Recently, at my grandson’s all city, choral concert, his younger brother reached his limit for quietly sitting still. Just as the next group was announced, he looked at all of us, completely exasperated, and said–loud enough for more than just our row to hear– “Not the high schoolers AGAIN!”

In that honest, unfiltered moment, he said out loud what most of us were quietly feeling.

There comes a point in the school year when kids are simply tired of sitting still. Their energy spills over, their attention drifts, and their eyes wander toward the doors, longing for recess, for movement, for anything that feels like freedom. And if were honest, we older folks aren’t much different. We grow weary of being indoors, of schedules and routines, and we begin to crave something we can’t quite name. Children instinctively know when they’ve had enough. They say it out loud, without apology. Somewhere along the way, we learn to sit still, to push thorough, to ignore that inner voice. But maybe we shouldn’t. Maybe that restless feeling is an invitation we should consider.

An invitation to step outside. To take a walk. To find a place– like a creek, a trail, or even a quiet corner of your own back yard or possibly a faraway land. Somewhere that promises…

Fresh air. Open space. A change of pace.

We long for places where we can stretch out–not just our legs, but our thoughts. Places where time slows down enough for us to catch our breath again.

Lately, I’ve been listening a little more closely to that invitation.

In a few weeks, I’ll be walking 116 km (72mi) segment of the Camino Frances from Sarria to Santiago de Compostela, Spain–also called the Way of Saint James–a path walked for over a thousand years. In the Middle Ages, pilgrims from across Europe followed its routes to Santiago de Compostela, where the apostle Saint James is believed to be buried. Many carried a scallop shell which has become a symbol of the journey, its lines converging in a single point–reminding us that different roads can still lead us to the same place. An ancient path traveled for centuries by those seeking meaning, healing, or simply time to think.

The Camino is known for challenging you both physically, mentally and spiritually– long days of walking, time alone with your thoughts, fewer distractions, fewer places to hide from whatever rises to the surface.

And maybe that’s the point.

There’s something powerful about putting one foot in front of the other with no real agenda other than to keep going.  To notice, to reflect, to let the rhythm of your steps quiet the noise of everyday life.

In many ways it feels like an extension of what I’ve always found at Mill Creek– just on a different trail in a different place.  A reminder that we don’t have to travel far to find meaning…but sometimes, traveling helps us see it more clearly.

I don’t know exactly what I’ll discover along the way. Maybe clarity, maybe peace, maybe just sore feet and a grateful heart.

But I do know this–when we listen to that quiet nudge to step away to try something new to walk a different road, it usually is worth following.  My Grandson’s exasperated words at a concert reminded me that sometimes we need to sit quietly and listen and sometimes we need to burst outside, take big deep breaths, get our wiggles out and maybe even follow a new or an ancient path. Buen Camino!  (Good Way in Spanish)

Let’s get out there, explore and stay curious.

With love from the Creek,

Kristi

Coming in May: Reflections from the Camino