9/18 I wake with a headache but enjoy the permission I give myself to take it easy. I linger in Puente La Reina to write three postcards at a cafe that serves especially delicious coffee. I regret the lack of time to journal my thoughts. They all go into text messages and postcards and the ether. To lighten my load, I tear out unused pages from the Moleskin I brought–the start of shedding ounces from my pack.
I’ve come to accept that I am a high maintenance human being. Two books that changed my life were Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking by Susan Cain and The Highly Sensitive Person: How to Thrive When the World Overwhelms You by Elaine N. Aron Ph.D. I have helpful coping habits, and one is my morning routine. At home, I get up before dawn so I have time to ease into the day. This means coffee, journaling, exercising, housework, bathing, breakfast, and finally, four hours later, the start of my commute and workday. My routine on the Camino is different out of necessity, but I’m slow to adapt.
Once I leave Puenta La Reina, my pack feels heavy. I already feel behind on today’s goal to reach Estella. My mood becomes heavy. I feel lonely when I’m alone on the trail and irritable when there are too many others. I’m insecure about myself when interacting with people, and I don’t get a break from the anxiety when staying in the communal albergues. I feel the energy of others surround me when I sleep. I must be especially quiet in dark albergues to keep early waking hours, which I do to beat hot weather. My body isn’t yet acclimated to the heat. Today, the beauty of the landscape is lost on me.
When I reach a cafe in the village Ciraugui, I stop for lunch and share a table with a woman from Vancouver. She’s an avid walker and especially fit retiree. She looks fresh and seems unaffected by the rigors of the Camino. I can’t stop comparing myself to others and feel deflated by my conversation with her. I change my socks and force myself to continue.
After trudging another 3 1/2 miles I stop at a cafe attached to an albergue in Lorca. I sit at a corner table and write in my journal in an effort to cope with my discouragement. I’m crying as I write and hope no one notices, but they do. I make the acquaintance of Thomas from Napa County, not far from where I live. He is friendly and talkative. A group of people from Ireland are also warm, and I’m encouraged to stay the night there in Lorca as they are. So I register at the albergue for a bunk in a large dormitory.
That evening, I share dinner at a large table with Thomas, the three from Ireland, and a few other pilgrims brought into the fold of these kind people. Thomas, sophisticated in his ability to socialize encouraged the group to keep the wine and beer flowing late into the evening. I enjoyed the revelry, but the repeated push for more alcohol began to bother me as I kept to my abstinence. And I began to worry that I was witnessing a fellow alcoholic.