A600AASS Day 8 - Astorga to Rabanal del Camino
21.10.22
21 Km
I left Australia for Europe in August 2005. That means that I’ve been living overseas for 17 years, bar 9 months spent in retreat from the aftermath of the finance crisis, and 18 months spent in retreat from the collapse of a marriage and a career in London.
Most folk will tell me that I’ve led a life worthy of envy, and I’ll take their word for it. I’ve lived in eight cities in six countries. I’ve done work I’d never imagined possible in Sydney. I’ve met incredible people, some of whom I now call family. And I’ve enjoyed the process of taking an opportunity somewhere new and running at it.
But in running at something, I also ran away: from a family, a community, a culture in which I didn’t feel like I belonged. And by setting myself apart as the one who left — the exotic one, the distant one — I only increased the alienation and otherness each time I went back to visit.
With each new place I’ve been, I’ve made new friends, got to grips with new bureaucracies, and settled in to new jobs, all of which, as I’ve got older, has taken more and more energy.
And by contrast, whatever investment I made in the place I left — whether in friendships, pensions, or professional networks — became a sunk cost, lost to the expat experience.
Do I regret it? Not at all. I wouldn’t change a thing. But I’ve changed. And, as is becoming clear, what I want from life is changing.
In 2020, I completed The Hoffman Process. If you want to know the specifics, you can look it up, but it set off the unravelling of the identities that have defined my life so far. Like the one that said “My self-worth is defined by my material success and the praise of my superiors”. Or “People will only love me if I can make them happy all the time”. Or, my favourite, “It’s OK to be gay so long as I’m never less than perfect in every other way (because being gay is actually not ok)”.
Far from enjoyable, feeling these ideas about myself fall apart has been fucking terrifying. Who am I if I’m not defined by money and “Managing Director” in my email signature? Will people still love me if I don’t live up to their expectations of me? And will I ever escape the idea — imprinted on my psyche by an outrageously abusive school — that my life has no value if I’m not straight, or at least can pass as such?
To the outsider — you — this might all sound like histrionic bullshit, but these are the models that have defined my way of being for a good 25 years. Hoffman, a burnout, and a guided psychedelic trip has laid them bare and left me with no choice but to reject them.
So I’ve started, slow by slow, to return to the person I was before I took on these identities, and become the person I was always destined to be.
I walked today. In fact, I walked 21 Km. We can address why I thought that was a good idea another time. But I’m grateful for the reflection it offered, and what came out of it.
For a start, it became clear to me that I care much less what other people think of me. I’m developing a sense of self-worth that can stand on its own two feet. I can write this email, and share my photos, and if you don’t like the vulnerability or you think the photos are crap, well… that’s fine. This is the work I need to produce. This is the process I needed to go through, and it’s not yours.
It was also an opportunity to return to the sense that I do belong, and that it’s ok for me to take up the space I want to in this world, just as I am. I’m at peace with my family. They and my friends love me unconditionally, and that idea no longer freaks me out. It’s a feeling akin, I imagine, to what Sasha Chapin describes as deep okayness, and it feels fucking great.
Chris and I talked about ideas for our lives that, a scant 12 months ago, would have seemed utterly absurd. There’s no status associated with them — at least not of the corporate kind — and no presumption of material wealth. But instead of scoffing at their absurdity, or thinking “maybe in another lifetime”, I can give these ideas serious consideration. And I’m sensitive enough to sense how they make me feel, rather than just processing them in my head.
If you’re curious about the knee: it’s fine. Better in fact. I made it to kilometre 19 without any pain. Yesterday, I made it to kilometre 9. The real test will be tomorrow, when we’ll descend from the high point of the Camino Fances, dropping 500 metres of vertical in 2.5 kilometres. Tomorrow evening, I’ll either bee writing to you with spiritual bliss, or through the fog of pain killers.
Until then.
Procedural note: I realised that the images I was sending were pretty big for email. Out of respect for your bandwidth, I’ve reduced their size for this edition. Let me know if they’re not looking the best.
