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Halfway

Today we crossed the halfway point between St Jean Pied de Port and Santiago! Under 400km to go.

Photos for now, more thoughts and stories another day…

Burgos –> Hontanas – 30km

Hontanas –> Fròmista – 33km

Canals

Canals

Fròmista –> Carrión de los Condes -20km

Heart of the Camino

Heart of the Camino

Carrión de los Condes –> Terradillos de los Templarios – 26km

Laundry on the Camino

Laundry on the Camino

Posted on May 27, 2016October 2, 2016 Posted in adventure

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Beyond the Meseta

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Repost from @trans_in_color A black trans man was killed by the police on May 27 in Tallahassee, Florida. His name was Tony McDade. SAY HIS NAME 🤎 #BlackTransLivesMatter #BlackLivesMatter #sayhisname #stopracism

@mncopal CALL TO ACTION: A coalition of organizers in Minnesota has developed a toolkit to demand justice for George Floyd. George was murdered by the MPD on Monday, May 25, 2020, and the police and system responsible must face justice. Take 15 minutes of your time to do the following. #justiceforfloyd

Sign the petition to charge the murderers of #GeorgeFloyd: justiceforbigfloyd.com . DEAR FELLOW WHITE PEOPLE: . We have to do better. Period. . Our shock is not enough, it does not bring about change, it does not repair any of the damage. Our anger and heartbreak at this continued reality is a step in the right direction, but our action is what is needed. . We need to educate ourselves, call in more white people to the conversation, and call out racism when we see it. Our white bodies carry more weight than black bodies, and while that fact is abhorrent WE CAN USE IT. When we are outspoken our voices reach places black voices won’t on their own, so let’s make space and amplify black voices. And when we get called out ourselves? LISTEN. There is no space for our white fragility, our guilt, our hurt reactions at having the spotlight turned on our own racism. . If you take no action because you are afraid of saying the wrong thing or offending people by not doing anti-racism perfectly, it's time to get over it. That excuse is tired. We are going to fuck up, it is the nature of it. And when we do our egos will burn, but it’s just our ego. We must sit with it and learn from it and grow bigger from it. Hell, I've been scared even to write this post because what if I am doing or saying the wrong things!? but what the actual fuck is that bullshit?! My ego doesn't matter as much as black lives matter, and I'm going to keep trying and keep learning. . Maya Angelou put it best: "Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better." . If you don’t know where to start, there are brilliant POC writers, activists, educators doing the work to help us learn. Follow them. Read their books and their posts. Do the courses they are offering. PAY THEM FOR THEIR WORK. Become their co-conspirators by following their lead on actions we can take and maybe down the road in our learning we will also come up with some of our own ideas for action, so the burden isn't solely on POC to tell us what to do next to fix this shit. . Here are some incredible folx I am learning from: @rachel.cargle + @thegreatunlearn @laylafsaad @austinchanning @ckyourprivilege

Part 4 of 4 . I began noticing identities I had built up to define myself: Active. Creative. Adventurous. I didn’t feel any of those things anymore. I only felt tired. Every time someone asked me, “What workouts are you doing at home?” or “How are you staying creative during this time?” shame washed over me. Every time my friends or coworkers talked to me about their workout routines, I was awash in shame. When they told me about the inspiration they were feeling to create art, shame. . For the first time in my life, I decided to sit with it. I said, “Hello, Shame. Come on in. Let’s talk.” And that acknowledgement felt new, it felt kind, it felt warm. I sat with my shame at letting go of these identities, of having to explain to my friends that I was not being active and not making art and not playing music and not planning adventures. It was hard for them to remember, and they asked me the same questions over and over as if it was impossible to unlink me from these ways of being. I sat with that shame too, and its potency lessened. I wanted to be seen, not for the identities I had cultivated for myself, just for myself. . One day, I felt like going for a walk around the block, so I did. I decided that was enough daily activity for now. A week later, I felt like doing 10 minutes of yoga, so I did. My brain said, “Oh great! Then we can work up to 20 minutes and then 40 and then an hour! LET’S DO THIS!” My body responded, “Nope. Not this time. This time we are sticking with only what feels good in the moment, not pushing to improve or excel. There is no goal in mind this time, dear brain.” And I knew this was true. . Now sometimes I do 20 minutes of yoga, or walk a mile. Other days I walk around the block or do 10 minutes of calm, restorative stretching. Sometimes I push too hard, and I have to spend the next week recovering, and I learn. This journey is slow, and I will probably keep learning these lessons my whole life. Slow down. Don’t push through exhaustion. I am not the identities I have created. Feeling shame doesn’t have to dictate my actions. ♥️

Part 3 of 4 . Then COVID-19 made its appearance on the scene. The fear for my immune system made me agree somewhat with doctors that working from home would be best for my health, but I felt too much shame about being “weak” to do it. Without showing outward physical symptoms (other than looking like a zombie) it was too hard to explain to people, and I worried I would be judged or respected less. This is, of course, far from the reality of how I would have been treated, and was coming entirely from my internalized fears of not being enough no matter how much I had to give. . Then… the decision was made for me by my company. We would be working from home for at least 4 weeks. Despite the fear of how this virus could impact me if I wasn’t careful, the relief of the decision being taken off my shoulders was immense. . It took being at home full time to realize the other factors that had added to my anxiety every time I went into the office. I hated that I didn’t have the energy to maintain physical fitness, and I didn’t want to be seen every day because I was softer than I was used to being. It added to my dysphoria to see my hips stand out more prominently and lose the muscular shoulders I had worked so hard to build. I hated that my skin was breaking out due to stress and worry, and I wanted to keep my face hidden. I hated coming across as half-alive and brain-dead, feeling less vibrant and intelligent than I know I can be. . At home I could take breaks to rest more often, change the layout of my day to better fit how my body was feeling. I stopped working out entirely and spent more restful time meditating, writing and passing long, quiet mornings with myself. I could work “in hiding” whenever I was not on a video call, and this eased the constant litany of harsh judgements toward my physical form. Not commuting made the days feel slower and longer and brought my anxiety down to a more manageable level.

Part 2 of 4 . If I am honest, these attempts were mostly about getting healthy enough to be allowed to have top surgery. This was the most pressing part of my body that needed to heal; I needed to feel comfortable inside my skin. The lifestyle changes did get me to top surgery last spring, and that did have a massive impact on my mental state. Feeling energized in my new body and peace of mind, I quickly slipped back into my fast-paced life. I maintained my writing and meditation practices, but that was like strapping on a seatbelt and feeling invincible while speeding the wrong direction on a freeway at 90mph. . At the end of last year my body said, “OK they’re not getting it, SHUT. IT. DOWN”. And boy did it ever shut down. I would sleep 12 hours and wake up exhausted, ready to go back to bed within hours. Part of me was worried I was making it worse by sleeping so much because what if it was solely depression and I needed to stay active? A deeper part of me knew the rest was necessary, and as much as I fought it I couldn’t override the need. . For weeks I could barely get through a day at work. Caffeine didn’t help the exhaustion, I got dizzy spells that made me wobbly on my feet, and I was unable to concentrate or think critically. I would come home from the day, skip dinner, and go straight to bed. On weekends I would sleep for 15 hours, drag myself to a yoga class, then come home so tired I had to go back to bed. . My immune system was still struggling and my adrenal system was not functioning properly, despite the medications and supplements doctors prescribed. One of the doctors started pushing me to take extended time off work so I could truly rest, because that was ultimately the best way to heal. I knew they were right, but the idea caused more anxiety than relief. I considered alternatives like working from home part time, to see if that helped. I agonized, I debated, I talked myself in and out of solutions. .

All images © 2004-2016 Hannah Weatherford of Lightseed Photography | Seattle, WA | hannahwahl@gmail.com