I expected this to be the final day on the Camino trail. With just less than 20 kilometers and an early start I anticipated getting into Santiago de Campostelo by about noon.

It felt harsh. But I knew the story. In my early 20’s I had to make a decision—either allow my childhood trauma to dictate my life or take action to create the life I wanted.

I didn’t know where this would take me, but I did know that I couldn’t waste any more energy trying to fit in.

That night in Palas den Rei, three of us from the albergue buddied up to find a place for dinner—an American, a Frenchman, and a Spaniard.

My life really started when I quit running. It started when I began making decisions based on my actual reality rather than my preferred reality.

I still wanted to have that feeling of “having a life,” but now with my new awareness I wondered if that meant less about putting roots down in a certain place and lifestyle…

The day just confirmed what had been growing in me for quite some time. When push comes to shove my need to embody my spiritual vocation is stronger than my need for financial security.

It was a stunningly beautiful day of walking with vineyard covered hills, quaint little villages, sheep crossing the road, marvelous cloud formations, a good connection over lunch with a woman from Denmark, and constant reminders of the spiritual nature of the Camino.

I found myself repeating a short message to myself, “I grieve that we live in a society so addicted to controlling life that we shut ourselves off from the experience of life.”

I took a few minutes before the cross and pondered, “What do I need to unburden myself from? What is holding me back? What in my life or character needs some self-forgiveness?”

Not long into the walk I felt a sudden surge in my body—like a wave of anxiety and excitement all at once.

I had finally acknowledged that I was feeling somewhat disconnected from the experience of the Camino

Things did not start off well. Despite the good dressing each step gave me a jolt of pain and I had to limp to lessen the pressure on that part of my foot.

The day was spent in pure pleasure. I ate good food. I watched street performers. I toured the magnificent Santa Maria de Regla de Leon Cathedral. I got a much-needed haircut. I connected with Tom, Alex and Brad, three pilgrims from Britain. I let my foot and blister breathe. I played my ukulele. I took a nap. I ate more good food.

The Meseta was definitely doing its work. The long multi-day stretches of flat plains had pitched me into a place of radical self-honesty. I was coming to terms with the reality of my own life.

The Camino was not a break from my life. It was my life.

I woke up in Terradillos feeling and thinking, “I want to just kick this Camino in the butt!”

“Go deep, Brian, not big.”

That phrase must have been working on me in my sleep. I had spent much of this pilgrimage trying to craft a future that would satisfy my complex longings.

Lots of time and room to just think today. The terrain definitely facilitates that—endless kilometers of sunflower fields amid an essentially flat landscape called the Meseta.

As deliciously sacred as the night before was, the early morning was nearly the opposite. First of all, I was awakened during the night by someone yelling in Spanish and banging loudly on the locked gate.