Ghosts of Past Habituations
When Mark and I embarked on this six-month journey, I made a commitment—to myself and to anyone who might follow along—to write about the experience as it unfolds. Not with the polish of hindsight or the clarity of lessons fully learned, but from the raw immediacy of living through it. I promised to share the messiness, the uncertainty, and the discomfort because that’s where the heart of a pilgrimage truly lies.
I know I will evolve as this experience shapes me; I can already feel the edges of my spirit softening and expanding in small but significant ways. And, for now, I am choosing to share the imperfect, unvarnished process because there is beauty in the vulnerability of being “in it.” Pilgrimages are not about arriving; they are about the day-to-day breaking open and the transformation that occurs in the in-between spaces.
When I imagined this pilgrimage, I pictured moments of wonder—sunrises in sacred places, meaningful conversations with strangers, and mystical revelations about the world, myself, and my relationship with my beloved. And those moments have come, but they’ve been interwoven with far less romantic realities: walking miles till my feet ached on unfamiliar streets, struggling to communicate without the language, and feeling the deep ache of homesickness.
At times, I feel untethered, as though the ground beneath me is constantly shifting. Simple tasks, like finding a needed item of clothing or buying groceries, have turned into unexpected hurdles. And let’s not even talk about Christmas lights! They are so unimportant – and also so important! It’s humbling to realize how much I relied on the ease of my familiar world. I miss my people—the friends who know my heart, the community that nurtures my spirit, the quiet sanctuary of home—and, in this season, even the comforting glow of holiday lights to string around a tiny tree we managed to find through an online marketplace.
You see, the discomfort has become a mainstay of the pilgrimage. I’m learning that this journey isn’t about mastering the external world; it’s about allowing the external world to master me in the best possible way. Every struggle, every moment of disorientation, calls me to dig deeper into my reserves of patience, grace, and trust.
A pilgrimage doesn’t promise perfection—it promises transformation. And transformation, I’m learning, is rarely neat or easy. It strips away the layers of pretense and control, leaving you face-to-face with your vulnerability. It asks, “Can you find beauty here, in the messiness and imperfection?”
John O’Donohue’s poem, For the Traveler, has been my steady companion through this process. These lines in particular resonate deeply:
"May you come to trust that you are
exactly where you are meant to be;
May you not be troubled by ghosts
of past habituations."
At times, I’ve been haunted by those ghosts—the habits, comforts, and certainties of my old life. But O’Donohue’s blessing reminds me that this unsteady ground beneath my feet is holy ground. Each misstep, each longing for home, is an invitation to deepen my trust—not just in the journey, but in myself and the Divine presence that dwells within me.
There’s a sacred irony to all of this. I embarked on this pilgrimage seeking the more connection with the Divine in faraway places, and instead, I am finding the Divine within—whispering through my doubt, my longing, and my quiet triumphs.
And here’s the truth: your pilgrimage doesn’t have to involve travel. Life itself is a pilgrimage. Every one of us will face challenges, upheavals, and moments of change that require us to surrender, adapt, and trust. Whether you’re navigating a move, a loss, a new beginning, or simply the unknowns of each day, you’re on a pilgrimage of your own.
Practices for a Meaningful Pilgrimage
Whether your journey is physical or metaphorical, these practices can help you navigate it with intention and grace:
- Set an Intention: Begin with a clear intention for your pilgrimage. What do you hope to discover or cultivate? This intention will act as a compass when the path feels unclear.
- Keep a Journal: Write daily about your experiences, reflections, and emotions. It doesn’t need to be perfect; it’s a tool for processing and remembering the journey.
- Stay Present: Practice mindfulness in each moment. Even when things go awry, pause, breathe, and notice what’s around you. There is beauty to be found, even in imperfection.
- Embrace the Unknown: Release the need to control or plan everything. Some of the most transformative moments happen when you surrender to what is unfolding.
- Create Rituals: Honor your journey with small rituals—a prayer, a candle, or a simple acknowledgment of sacred moments along the way.
- Connect with Others: Even when you don’t share a language, kindness and curiosity are universal. A smile or a heartfelt gesture can bridge the gap.
- Practice Gratitude: End each day by naming three things you are grateful for, no matter how small. Gratitude transforms challenges into opportunities for growth.
- Honor Your Feelings: Allow yourself to feel everything—joy, frustration, homesickness, fear—without judgment. These emotions are part of your unfolding story.
This pilgrimage is a gift—not because it’s easy, but because its real. Life offers us this gift every day. And so, I walk on—grateful for the challenges, the beauty, and the deep well of love and resilience I continue to discover within myself.
P.S. Occasionally, Spirit rewards my tenacity in the most unexpected and heartwarming way.
As I’ve been writing this blog, Mark has been busy assembling our little Charlie Brown Christmas tree. And guess what? The lovely woman we got it from, Maria, included a surprise in the package—a bag filled with a few ornaments, a little garland, some cheerful bows, a sparkling red glitter star for the top... and, yes, a string of lights!
It feels like a little wink from the Divine—a reminder that even in moments of longing or challenge, small miracles can brighten our path when we least expect them.
