn´t cut out for this thing, but still, it´s a priviledge to do it and I intend on taking every opportunity I can in order to enjoy it.
At about 10am this morning I was over it. I was done, all that I wanted to do was to take a hot bath, walk into Massage Envy, throw down my credit card and have them massage me til my skin fell off. Today was hard. Not quite as painful as day two had been, but it was certainly the second-hardest day. I almost chucked my boots into a rivine.
The only thing that I bought in person and not therough the internet were my boots. I walked into REI and told the man what I was doing, what the terrain consisted of and what it was all about. He sais he was familiar. He recommended the boots I bought over the nicer-feeling, softer ones, because he said that they would protect my feet from outside peril. What he didn´t say was that they would destroy my feet on the inside in the process.
I am now up to 12 blisters (and that´s not counting the new ones forming under the ones I already have). Somewhere aroung 2pm the pain starts. By 3pm the pain is so bad that the width of my steps decreases by half and I have to take twice as many to get to where I´m going.
But all the people around me are incredibly nice. Everyone is concerned for my feet and gasp whenever they see their state. I figure that before they see them they think I exagerate the condition. So when Ihear gasps of horror, I see that they get why I walked hunched over.
I was going to mail my boots to Madrid, but someone told me there is rain coming and I should keep them at hand. So tomorrow I will try out walking all day in my sneakers and see if that helps.
As I walked, I thought of my old job at the lawfirm, where I would sit all day at my desk and had a paint bucked under my table for when my legs hurt so that I could my feet up. I don´t think anyone in the history of the world has missed a paint bucket, and if they have, it wasn´t as much as I did today.
I look like complete crap in all my pictures, fat, sweaty, red-faced. I don´t think I´ve ever wanted to wear make-up this much in my life. I almost want to make a promise to the patron saint of Cuba and patron of all things girlie that I will fix my hair and put on make up every day, but then I remember that that usually comes with heels... then I change my mind.
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