I have an image in mind of the old general store, the place where the locals gather, pick up some supplies, talk about the weather, and enjoy a cold glass of lemonade on the porch while playing checkers. In other words, a comfortable place. One ordinary day, you arrive, walk up the wooden steps, and try to pull on the front door, but it is locked. In the window, you can see a hand-painted sign that reads, “Gone fishin’.” This is my gone fishin’ sign.
It feels strange to take a break from this weekly communication we have been sharing for the last year and a half. But if you have been a regular subscriber/reader, you know full well my plans for the Camino de Santiago; in fact, you may have been so looking forward to it that I can at least write about something else for a while.
You may be disappointed upon my return as I regale you with stories and anecdotes I have picked up along the way. My sincere hope is that instead of stories and anecdotes, I will be able to share more meaningfully what this pilgrimage has meant to me.
As I pack my final items and triple-check my list (I am that kind of traveler, shocking, I know), I will breathe deeply the northern Michigan air for the last time for six weeks. The desire I have had for this journey is unlike anything I have felt before. It feels like water pressing against a newly formed dam about to burst, straining against the pressure.
On other times that I have traveled, I wrote feverishly before my departure, accumulating up to four weeks of content to schedule and slowly, but systematically, release in my absence. Honestly, it was kind of fun for me, and it gave me peace of mind knowing that my blog would continue regardless of what I am doing.
I toyed with the idea of doing the same here, but I didn’t for two primary reasons. Number one, writing, posting, and scheduling take a lot of time, and I have a lot of loose ends to wrap up, so spare time comes at a premium. Secondly, I feel like this absence further reflects the absence of anything resembling normal or status quo for me. I have never gone this length of time without my family… ever. I have never walked 500 miles before. I have never slept in a different place every night for 42 days.
So you see, things aren’t normal, and I hope you are okay with me locking the door and posting a sign in the window.
If you are a praying type, please keep me in your prayers. I am not worried at all about my safety. I am mildly worried about how my knee will hold up, but my primary concern is that I will be quiet enough to hear the still, small voice of God. If you are not the praying type, I will gladly accept any and all positive thoughts.
I look forward to seeing you on the other side.
Peace out.