Today I am out of the house, in my workout clothes (including my Camino trail runners), and am about to begin walking the track.
This is a big deal for me. For so long I have sequestered myself in the house venturing out only when absolutely necessary. It’s not as though I have become an agoraphobic. Rather it is that I have immersed myself in the small domesticities of tidying and cooking. Don’t worry it’s not as though I’ve become maniacal in cleaning. 😉
On the Camino my world was large but very slow and deliberate. Now my world seems large and fast paced. There are so many people at the grocery and so many things to choose from.
At home I feel very Benedictine as I fold the laundry or stir a white wine sauce to serve over homemade pasta. It has become my sanctuary with candles burning. My music is my hymnal…sometimes modern, sometimes country, sometimes taize.
And I think about my life.
I’ve been re-reading Sue Monk Kidd and Ann Kidd Taylor’s book, Traveling with Pomegranates. I read this about 6 years ago and I was so taken by this memoir written by a mother and daughter that I bought copies for my own daughters. I know my oldest read it but I doubt the other two did since the oldest described it as a “cry-fest”. Nonetheless I still find words to cling to that sadden me and yet illuminate the possibility for hope.
It almost bereaves me to think of unrealized potentials dying inside, the small miscarriages of self.