Last week, I was walking along the coast of Portugal on the Camino de Santiago. It was a foggy morning. The ocean was crashing against the shore to my left, and I could feel the cool, damp air against my face. The women I was traveling with were walking ahead of me, and the wooden path stretched out into the fog as far as I could see. I couldn't see where the path would eventually lead. I couldn't see what was waiting around the next bend. And I remember feeling an overwhelming sense of peace. There was nowhere else I needed to be. Nothing I needed to figure out. No decisions to make about what came next.
All I had to do was walk.
One foot in front of the other.
I've thought about that moment quite a bit since returning home, and I think I've finally figured out what made it feel so special.
There was no expectation that I needed to know what was ahead.
I knew that if I continued walking, I would eventually reach my destination. I didn't need to see it to trust that it was there. And without the pressure of needing to know, I was free to be completely present. Something else struck me as I reflected on that experience.
My mind had been quiet.
And if you know me, you know that's not exactly a common occurrence. I'm someone who almost always has a million thoughts, ideas, and questions running through my head. I'm thinking about what I want to do, what I need to do, what I could do differently, or what might happen next.
But on that path, there was none of that. I wasn't trying to quiet my mind. I wasn't practicing some intentional mindfulness exercise. I wasn't even aware of how quiet it had become until I thought about it later. I was simply there. Hearing the ocean. Feeling the breeze. Noticing the beauty around me. Appreciating the simple act of moving my body. And perhaps what made that moment so special was that I wasn't expecting anything more from it.
Before leaving for Portugal, I'd written about something I'd been noticing in myself. Even after leaving my corporate career and creating more freedom in my life, I was still carrying some of the old expectations about productivity, achievement, and what I needed to accomplish before I could allow myself to enjoy something. I'd even caught myself feeling anxious about taking this trip because some part of me believed I hadn't earned it. I understood intellectually that I didn't need to measure my worth by what I accomplished. I knew I wanted to stop putting so many expectations on myself.
But knowing something and actually experiencing it can be two very different things.
And somewhere along that foggy path, without even realizing it, I experienced what it felt like to let those expectations go. There was no internal conversation about whether I was doing enough or making good use of my time. There was just the experience itself.
At one point along the path, I came across a lighthouse.
If you've followed my journey, you might know that lighthouses have become a meaningful symbol for me. Seeing one there, emerging from the fog, made me smile. It was a small moment, but one that felt special.
Our group had joked about how none of us seemed to have the profound spiritual experience we'd heard so many people describe after walking the Camino. But the more I've reflected on my experience since returning home, the more I've come to appreciate something about that. Not every experience needs to become a lesson or lead to some life-changing realization. Sometimes, the experience itself is enough. We can simply enjoy being where we are, without needing the moment to become anything more.
I've spent a lot of time over the last several months reflecting on who I am, what I want, and how I want to live my life. I've learned a great deal about myself in the process. But that morning on the Camino reminded me that growth doesn't always happen through reflection, analysis, or figuring something out. Sometimes it happens when we're simply living.
Looking back, I realize the fog wasn't something I needed to overcome that morning. It was simply part of the experience. And because I wasn't trying to see beyond it, I was able to appreciate everything that was right in front of me. The sound of the ocean. The cool air against my skin. The rhythm of my footsteps.
The quiet in my mind.
Maybe that's what I'll remember most about that morning. Not how far I walked or where the path eventually led, but how peaceful it felt to be exactly where I was.
Sometimes, the most beautiful part of the journey is realizing we don't have to be anywhere other than where we are.
