Walking the Way

This may seem a bit random, but with my birthday tomorrow (25 is terrifying) I've been doing some re-evaluating and made some decisions about what I'd like to do with my life by the time I'm 30.  There's the usual suspects like marriage, children, and home ownership, but there's one other thing that's been on my mind in a heavy way for the last few months.

When I was about 12, my dad bought me a book from a used bookstore. He hadn't read it and didn't really know what it was about other than what he read on the back cover but that summary merely told him that his middle school aged daughter would probably like it. At the time I was obsessed with historical fiction (specifically the early English Renaissance/Tudor dynasty but I was also loving ancient Egypt and American Colonial stuff) so he made a good call. 

That was 13 years ago and I still have the book. My copy is worn and tattered and close to falling apart but I still have it. It's the story of a teenaged girl and her betrothed (just returned from the Crusades) whose parents arranged for them to join their estates in order to lend stability to their region (there was also an issue of money). In order to help them bond before their marriage, their priest sends them on Pilgrimage from their home in England, across the English Channel, through France to Paris and then west to Santiago de Compostela in northern Spain. Their journey takes them a few months and (because it is set in the year 1300) they face many obstacles including hunger, injury, injustice, and threatened kidnapping. It's an exciting story about imagining people complexly - especially people we think we know or who we've known a long time - and over the course of the story the two main characters eventually come to view their impending marriage as a way for them to unite their communities and do good for the people they will be responsible for. It's a great story even if - as a Catholic - there are moments that are a teensy bit problematic. Some comments are made that are critical of the Catholic Church which make it obvious that the author does not think highly of Her. (I just reread it and these comments don't feel obvious to me, but I may be biased because I love the story so much.)

Source: Giacomo Cantelli de Vignola, 1696 {{PD-1923}}

In any case, I've read this novel probably close to a dozen times in the years that I've possessed it. I just reread it again about 2 months ago and this is where things get a bit weird.

I finished reading it and was in this kind of book hangover (the kind you get after reading something wherein you're still living and breathing the stories and characters) and I started thinking, I wonder if people still make pilgrimage to Santiago. Spain has been on my bucket list for years anyway, maybe when I finally go someday I'll stop in Santiago... And there the train of thought ended for a while. 

Until it came back when I was babysitting and saw clearly a scallop shell in their seashell collection. This reminded me of the scallop worn by the pilgrims on the road to Santiago. The thought of someday going to Santiago became an internet search that turned into a dream on my Someday-Maybe list.

1896, Author Unknown, Public Domain Image {{PD - 1923}}

There were other little things: scallops for dinner, the feast of St. James the Less (and talk of St. James the Greater) in my Confirmation class, conversations with my mother about the book and how much I still loved it, and so on.

Then. On the drive up the mountain for my sisters' 2nd year Confirmation retreat, I rode with a young man I knew of but didn't know well. We got to talking about our families and family history and it came out that my family ancestry traces back to Spain and that I dream of going there someday. He said Spain is also on his bucket list because of a movie he'd watched recently. The film, he said, was about a man whose son (somewhat estranged) went to Spain and died on his first day there. So the man had to go to Spain to retrieve his son's body and chose to cremate the body. Then he decided to do the walk through Spain that his son had planned, all the way to -- 

Here I interrupted and asked him ecstatically if the movie is about the man walking the Pilgrim's Way to Santiago. We shared a look of awe at God's timing and bringing us together and we got very excited because yes, this film was all about the Camino, and yes, we both had been daydreaming about someday-maybe going on pilgrimage. We spent the next hour of our drive talking about the film and I told him about my book and this shared dream became a strong bonding point for us. 

After the retreat weekend I went home and found the film on Netflix. It's called The Way and stars Martin Sheen and Emilio Estevez and I've watched it 3 times since Christian told me about it and I cry every time. The film tells a complicated story about love, loss, redemption, anger, and how sometimes, grief looks like a really long walk. It is secular but shows reverence for the Pilgrimage and the people along it and the Church and isn't sappy at all. I recommend it. I plan on buying the DVD so I can watch it with my mother. The film was actually inspired - in part - by a book by a man who walked the Way, called Off the Road. I'm currently reading it. While I think the author is a pretentious jackass, the book is pretty good so far.

All of this transpired about 2 months ago and since then I've done lots of research. I've been reading lots and lots of travel sites and doing lots of math and I've been praying about it a great deal.

I think I'm going to Spain in 2 years.

Church of Santiago, Santiago de Compostela, Galicia, Spain. By Vasco Roxo.

Source

I've calculated that it will cost me (at a very rough estimate) about $7,200 to get there, complete my pilgrimage, and get home. Airfare is going to be the most costly part of this adventure and there is also the issue of having at least 1 month's worth of rent and things covered ahead of time because walking the Way (all 500 miles of it) takes about 5 weeks. I'm budgeting 6 because I'll want to spend a couple of days in France getting used to the time difference and then I'll need a few days once home to take care of tidying my house and sleeping and generally recovering.  

All in all, I'm going to have to save about $300-$320 each month if I'm going to head to Spain in May of 2017.  That's my goal: 2 years. Two years to save the money, work out the logistics, dream, plan, and train. Yes, train. My intended path goes from St. Jean-Pied-de-Port in France through northern Spain to Santiago in Galicia. That's just shy of 500 miles. To do that in 35 days (with rest days, of course) I will need to practice walking up to 25 miles each day while carrying a 15 pound backpack. It's a lot more likely that I'll be doing 15-20 miles each day but I'd like to get comfortable walking up to 25 miles a day. I imagine the next two years will be good for my health, as well.

So that's my dream as I turn 25: spend the next 2 years saving and preparing so that within days of my 27th birthday I will be on a plane to Spain (more likely to France then a bus and a train to the Franco-Spanish border but you get the idea). I've made out 24 little envelopes which I intend to fill with cash earned babysitting, house sitting, dog walking, and parts of my paychecks and each will be put into a jar. I've used the image below to decorate the jar as a bit of motivation.  24 months, almost $7,500, and 500 miles. 

I think maybe part of not being afraid of getting older involves taking a very, very long walk.

Some European pilgrims on the road to Santiago de Compostela
by Oula Lehtinen (cropped by me)
Source

Happy birthday to me!

See you in Santiago,

*Author's Note: All the images in this post - with the exception of the purple one - are from Wikimedia Commons and are either in the public domain or used under the GNU Free Documentation License. The original authors have been credited as requested and the Wikimedia source page has been linked to. I have no legal claim to them and make no money from them.*

 

Out of the Darkness

Alright, folks, I've got some big news. I've been kind of secretive for the last year, but I've been looking for a cause. Yes, yes, I'm a Free Hugger, but that's not really a "cause" so much as it's a movement and I don't feel about getting into the discussion of those differences. What I'm saying is, I've found it, and I'm stunned at how perfect it is.

As someone who's been living with diagnosed depression for over 2 years now (not to mention living with it undiagnosed for almost 12 years) and gone through the hospitalization and medication and therapy and blah blah blah, I'm kind of shocked how long it took me to find this organization - especially when I've been directly & indirectly benefiting from their influence for the duration of my treatment.

May I introduce: Out of the Darkness: The Overnight. 18 miles through the streets of San Francisco in one night. We're walking for the people we love who struggle with depression, the ones we've lost to suicide, and every single soul that resists the temptation to give up every day. I cried when I found this, because it reminded me that I am not the only one who struggles and that there is an army of people out there who come together to offer each other support.

SO! I'm taking donations. It costs $1000 to participate as a walker (I even joined a team! Team Death is No Parenthesis - from the e.e. cummings poem) plus the registration fee and airfare to get up to San Francisco in the first place. That said, I've been using my position as the Free Hugs Girl to further my cause. I'm there every Sunday anyway, and I have a modest following already, so I might as well commandeer their assistance. Drumroll!

Day 1 in Claremont and the conclusion of my first week of fundraising has elicited a total of: $54.52!!! I've committed myself to $20 a week and all the change I collect to this project, so the total donations I've received from strangers comes to $30.98, which is still awesome! As soon as I register I'll have an online donor page, and I know some of you have already made pledges to my cause, but every little bit helps! This cause has become so important to me in the last couple of weeks... It's put on by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, which is an organization that supports programs like the Trevor Project, clinics and early-diagnosis centers at universities across America, and various other programs that save lives every single day.

I'll be posting more next week, with an update on my fundraising status and all the ways I'm getting ready for this. I have 14 weeks until the walk, which is June 9-10. Until then, anyone have any fundraising ideas for me???

Stretching these Wings

Hmm... I've been complaining an awful lot these last few days. Granted, it's been a shit-show couple of weeks, and it doesn't look like it'll get any better any time soon, but I had an interesting train of thought a few moments ago.

Languor. Delicious. Luscious. Delectable. What beautiful words to describe the simple act of stretching. I've been lying in bed at my computer for a couple of hours and pushed my laptop off of my lap for a moment to stretch out a bit as I'm still sore from yesterday (babysitting after attempting an old dance routine without stretching = worst idea EVER) and the idea of how delicious a stretch it was occurred to me. I swear I'm turning into a cat.

But it was such a lovely, luscious stretch...

"Do you know what I need? To escape into the mountains, surrounded by tall trees, I will lay on the moss, and breathe in the scent of mushrooms, flowers and wet soil."
~Le'echappee

Yesssss. My escapism is showing again, but this time instead of desperation, it's a sweet longing. I'm not sure how they're different as phrased, but go with it. I want to go back to Europe and wander Munich or Paris. I think I want to give Paris another chance, since the one time I was there was a bit... Well, let's just say we didn't get off on the "right foot." (There's a story there, for later.)

(erroneously attributed to St. Augustine - anyone know the real source?)

I could come up with a reason to run away to Salem again but honestly? I need something more exotic. Salem has become comforting and familiar and I need something just a little bit dangerous. Maybe I'll plan a trip to Turkey - I do so love their music - and see what life brings me in the next few months. Maybe I'll go to Turkey, maybe I'll go to Salem, and maybe (just maybe), I'll end up somewhere a little more exciting than the crawlspace at the back of my closet where I've built a nest for hiding in. Maybe.

But for now, I'll settle for a walk in the park, even though it's almost 11pm. The air will do my brain some good, I think.

Confession

So I have a confession to make, and I'm not proud of it, but I really need to come clean (to all 3 people who read this ever). I folded today. Wait. Let me start from the beginning.

Yesterday I kept thinking about it. I'd concentrate on something and then this would take over my thoughts until I was consumed with it. So last night I set an alarm and this morning I woke up eager and excited and ready. I had breakfast and did some reading, waiting for the right time. But as the minutes ticked by, I could feel it starting. An hour later I woke up on the floor under my kitchen table.

You see, I had planned on going Free Hugging this afternoon in Claremont. Instead I got to spend most of the afternoon recovering from a full-blown panic attack complete with a blackout. I told myself I'd go at noon, which turned into 1pm. By 11:30 I was nauseated and when I stood up to make myself a cup of tea I was so dizzy I instantly had to sit back down. Around 12:20 I started having trouble breathing and couldn't stop shaking and then all of a sudden it was 1:05 and I was under the table with no recollection of having slid out of my chair and onto the floor.

I just re-read that and it makes it sound so much worse than it was. Not that it wasn't an awful experience, but I've had these episodes before. (The blackouts are still kind of scary, though.) I'm just upset - ashamed, really - that I let it take hold of me before I could even get out the door. And I wanted to Hug so badly this week but I let my fucking social anxieties get in the way. Again. Bloody fuck. Sorry. I just feel so weak and stupid about today being completely wasted because of a stupid panic attack that could've been avoided if I'd just forced myself to crawl out the door. Then again, I might have had a worse attack once I'd reached my destination and panic attacks in public are waaaaaaaaay worse than panic attacks in the safety of one's home.

The worst part is I feel like I'm continuing a pattern of self-sabotage. And.. God this is hard to say... It's almost as if part of me wants to be like this. I spend every day fighting back all my dark thoughts and at the end of the day fighting to go to sleep but somehow I can't help thinking that part of me wants to keep my D--------- because it's become such a defining part of who I am now. And then at the same time I'm screaming inside that I want all of this to go away so I can be normal again and go back to school and go on dates and not be constantly fighting all the goddamn time.

In other news, I calculated and have just enough money to buy groceries, put gas in my car and pay back some of the money I owe my mother, but my Uncle doesn't have a filter and eats constantly, I haven't slept properly in over a week because of my grandmother's fucking cat, I'm as lonely as ever and I received a final notice on a delinquent payment for one of my old student loans which I can't afford to pay right now. I'm exhausted from keeping up with housework and my job and my "resolutions" and my brother has applied for (and RECEIVED) a job transfer to be with his precious bitch and is taking his daughter with him. Did I mention this job transfer puts him over AN HOUR AWAY FROM HERE? No? Well consider it mentioned.

“It seemed unreasonable, unfair, that a woman so young and beautiful should be so exhausted. Of course, it was neither unreasonable nor unfair. Exhaustion pays no mind to age or beauty. Like rain and earthquakes and hail and floods." ~ Haruki Marukimi, Dance, Dance, Dance (1994)

This has just turned into a royal fuckup of a week, but really, complaining about it isn't going to make it better. I just don't know what will, though.

Touch

After months (November 20th to January 20th is 2 months, right? God, it feels like so much longer...) of tooling around feeling sorry for myself, I finally have a word for the emotion that's been plaguing me for weeks, and it's a scary one: I'm lonely. Lonely! Me! Can you believe it? Me neither...

I'm starved for attention, affection, and touch. I like to think that I'm comfortable with myself, that I'm not a total attention whore, but... My only real companion these days is a 50 year old man who - while usually very sweet - is far from my ideal conversation partner. I've recently added an adolescent cat to my list of companions, but again: he's a sweetie, but not the best conversationalist.

My uncle is painfully awkward, though we manage to get along. I found earlier, though, while he was (awkwardly) rubbing my shoulder what I've been missing so much. I haven't been touched very much this year. Make whatever sexual innuendos out of that you will, but I'm serious. Ever since I left school the first time and went to the hospital... Ever since that awful night my heart broke for the last time and I spent the night curled up next to An-----, I haven't exactly enjoyed a whole lot of human physical contact. I mean, it's one thing to be sexually frustrated to the point of distraction, but pushed to tears by a simple hand on my shoulder? I'm the fucking Free Hugs Girl for crying out loud! Of course part of why I hug is because I know what it's like to go so long without a comforting touch, but... I'm so, so lonely these days.

I talk to my friends, though. I make the effort to see them and spend time with them. It's just... They're busy living their lives and I'm back to square one with mine. Again. R--- is working two jobs and going to school full time, K---- is studying to get into law school and trying to find a job (and has a family she spends lots of time with), and everyone else isn't exactly local. A lot of it has to do with going from a university setting where I was constantly surrounded by people and the ebb and flow of conversation and then getting dumped into borderline solitary confinement.

And I've been dreaming about HIM again. Simple things, like the two of us sitting on the couch curled up watching a movie, or walking to the beach from his house holding hands. And last week really hurt... I was driving to work, minding my own business, and there was a couple around my age in the car in front of me. At the stop light, the driver leaned across to his girlfriend in the passenger seat and kissed her. I had to pull over because it made me dizzy to remember how many times I'd been in the passenger seat, or the driver's seat. I'm feeling a little dizzy now even... But I don't miss him. I miss having him. Does that make sense? I mean, I just want someone in my life who understands how much I need to be reassured. I don't think very highly of myself, you know. It took 2 years for R------ to convince me I was pretty, let alone anyone worth kissing. It's this:

“What I want is to be needed. What I need is to be indispensable to somebody. Who I need is somebody that will eat up all my free time, my ego, my attention. Somebody addicted to me. A mutual addiction.”

—	Chuck Palahniuk

My personal insecurities aside, it doesn't change the fact that I'm so, so lonely.

I mean, the other day, my therapist made a comment about my lack of social interaction. He asked how my social anxiety has been and I admitted that I still panic a little when I see strangers in my usual solitary haunts. I have to talk myself into going to Knit Night at the yarn store on Thursdays. I have to convince myself that it's alright to accept the occasional offer from my friends when they want to hang out. My doctor said I should find more social outlets. He said, "Well, you used to dance, right? I'm assuming you took lessons, and those had to be local, right? That would be a great way for you to meet other people that aren't ladies in their 40s and older from your knitting group. Guys, too, if you think you're ready to start casually dating again." Dancing? Again? Me? It's one thing to go back to my old salsa routines in my living room as a form of exercise every morning but... Going back to classes? When I know my dance teacher will wonder why he hasn't seen me in almost 5 years? No thanks. Then he asked if my church had a young adult program (I swear he's been talking to my mother cuz she suggested that last week), which it does, but honestly? It took everything I had not to scream, especially because God and I aren't exactly on speaking terms these days. But that he noticed and acknowledged that I'm a sad, lonely, socially-deprived mess was kind of...disheartening.

“In the New Year, may your right hand always be stretched out in friendship, but never in want.”
~Irish Toast

The above is especially disheartening. Because I've stretched out in the past but... I'm always left wanting.

So I suppose this could be interpreted as a cry for attention. And I won't say it's not, because it probably is. I'm just hoping someone out there in the universe will do what I've tried doing as a Free Hugger. I want someone to see the void in my life and make some effort to fill it. And I realize that's asking a lot - I feel like I'm always asking for so much in the last year - but why is it so hard to put my voice to how much I need this?

“And if you want to know the feeling I’m talking about, run your own fingers slowly through your hair, and pretend they’re someone else’s.”
-- I Wrote This For You: The Feeling of Someone Drawing You