Re-imagining our dreams.
“Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.” John Lennon
Last week, I turned 64. Remember the Beatles song, "When I’m 64”? Never thought you’d get that old? It happens to the best of us. Even Paul MCCartney is 81 now! I think it’s high time for a new song.
Despite my age (or, more likely, because of it), I am about to set out on an adventure I wouldn’t have dreamed possible even a few years ago. Thirty days from today I will arrive in Porto, Portugal where I will start my long walk to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. For more than a thousand years, people have walked the Camino de Santiago, or the way of St James, to visit the shrine of St. James the Apostle at the Cathedral in Santiago de Compostela. For many, this is a religious pilgrimage, a demonstration of deep faith. For me, it is more of a spiritual exploration. I have a lot to ponder.
Although I never think of myself this way, at some point, I became a caregiver. Over the past decade I have helped my husband, Eric, cope with multiple foot surgeries that have resulted in him being unable to walk for periods of weeks or months. Little by little, I assumed more and more responsibility for things Eric used to handle. And, on those occasions that he wasn’t able to drive, I became his chauffeur. My schedule shifted to accommodate his medical appointments and other obligations. I wasn’t unhappy about any of it. I felt fortunate to be able to support someone I love. But it did have an impact on me. For a while I didn’t really notice it. I accommodated, squeezing my work in where I could and grateful for the flexibility of my coaching and consulting career that allowed me to do that. Eventually, I began to realize how much my life had changed.
As Eric’s medical issues progressed, inevitably, his world shrank. This once avid hiker had difficulty walking even short distances, if at all. Last March we visited five national parks out west, fulfilling a long-held dream. Because of a last minute medical complication, Eric was limited to the views he could see from the car, or from his knee scooter. My heart broke for him. And, truth be told, for me. I had lost my hiking partner. My world was shrinking too.
As I hiked alone in Zion National Park, I had an epiphany. For years we had told ourselves just one more surgery and he will be back to his old self and we could begin to enjoy the traveling we’d always wanted to do. We just had to be patient. Now the wishful thinking that had clouded my vision lifted. I realized that, after 15 surgeries and more to come, our lives would never be what they once were. The idea of active traveling involving lots of walking and exploration simply wasn’t possible for Eric and might never be again. We had to reimagine our life goals.
“Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans,” to quote John Lennon and continue my Beatles theme. These words came to me as I contemplated the reality of our lives moving forward. For years, we had been busy making lots of plans, but we stubbornly resisted aligning those plans with the reality of what our lives had become.
We needed to reframe the question we’d been considering. Instead of nursing decades-old ideas of what life at this stage should look like, we needed to re-imagine our dreams to fit our new reality. And we needed to think about what we needed for ourselves as individuals.
For Eric, the answer was music. During the pandemic he picked up his guitar and started playing and writing songs every day. It has become his rock.
For me, the missing piece was travel. I had to find a way to satisfy my own desire for more active adventures that Eric simply cannot do. I need to live my life. Have the adventures I'd dreamed of. If not with Eric, as I had hoped, then without him. And time was of the essence. I needed to do it while I was still capable of enjoying it.
My reframe led me to decide to walk the Camino de Santiago. I had wanted to do this walk from the moment I saw the 2010 movie, The Way, starring Martin Sheen and directed by his son Emilio Estavez. I was enchanted by the idea of walking a path that thousands of others have walked, through picturesque villages, verdant fields and rolling hills. I wanted to experience the beauty of a purposeful walk, wrestling with all of the thoughts that tumble into my head, and meeting people from all over the world seeking insights of their own.
At first I felt guilty at the thought of traveling without Eric. I felt like I was abandoning my husband. In the past, I might have buried the idea of doing the Camino altogether out of guilt and would have continued to soldier on in true martyr fashion. But as a coach, I knew this was just my inner judge saboteur sending me an unhelpful message about needing “to do my duty.” Instead of burying my idea, I discussed it with my husband. I asked him how he felt about me leaving for a few weeks to follow this dream. He couldn’t have been more supportive. “Of course you should go,” he said without hesitation. “You deserve it.” My judge saboteur wasn’t so sure I did deserve it, but deep inside I knew the truth - that I needed to follow my inner wisdom and just do it. I needed to give myself permission to make my own dream come true.
It helped that we took the time to figure out what Eric needed to experience his own dream. For him, it was a small recording studio - nothing fancy - but enough to allow him to experiment with his music in new ways. We ordered the necessary equipment and it is up and running. Eric disappears for hours in his new little music cave. He is joyful, like a kid at play with his favorite toys.
In just a few weeks, I am leaving to experience my first solo international journey. I will discover Portugal and Spain, slowly, step by step, town by town. Each day my only goal will be to make it to the next town. Nothing else. This will require me to let go and allow things to reveal themselves in their own way. I am going to a beautiful place filled with kind and generous people and I will be surrounded by travelers who are on a journey of discovery just as I am. And whatever happens, I will never be the same.
As I contemplated what I would bring, I went to the basement and picked up my old backpack. It was mostly black, with pink trim, and it fit me perfectly. I had so many adventures with it over the years; it represented independence and strength to me. I could take it anywhere and have what I need to live. As I lifted it up, small bits of black fell out of it. With dismay, I realized my once rugged backpack was deteriorating, literally turning to dust. I could feel my inner judge getting ready to say something like, “See? That’s how old you are. You, like your backpack, are way too old for a trip like this!” I laughed as I threw the pack in the car to take to recycling. I decided that this only meant that I needed to shop for a new backpack, one that fits the me I am now. For all of the adventures ahead!
Buen Camino!
Lisa