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

Dear Pilgrim,

Three-quarters of the way through our walk, somewhere right before Galicia, we passed a mother and daughter having an aggressive conversation. While we’d never shared a table with them, gossip along the trail was abundant about these two. It turns out that they’d decided to hike together to solve some previously inexplicable issues between them. The two were originally three—the daughter’s husband had walked a part of the route with them but then left the trail when he realized he should give them some space to hash things out.

Well, hash it out they did. It turns out that they reached such a reassuring conclusion to their years of fighting that they decided to stop walking and go home. With 100 miles to go, even after starting in St. Jean, they just went home.

If only every journey was this cut and dry. If only we could all set the dream of arriving in Santiago aside and recognize that, perhaps, we’re meant to walk until we aren’t meant to walk anymore. But it’s harder to justify walking so far without a destination, even if you know you can abandon it at any time. And for many of us, the reason we came is not as clear-cut as making up with a loved one on the journey with us.

The final days of the journey can arrive unexpectedly. What did I come here for again? Oh yes, to make sense of my childhood, to decide what I want to do next with my life, to grieve the loss of a loved one. I came here with a checklist and somewhere along the way, focusing on reaching the next village, chatting with the pilgrim next to me, or staring at the shape of clouds distracted me.

And so, I offer this: forget about why you came. When the clock and the kilometers start ticking down, do not wonder if you can return home with an answer to the original question. Do not think about how you will prove to yourself how you’ve changed.

Walking this journey will change you—and has already changed you—in ways that you may not understand for years. But you will see the changes. You may throw out your high heels, get up earlier, or spend more time cooking long, simmering meals in the kitchen that smell of Spanish paprika. You may spot people in your city wearing backpacks or walking with sticks and long for them to turn and look you in the eye. You may have dreams of colorful skies and the sound of your feet against the earth. You may think in a new narrative, a narrative that you long to put on the page.

      But the big changes? The fixing, the shifting, the figuring out? That is not for now. In this moment, all you must do is keep doing what you’ve done from the very beginning. Keep putting one foot in front of the other. Santiago will arrive. The end will come. Cherish these mountains without any more requests.