To read more context for the letter below, check out this post here:)

Dear Pilgrim,

As you fall into a natural rhythm, the resonance of your boots against the gravel will become a familiar sound. There is a cadence, a “sacred pace,” as they call it. Walk much faster and you’ll run out of breath, walk slower and you’ll grow restless, anxious in your body. When you find this sacred pace, your inner rhythm will etch into the vinyl of the earth to compose a new tune.

However, there is also a space between the footsteps, when one boot stays planted on the ground and the other pushes forward through the air. It’s a breath, a moment of suspension. In this space, you may hear memories long silenced by the sounds of growing up.

The memories and messages may remain shapeless until the 10-kilometer mark, your fifth hour in the sun, or the 26^th day on the road. Perhaps they will never take shape. But in this silence, we can build a picture of our lives just as we do with any puzzle—starting with the border pieces and then finding similar colors and shapes to complete the image.

It’s easy to believe—because we’ve been carefully taught—that our life story comes down to milestones and achievements. The silence between footsteps offers greater detail. Our stories include the cats we loved as kids, how much we secretly hated coloring in preschool, or the way our parents shamed us when we lived a bit too loudly. You may hear a voice that hasn’t spoken up in decades. This is why I’m afraid when someone yells at me; this is why I love the taste of cherry soda; this is why I refuse to walk before sunrise.

The space between footsteps will be kind some days—pointing out the dew dripping down a spider web splayed across two eucalyptus trees. But on others, it will connect the feeling of an empty stomach to the days you were told to eat a bit less to lose a few pounds. Rage and beauty will pass at the pace of the kilometers—sometimes like snails and other times like a steam train.

“Everyone has their own Camino,” is another favorite phrase you’ll hear on the way. The adage encourages you to accept every version of the Camino. Not all pilgrims begin in St. Jean, and some go home far sooner than reaching Santiago. Some will not carry their backpacks and others will walk in thin sandals they’ve worn since college.

And yet, there should be a second part to the phrase. Perhaps it should really go, “Everyone has their own Camino, as long as it doesn’t interfere with anyone else’s Camino.” If you’ve just found the energy to wake up before dawn and walk in the morning’s twilight, leave the albergue quietly. There are others who just gave themselves the gift of sleeping in—perhaps for the first time in years. Or, if you’ve decided to walk the road without assistance, don’t worry about someone taking a taxi or sending their backpack ahead. Perhaps they’ve just learned to be gentler to themselves.

Sacred pace and building your own Camino go hand in hand. There is no right or wrong way to find your story in the pace of your feet if it allows everyone else to hear their own. When the puzzle comes together, honor this story of yours. Your fears and passions all have the right to walk with you. Do not abandon them, they’ve been silenced for too long.