all over the place

I want to tell you about the first time I fell in love, because that’s really where my stories begin. And it only makes sense to start at the beginning.

Actually, I fell in love twice, simultaneously. But I feel I must spoil it for you that only one romance lasted. That one is long distance and will be forever. That’s the only way it’ll work.

May, 2019. Age, 21. I was walking through the cloud-shrouded Pyrenees mountains, an amateurly packed backpack hanging awkwardly off my back and the intoxication of independence pulling me forward. I’d learned about the Camino de Santiago (Frances) quite literally a month before I’d packed my bags to leave, and here I was: not a clue what I was getting myself into. It must have been only 30 minutes into my 500 mile trek that I heard two American voices slicing through the fog.

It was a couple from Montana. And as is bound to happen on the Camino, we paired off. The guy (we’re going to call him Dick) told me I needed to immediately reposition my backpack on my hips or I was asking for an injury (ironically, I ended up with two. Subtle foreshadowing?) We got to chatting, and without either of us realizing it, the world stopped. I was hooked before I even bit the bait.

I’m going to pause here and make it clear nothing untoward happened while he was still in a relationship. I have not and will never do that. However, everyone but us could see we were in trouble. Dick later told me he’d spent the rest of that day after we’d parted hoping he’d run into me again. Luckily for him, there was only one place to stay that night: a retired monastery with hundreds of bunkbeds, a church and an uncharacteristically swanky bar (I guess monks get drunk?)

My three middle-aged Irish roommates and I were on a pilgrimage for wine, so we beelined to the bar and the cool kids followed. Dick showed up alone. He said his girlfriend wanted some time to journal. And then there we were again: the only two people in the world, oblivious to the cacophony of other conversations. Locked in.

We drank, we laughed, and the next day after a strenuous 20 km walk I ran across the slivered streets of Pamplona to meet him and his girlfriend to say goodbye. They were bussing north to another route, so it was unlikely I’d see either again. He dawdled over lunch and even suggested they take a later bus, but after an awkward silence and a lingering hug, he was gone.

That’s not where this love story ended. In fact, it’s where it began. But that’s not the romance that lasted. Don’t worry, you’ll get more of those juicy details another time.

The romance that ignited in that first step of the Camino and remains to this day is the one this blog is all about. It’s the adventure I spend my hard-earned dollars to find all over the place. This romance awakened my soul. It has opened and broken my heart. It has tested me, pushed me outside of my comfort zone, shown me mercy, taught me courage and made me laugh. A lot.

This love has lots of stories to tell…

And we are just getting started.