Santiago to Regensburg - part 3

I see Renate in the airport. We are on the same flight again. Journal Excerpt, June 13, 2006.

It was Renate.

Renate, the German woman whom I had met at the airport in London at the beginning of my journey. Renate, who helped me and Anna get to St. Jean Pied de Port. Renate, who helped me feel at ease those first first few hours and days of my journey. Renate, who could not have been any more perfect or easier to walk with. Renate, who was on her third journey and therefore knew so much more. Renate, who walked all the way to Santiago in three weeks instead of my four and then on to Fisterre where she spent the last week. I never anticipated to see Renate again. Not like that. Not in a million, gazillion years.

When she saw me we both made a beeline for the other. I embraced Renate and thanked every Camino god who had ever kept me awake for four weeks that she was standing in front of me again. I quickly asked her if she was on the same flight or not because there were other gates in the area filling up. She was. Can't believe it, can't believe it, can't believe it!, was all I could think. Then I permitted myself to think that perhaps it was no accident at all and I realized I needed her now every bit as much as I had needed her then. Who else would understand all the emotions and disconnected feelings I was having, all the questions I had? I had come full circle again, feeling certainly as unsure of myself at the end of my journey as I had when I began, feeling fearful of what lay ahead, and feeling confused about what I should do about it. We began talking about how things went after we parted at the end of the first week. From there it was a snowball of a conversation about both of our journeys. We interrupted our conversation only once when Renate pointed out that the man sitting next to us had made the northern route. I exchanged a few words with him about it since the northern route seemed like a very interesting option to explore, but afterward Renate and I descended straight back into our thoughts about our journeys like riding down a slide together. My story about my trip culminated when I stopped talking for a moment and looked at her and said, "You were right Renate. You were right. You were right."

When the plane landed we walked outside and I checked the bus schedule. I would have more than an hour wait. Renate was being picked up. We sat out on the curb of the arrivals area. In contrast to Santiago, in Germany there was sun, which wasn't so unusual for the time of year, but it didn't feel the same as the Camino sun. It was somewhat hazed over, blue but not completely blue, mostly clear but without the pureness and depth of the Camino. "Ah well," I thought, "at least it's not raining." I packed Marc's jacket into the pack because it was too warm to wear it, and Renate and I sat there talking on the cement steps until it was time for her to go.

I said goodbye to Renate with a promise that we would stay in touch. When she left I sat back down on the curb and watched cars come and go, taxis come and go, and other pilgrims arrive. I didn't recognize any of them. One woman had her backpack all wrapped up in plastic which looked very amusing as she carried it on her back and stood reading the bus schedule. When I started my journey I had said that I was afraid if I fell down I would be like a turtle on my back and may not be able to get back up. She looked like that to me: a pilgrim turtle.

When the bus came I was very happy to get on it, sit on a soft chair and wait the 15 minutes until the departure time. I leaned the side of my head against the glass and closed my eyes. My thoughts began swimming immediately again. Were Marc and the others already back in France and at home? What about Paolo and Rossella? How are they? Who would be arriving in Santiago right now and what were their experiences? Who was beginning the journey in St. Jean Pied de Port? Were Marc and the others feeling like I was? Would it be easy for them to go home? Would life simply pick up where they had left off? How was it going to be once I was back home? How was I going to integrate my life with my experience? I had already decided there was no going back to the way things were before. I knew it wasn't going to be easy. On the other hand, why shouldn't it be easy? If this was who I really was and who and how I was meant to be, then why should there be any great conflict? Why wouldn't being who I really am be wanted? I knew the answer to that last question. But in my going back home, I knew I couldn't go back to the way things were before. The truth is, I couldn't even if I had wanted to. The only way that I could have managed that at all, would have been to knowingly fake the rest of my life and continue to submit to some kind of double life where I would be feeling that queasy, uneasy feeling of loneliness and smallness, only to watch myself nod my head in approval to others knowing I didn't really mean it. I suppose you could say, I'm missing the wiring for that. And I think I understand sometimes why it happens to others that they are able to weather that differently than me. And I do think for others it seems to be something different, something not quite so serious, something that is more palatable because they never had any other expectations, or they find a way to get what they want despite it, or their circumstances are simply different. Something like that, but of course it is more complex than that. I've seen those same others who can withstand it for a time also crumble underneath the mask they have been wearing. I've stood right next to them when it has happened, but the next day they've glued all the pieces back together again and when I've said something about it they tell me they don't know what I'm talking about, or brush it off as if it didn't really hurt. And I've also seen the face of those others fall into the depths of despair or explode in anger in a moment when they have caught a glimpse of their true selves. But somehow they can set it to the side, and I can't. It's not always a great thing either, in case you think I'm trying to tell you I'm One with my Big True Self 365 days of the year. That's pretty laughable, especially if you could see how I've been recently and in the many days of my long absences. I can only tell you, that I'm wired differently, or that the wiring is exposed, or that I hear and see differently. And I can only tell you I know I'm not alone, but it is a lonely business being wired that way. A lonely and tricky business in this world.

Comments

[Jacobus]

I'm not sure whether there is more , I hope there is. But, if not, please know that the last 5 lines pretty well sum up how many of us are when we get home. Thank you Deb.

[Deborah]

Hello Jacobus! It's always a good day when Jacobus arrives on the comments! I hope you have returned from a good Camino. Welcome back.

There is more. If I make promises about how much and how fast, I'll just feel terrible when I don't meet my own expectations, so I had better not. But yes, there's more.

Good to see you Jacobus. May you be well.

~Deb