Roncesvalles to die, A Coruña to live

After a stage that pushed me to the limit, I received a clear sign that I had to walk the Camino de Santiago.

Not as tourism. Not as tradition.

As closure.

I got rid of everything I could. Gave the laptop to a friend. Left clothes behind. The money I tried to transfer didn't go through because the account had been closed.

I started walking with the bare minimum.

Roncesvalles was to die. A Coruña was to live.

That was the direction.

And I walked.

But when I arrived in Santiago, something happened that I didn't expect.

I fell to my knees.

And suddenly there was a closure. Something that had been open slammed shut. I stopped being a pilgrim. I no longer had to go anywhere else.

I didn't need to reach A Coruña.

The process completed itself earlier than expected.

Not because I decided it. Because the body decided that was where it ended.

I went back to my parents' house. They always kept the door open for me. All twenty times I went home to start my life over.

In Barcelona, my first attempt at getting clients was going to a butcher shop. My mother had told me the butcher was interested. When I told her the price, she practically threw the flyer back in my face.

That's how things begin.

Not with applause.

With a flyer on the floor and everything still to build.