September 2016
I have this memory burned into my brain, of sitting on a hillside in France for no less than three hours, watching ponies graze, working their way from left of the hill to the right, the pastoral sound of bells around their necks clanging in the distance.
It was all so damn peaceful that I even laid down in the grass for a little nap, the kind of nap where you’re teetering on the border of sleep, in between worlds. Apropos as this nap took place near the Spanish border, where it didn’t feel like France or Spain.
That’s because I was in deep Basque Country, a region straddling the Western Pyrenees, across the French and Spanish border. Even the street and road signs were in Basque, or Euskara, a pre-Indo-European language of Pre-historic Europe.
Six months earlier I realized enough was enough. I was burnt out from years of continual loss, endless grief, hopelessness and barely functioning depression. So after a year of beating myself up, thinking I had “failed life”, something in me snapped. It was time for a change. I needed a break and realized no one was going to hand it to me on a silver platter.
So I began the process of peeling back my bloody fingernails, releasing my death grip, organizing my finances and making the moves.
Almost immediately things started to happen. Dogsitting jobs came out of the woodwork. I didn’t even have to solicit jobs, they fell into my lap. My new boss decided to give me a $2000 bonus when he fired one of our colleagues. The house I lived in was put on the market, allowing me to break the lease and sublet another room elsewhere, thus drastically lowering my rent. Things fell into place and organized themselves to get me where I needed to go.
Making the moves feels like my biggest hurdle in life. But that’s where the magic lives. Tied to that: since I was little I’ve always had one foot in the unseen world. I feel the nudges, hear the whispers, see the patterns. I’m sensitive to all the things. As I’ve gotten older, the nudges, whispers, patterns have grown louder and more obvious.
I love it and hate it. Because I want to do my own thing, but also please everyone. It’s been a knock-down, drag-out battle for a decade. But I’ve come to respect intuition as my true north, so when she tells me it’s time, I listen. Sometimes she’s a little early to the game and I have to tell her: ok great but I’m not ready, so pipe down.
My intuition doesn’t care about corporate ladders, credit scores, white picket fences and mortgages. It doesn’t understand the concept of pleasing others, being a good girl, falling back in line, or having a “nice, secure, responsible” job. My intuition is way more interested in quitting jobs in order to walk across countries. Or taking that severance package in lieu of “preferential rehire” so she can go to India and Thailand. She cannot do the same thing over and over again, year in and year out. She cares more about soul security, not job security.
Anyways, my original grand plan was to quit my job and head to Esalen in Northern California for a month of volunteer work, enroll in one of their programs and hit the reset button. That should clear my head. So I sent a $400 check to Esalen.
My soul was like “you sure about this? Why does it have to be all volunteer and learning? Why can’t a break be a true break? Stop being a responsible good girl". My mind was like “Stop being silly. It’s irresponsible to just walk across a country”. And the question that strikes the fear of god into my heart: “What’s your plan, Erin?” (pre-baby boomer parents love posing this question to their grown children).
MY PLAN IS TO TRY AND HOIST MYSELF OUT OF THE SEWER, PUT MYSELF BACK TOGETHER AND FIGURE OUT MY NEEDS, NOT EVERYONE ELSE’S NEEDS, IS THAT OK?
Deep down what I really wanted was to walk the Camino de Santiago. Just walk for 35 days, purge all the funk and gunk I was carrying and cleanse my spirit. I knew someone who had walked it a few years earlier. Though I was barely functional, I could still hear my soul faintly whisper: “please get me there”. Watching YouTube videos of people walking the Camino, I would unexpectedly burst into tears.
I proceeded with covert operation Quit-My-Job, but as soon as I mailed that check, life got a little loud. I heard a piece on NPR about the Camino, I read a random blog post with a photo of the prominent yellow arrow, a traditional marker one sees on the way to Santiago. Then I had a dream I was scrambling up a rocky hill, making it to the top and looking over a vast landscape of patchwork fields and hills. When I awoke I knew, I knew that was me, on the Camino. I knew it was Spain.
Covert operation Quit-My-Job had taken a distinct turn. That dream was all I needed to request a refund from Esalen and book a one way ticket to Paris 4 months in the future. I spent the rest of the summer working, pet and housesitting until I almost fell over. Finally, in late September, unemployed by choice, fried and overwhelmed, but so excited I could almost barf, I landed in Paris. I was heavily in debt, but goddammit I had cobbled together $7,000 and I was doing this.
I will never forget walking up the Paris metro stairs and seeing the city for the first time in 11 years. I almost died of happiness. After being underwater for years, it was like taking a deep and nourishing breath of pure, clean air. I got myself to my airbnb and slept for nearly two days, then hopped on a train and sped to the lovely small town of St. Jean Pied de Port (literally “the foot of the pass”).
And we’re back on the French/Spanish border, sitting on a lush hillside in Basque Country, peacefully watching ponies graze from left to right.
The next day would kick my ass. But as long as there were fresh baguettes, dark croissants and hot coffee (or a cold beer in the afternoon) I was game.
Wonderful! I remember the film ‘The Way’ (I think!) starring Martin Sheen, and was fascinated with the connections his character made with other pilgrims. Now I count myself as a walker I’d love to do one of the routes in future. :D