Walking Wounded

Galician sunrise

The metallic platform sandals I chose for my trek down to the East Village on Friday night were cute, but cutting.  By the time I got home - sometime after 1am - I was limping.  And when I awoke the next morning, my poor feet were looking worse for the wear and showing signs of blisters.

Tammy Wynette was right (at least in regards to footwear): sometimes it's hard to be a woman.

There was sunshine outside my window and I wanted to join my roommate for a run in the park, but the thought of pulling my running shoes on over last night's battle scars sounded painful.  So I found my First Aid kit and got to work - taping, patching and blister-blocking where necessary.

As I sat on the floor, listening to my roommate recount her own war stories from the night before, I reflected on the last time I had gone through this whole foot-care rigmarole.

It was Spain, in September, when I was in the midst of walking 120km from Sarria to Santiago.  Each morning I got up when it was still dark (pilgrims are early risers; the Spanish sun is not) and I'd stuff all my belongings back into my backpack and tip-toe out of my hostel room, boots in hand.  Then I'd sit on a bench by the front door and go through the ritual - taping, patching and blister-blocking - before finally putting my boots on and hitting the road.

When I was preparing for the pilgrimage, every book, website and pamphlet included an extensive section on foot care.  Message boards had active threads where people traded advice on how best to deal with blisters out on the road.  Recommended gear lists for pilgrims included special socks to minimize friction, and the best shoes for circulating air and wicking moisture.  "Leave your iPhone at home, but do not forget the moleskin and Neosporin," was the consensus of everything I read.

When your feet become your main mode of transport, taking care of them becomes of the utmost importance.

I walk a lot in my city life, though not like I did on the pilgrimage trail.  Still, I wonder if I wouldn't benefit by starting each day with a similar morning ritual.  My feet may not need the daily attention, but the rest of me probably does - spirit, soul, mind, emotions.  Life is hard, and we're all walking wounded.

A blister can be managed if you catch it early; but if the source of irritation goes unchecked, that blister's gonna get nasty.  Likewise, small grievances - if unaddressed - tend to wear like pebbles in my proverbial shoe. Better to root them out early, than carry them with me into a new day.  Better to take notice each morning how my spirit is limping, so I can shore it up and avoid collapse later on.

Instead of sleeping until the last possible minute and rushing out the door without much thought (my current MO), I'm hoping to structure time for a morning check-in.  Maybe I could ask myself:  How did I get bruised by the day before?  And in light of that, what do I need to pay special attention to in the day ahead?  What carried-over hurts, what bad thought-patterns, what problem areas do I need to compensate for, or patch together with some targeted prayer?

And - on a more practical level - can I find a more comfortable pair of going-out sandals that won't mangle my feet?

Because ouch.

Once, I Went To Spain

León

Dear Spain,

¿Cómo está usted?  I am fine, gracias.

I've been thinking about you recently. For a long time I didn't - couldn't - think about you, because you reminded me of someone I didn't really want to be reminded of.

But lately your name keeps surfacing - in newspaper articles, in blog feeds, in conversation.  References to pilgrimage pop up, too, so I've been studying that again. And looking at pictures of our time together, and remembering the long, long walk down that ancient road.

Sometimes I'll find a relic of you in my room - my hiking boots, the red backpacker poncho, my cathedral certificate, a guide book - and I'll remember.

And the memories are less tinged by that other, they're becoming more mine. And I'm glad of that.

Now - finally - fondly,
Mí

Barcelona

The Road Ahead

Pilgrims in Portomarin, Spain

During my fourth year of college, I was required to take a seminar for my Religious Studies major. Several seminars were offered, but I chose to take one called "American Religious Autobiography." Not out of burning interest for the subject, but because it was taught by one of my favorite professors, a woman with whom I had taken two previous classes. 

I pretty much thought she was the *coolest*.  She was one of few professors I encountered in the Religion department who actually had a personal faith.  Sometimes she wore cowboy boots to class.  Once she brought in a guitar, and sang "Little Boxes" to 250 of us gathered in the lecture hall.  Her son was named "Benedict," after Saint Benedict and his Rule.  She was irreverant and sarcastic and approachable and caring. The *coolest.*

In the Autobiography seminar, we were assigned Thomas Merton's The Sign of Jonas, and during the discussion on Merton's life and writing, this professor passed out postcards with the following prayer printed on them.

I still have that postcard (...somewhere...) and I go back to this prayer periodically throughout my life.  It gives me a lot of comfort.  It's my go-to prayer when I don't know what/how else to pray.

Just thought I'd share today :)

MY LORD GOD, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end.

Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.

And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

- Thomas Merton, "Thoughts in Solitude"

Pilgrims in the Mist

My second morning of walking

On the road to Portomarin

I have edited a grand total of one (1) Spain picture, and you're looking at it.  More to come, along with my thoughts on the whole experience.

But for now - here are some thoughts from someone much wiser than myself:

“Faith is not the clinging to a shrine but an endless pilgrimage of the heart. 

Audacious longings, burning songs, daring thoughts, an impulse overwhelming the heart, usurping the mind - these are all a drive towards serving Him who rings our hearts like a bell.” 

 (Abraham Joshua Heschel, from Man is Not Alone)