You Deserve to Win

As I write this, it is September 10 at 7:55 p.m. I am sitting on the balcony of an Airbnb in Toledo, Spain. The sun is setting behind a massive cathedral to the left, my laundry is hanging over the edge of the balcony to dry, and after a day of walking, eating, and reflecting, I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

A few weeks ago, I shared that this summer I did 15 speaking events in 15 days. I am incredibly proud of the work I did and even more proud of the clients I worked with, but I don't want to contribute to the hustle-and-grind mindset of Western culture.

When I noticed my schedule filling up, I decided to accept the 15 events, with the understanding that I would then take 15 days off. And I knew exactly what I wanted to do with that break.

For the last few years, I have been interested in walking the Camino de Santiago, a centuries-old pilgrimage made up of several routes through Europe, all leading to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, Spain.

I chose the Camino Francés, also known as the French Way, which begins in France and continues across northern Spain. Walking the entire route takes five to six weeks, averaging 10 to 18 miles a day. Each morning you put your belongings on your back and start walking. Each evening you arrive in a different town or village and find a bed in a hotel, home, or dorm-style hostel.

I didn't have five weeks, so I walked the first 100 miles.

And that journey may have been the most transformative experience I have had as an adult.

The walking is certainly part of it. There are days when everything in your body aches. You walk over mountains and through valleys, on dirt paths, gravel roads, pavement, and rocks. The sun gets hot, the climb gets steep, your feet get tired, and everything you need for the day is on your back.

But I quickly learned that the miles aren't really what make the Camino the Camino. It's the people, known as pilgrims.

Some pilgrims walk with a friend, sibling, or significant other, but many of the people I met were walking solo. You might walk alone for a few miles, but eventually you catch up with someone. You ask where they're from, then they ask where you're from, and often there is a question that changes everything:

Why are you walking the Camino?

And suddenly, two strangers are walking side by side, sharing the real and raw parts of their life story.

I met pilgrims walking hundreds of miles to honor someone who had died, find peace in a painful situation, heal from something they had experienced, or gain clarity about what comes next in their life. The stories were vulnerable and intimate, but some things in life can only be shared with strangers.

Then, after walking all day, we would find ourselves in cafés and restaurants, eating together and debriefing the day.

I can't count the number of times I heard someone say, "Today was hard. I had a lot to process.” No one needed an explanation or justification. We all knew we weren't just carrying our backpacks; we were carrying the weighty things of our personal lives. The uninvited and unwanted stuff that came with us to the other side of the world.

Early in my trip, I walked for about two hours with a woman I had just met. She told me that day one had been a challenge for her. The first day of the French Way is an 18.2-mile climb over the Pyrenees Mountains. It's no joke of a walk.

As she was telling me about that day, she mentioned seeing a woman whose physical appearance suggested she might be battling cancer and undergoing chemotherapy.

Then she said something that went right through my ears and straight into the depths of my heart. She said, "I looked at that woman climbing that mountain, and I thought, whatever you are fighting, you deserve to win."

You deserve to win.

For miles and miles, I thought about those words. I knew everyone walking the Camino carried something, and so did I.

On the days when the climb got steep, the sun got hot, and my feet felt heavy, some of my own inner battles took center stage. But her words gave me permission to imagine something beyond continuing to fight my battles.

What if I was allowed to win?

Not winning in the way we often think about winning, where someone else has to lose. I mean the kind of winning that allows us to imagine an end to the fight.

Sometimes winning means making peace with something we cannot change or finally setting down something we were never meant to carry. Winning might mean asking for help, telling the truth, or choosing a different path.

Maybe it means believing, even if you can't quite feel it yet, that there are still people to meet, roads to walk, meals to share, sunsets to see, laundry to hang over a balcony, and parts of your story that haven't yet been written.

Maybe winning is simply deciding that the things we are fighting don't get to have all of us.

And sometimes winning is choosing to stay.

As people passed me on the Camino—and, let me be clear, far more people passed me than I passed—I found myself silently offering them a blessing of sorts.

I didn't know what everyone was carrying or why they were walking. But I hoped that whatever battles they were fighting, they knew they deserved to win.

The sun has now faded behind the cathedral. The city has grown calm and quiet, and my laundry still hangs from the balcony.

It is still September 10–World Suicide Prevention Day–and I have been thinking about that as I've written these words.

I don't know what you are carrying right now. I don't know what battles you are fighting or how long you have been fighting them. I don't know if you're tired. I don’t know if you are ready to give up. I don't know if you can see what is around the next bend.

But I do know this, you deserve to win.

For 100 miles on the Camino, there was only one way forward–one foot in front of the other. Some days were easier. Some days were really hard. Some steps I took alongside strangers who became friends, and other steps I had to take alone. But no matter what the day brought, the invitation was always the same–show up and take the next step.

Tomorrow, we will all do the same.

We don't have to know exactly where the road is taking us or figure out the whole journey today. But we do have to keep showing up and putting one foot in front of the other, trusting that there are still strangers to meet, things to learn, and parts of our story we have not written.

Whatever you are fighting, please know that you deserve to win.

If putting one foot in front of the other feels impossible today, please let someone walk with you. Call or text 988 to connect with a trained crisis counselor.

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