Read Online Sunrises to Santiago: Searching for Purpose on the Camino de Santiago by Gabriel Schirm - Free Book Online
Authors: Gabriel Schirm
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hungover from last
night ’ s
wine.
We
barely speak as we make our way outside of the city. The sun slowly
peeks its head above the horizon, and the morning cold starts to fade
away. We climb hills filled with miles and miles of vineyards as far
as the eye can see. The signature red clay of this region shines
bright under the old vines, which produce the region ’ s
wines. It is a spectacular view. A spectacular sunrise.
I
decide on no mantra for the day. No phrase to focus on. I am just
trying not to think as I am starting to drive myself a little crazy.
I am again looking for a bright flashing sign with the lesson I am
supposed to take away from this trip and trying to think about my
purpose. I have never been focused on a life plan or had a steady
career path, and it has always been a sour spot in life. Always that
thorn in my side. I have a college degree, and I like the jobs that I
have had—some I have even loved—but over time, that has faded
into boredom. Either that, or I ruin everything by worrying about
what might be next.
Maybe
this is a side effect of the incessant travel bug I can never shake
and my constant search for something new and exciting. Amy is lucky.
She has been passionate about her job as a school psychologist up to
this point and has always had that clear direction. On top of that,
she has plans to get her yoga teacher certification when we return.
Two passions for her, not even one for me.
Today,
the neon sign doesn ’ t
come for me. We continue to see familiar faces now and again as we
walk and take breaks for food, water, and coffee. But for the most
part we are alone as we trudge along through the beautiful sea of
vines. I express to Amy my all too familiar frustration and as
always, she guides me to a new line of thinking. She begins to ask me
a series of questions.
“ What
are you feeling right now? ” she asks.
“ Anxiety.
Fear. Frustration, ” I
reply.
“ Why? ” she asks.
“ Because
I have spent 10 years trying to figure out what my passion is in life
and what I should be doing for a career, and here I am still without
an answer,” I say. Two pilgrims on their bikes whiz past us on the
trail. The psychological line of questioning continues.
“ Many
people spend their lives trying to find that perfect job. I want to
know why it matters so much to you. Why does it give you so much anxiety and
that feeling of restlessness? ”
Amy pushes.
I
think about this for a while limping forward and tightly clutching
Dolores. “ Because
I guess … I
guess I want to matter. I want my life to have mattered.” I
fight back tears as we walk.
Amy
continues to pry, “ So
your life doesn ’ t
matter now? Because you don ’ t
have a flashy career? Because you don ’ t
make huge sums of money? ” She
drives home her point and lets me think about it before continuing. I
let it sink in.
“ I
know. I know. I just want to do something special. Something
meaningful. Like you. Like so many of our friends,” I say.
“ Don ’ t
you think it is funny how you want to be so different from everyone?
So special. But at the same time you want to be just like everyone
else,” she wisely replies. “ Now
what can you do about it? What are
actions you can take to get to a place you want to be? Or at least
find peace with where you are now. ” That
is a fantastic question. One I don ’ t
have the answer to just yet. My mind takes me into my past, looking
for the answer.
It
is 1999. I am a junior in high school. My nickname on the baseball
team is brown eye . I was born with a dark brown birthmark, the
size of a dime, directly under my right eye. Every time I meet
someone new they ask me the same question, “What happened to your
eye?” I normally make a joke along the lines of, You should have
seen the other guy , but I have become obsessed with this one
physical feature. I want it gone. It definitely does not help me feel
normal.
By
college, the birthmark is the only thing I can see
night ’ s
wine.
We
barely speak as we make our way outside of the city. The sun slowly
peeks its head above the horizon, and the morning cold starts to fade
away. We climb hills filled with miles and miles of vineyards as far
as the eye can see. The signature red clay of this region shines
bright under the old vines, which produce the region ’ s
wines. It is a spectacular view. A spectacular sunrise.
I
decide on no mantra for the day. No phrase to focus on. I am just
trying not to think as I am starting to drive myself a little crazy.
I am again looking for a bright flashing sign with the lesson I am
supposed to take away from this trip and trying to think about my
purpose. I have never been focused on a life plan or had a steady
career path, and it has always been a sour spot in life. Always that
thorn in my side. I have a college degree, and I like the jobs that I
have had—some I have even loved—but over time, that has faded
into boredom. Either that, or I ruin everything by worrying about
what might be next.
Maybe
this is a side effect of the incessant travel bug I can never shake
and my constant search for something new and exciting. Amy is lucky.
She has been passionate about her job as a school psychologist up to
this point and has always had that clear direction. On top of that,
she has plans to get her yoga teacher certification when we return.
Two passions for her, not even one for me.
Today,
the neon sign doesn ’ t
come for me. We continue to see familiar faces now and again as we
walk and take breaks for food, water, and coffee. But for the most
part we are alone as we trudge along through the beautiful sea of
vines. I express to Amy my all too familiar frustration and as
always, she guides me to a new line of thinking. She begins to ask me
a series of questions.
“ What
are you feeling right now? ” she asks.
“ Anxiety.
Fear. Frustration, ” I
reply.
“ Why? ” she asks.
“ Because
I have spent 10 years trying to figure out what my passion is in life
and what I should be doing for a career, and here I am still without
an answer,” I say. Two pilgrims on their bikes whiz past us on the
trail. The psychological line of questioning continues.
“ Many
people spend their lives trying to find that perfect job. I want to
know why it matters so much to you. Why does it give you so much anxiety and
that feeling of restlessness? ”
Amy pushes.
I
think about this for a while limping forward and tightly clutching
Dolores. “ Because
I guess … I
guess I want to matter. I want my life to have mattered.” I
fight back tears as we walk.
Amy
continues to pry, “ So
your life doesn ’ t
matter now? Because you don ’ t
have a flashy career? Because you don ’ t
make huge sums of money? ” She
drives home her point and lets me think about it before continuing. I
let it sink in.
“ I
know. I know. I just want to do something special. Something
meaningful. Like you. Like so many of our friends,” I say.
“ Don ’ t
you think it is funny how you want to be so different from everyone?
So special. But at the same time you want to be just like everyone
else,” she wisely replies. “ Now
what can you do about it? What are
actions you can take to get to a place you want to be? Or at least
find peace with where you are now. ” That
is a fantastic question. One I don ’ t
have the answer to just yet. My mind takes me into my past, looking
for the answer.
It
is 1999. I am a junior in high school. My nickname on the baseball
team is brown eye . I was born with a dark brown birthmark, the
size of a dime, directly under my right eye. Every time I meet
someone new they ask me the same question, “What happened to your
eye?” I normally make a joke along the lines of, You should have
seen the other guy , but I have become obsessed with this one
physical feature. I want it gone. It definitely does not help me feel
normal.
By
college, the birthmark is the only thing I can see
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