Resilience
Almost 300 kilometres. 10 days. One backpack. A lot of blisters.
On Tuesday, my sister Jessica Gesterkamp and I walked into Santiago de Compostela after completing the Camino de Santiago.
We walked across northern Spain carrying everything we needed on our backs. Mountains, tiny villages, forests, vineyards. Long days. Not much sleep. Battered feet. And a few stretches where neither of us had much left to say.
Some days were beautiful.
Some were bloody hard.
Most were both.
I’ve spent a large part of my career as a psychologist talking about resilience, mental health and human performance.
Walking almost 300 kilometres reminded me that resilience rarely looks impressive while you’re actually doing it.
Most of the time, it’s pretty ordinary.
Get up. Put your shoes back on. Look after the person beside you. And keep moving.
I thought a lot about the tortoise and the hare out there.
Not because life is a race. And certainly not because pushing through is always the answer. Sometimes the right thing to do is stop. Rest. Ask for help.
But there’s something powerful about steady forward movement.
Sometimes you just start moving and see what happens.
When the destination feels too far away, reduce the horizon.
Don’t worry about Santiago.
Get to the next town.
If that feels too far, get to the next Camino marker.
Then take another step.
And another.
Eventually, something that once felt impossibly far away is behind you.
But what made the Camino really special were the people.
Everyone seemed to have a reason for being there.
Some shared it within five minutes. Others after walking beside you for hours.
People from all over the world. Different lives. Different reasons. All heading in the same direction.
And the Camino would have been a bloody harder slog without good people beside us.
On Tuesday, Jess and I walked into the square in front of the Cathedral together. Packs still on. Feet absolutely destroyed.
We hugged.
And for a little while, neither of us needed to say much.
Worth every bloody step.