We left home the day after Christmas—my 20-year-old daughter, my husband of 20 days, and me. After 48 hours of zig-zagging through airports and train stations, we finally reached our starting point along the Camino de Santiago in Sarria, Spain. With Christmas lights still adorning streetlamps and frost on the grass, we began our chilly 100-mile trek on the ancient pilgrimage route toward the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, Spain, where the remains of Saint James rest in peace.
Since the idea first came to us, our motivation for such a seemingly unnecessary journey had evolved. Finally there, we were journeying not for miles or exercise but for something we could not name—perhaps a shift or a quiet revelation. We set aside expectations and let the road unfold as it wished. Like us, pilgrims from around the world have walked these paths for over a thousand years, seeking spiritual renewal, personal growth, or simply the experience of the walk itself.
That is the way of the pilgrim: laying aside the need for answers to looming questions and creating space to ask better ones. Long before us and long after us, sojourners tread along this path. The choice to walk is the choice to step into that ancient journey, hoping that the transformation experienced by countless travelers before will remain true for us as well.
Physically, the hardest part of the Camino de Santiago was not the walking itself but the moment before—the hesitation in placing my feet on the floor each morning, as I was met with an acute awareness of every sore muscle. But soon after, my body would warm up, falling into rhythm, and I was ready to go again. Each day brought its own trial and reward. Averaging 15 miles per day, I was pushed beyond the comfort zone I had created for myself.
The Camino demanded discomfort. It would have been easy to choose a quiet week in the Maldives or the post-Christmas warmth of home. But meaning is rarely found in ease. Each day brought unfamiliar beds, foreign meals, uncertainty, and exhaustion, yet we continued—one step at a time. There was beauty in the difficulty, in the way the body learned to move through pain, in the way the mind settled into silence. Yet I found satisfaction in the movement itself.
There is something about long walks that feels both ancient and necessary, as if our bodies were made for it in a way we have forgotten. I often overlook how accessible and simple an act of praise it is to simply move the body in the way it was created to move. I dream of days filled with long walks, but real life demands practicality. What took us six days on foot could have been completed in a car in an hour and a half with little thought. My daily commute to the office, if walked, would take six hours, yet I arrive via I-10 in twenty minutes, sitting in my car the whole way. The world is built for speed, not for the patient accumulation of miles. But something is lost in that efficiency.
Walking is a meditative movement. It does not demand great exertion or force, nor does it require me to break through barriers. It is simply the act of being in motion, one step at a time. From that simplicity, so much emerges—a clearing of the mind, a release of stress, an awareness of the world unfolding with each footfall along the path.
Along this Camino path, yellow arrows silently guide the way. Left by those who have gone before, they sometimes appear on concrete markers in the distance or are spray-painted along walls. Google Maps attempted to reroute us along faster roadways, and the book I had purchased, full of elevation guides and section maps, proved pointless. Instead, we searched for these yellow arrows, and always, they were there. If one was not immediately visible, it would soon appear.
For 100 miles, this was the rhythm: one step, then another, then the search for the next arrow. At times, it seemed as if the arrows emerged from nowhere, appearing just when we had certainly lost our way. We would reach a crossroads, unsure of the path, and suddenly, a concrete marker would rise ahead of us, a bright yellow arrow pointing forward, commanding, “Go right” or “Straight ahead.” And so we walked, trusting that the next guidepost would appear.
Through hamlets where cows peeked from stone barns, past crumbling walls overtaken by vines, we followed the arrows as we traced the footsteps of those who had come before. The hush of the wind. The crisp scent of leaves crushed underfoot. There was no need to rush. The landscape held its own time, and I fell into step with its simplicity. A thousand years of pilgrims had walked this path before me, and a thousand more would follow.
And isn’t that the way of God’s guidance? There may not always be a clear sign in front of me at every moment, but if I keep looking, if I keep moving forward, there is always one just ahead. If I follow the next arrow—the next bit of right direction—I can keep going, step by step, mile by mile, trusting that I am being led where I need to be.
So, what was the great takeaway? Perhaps it is not something to be captured in a single thought but something that lingers and unfolds over time. It pointed me back to God—not in a grand revelation, but in the quiet knowing that I was exactly where I needed to be. That the walk itself was a prayer. That the simple act of placing one foot in front of the other continues to be enough.
PULL QUOTE:
That is the way of the pilgrim: laying aside the need for answers to looming questions and creating space to ask better ones. Long before us and long after us, sojourners tread along this path.
SIDEBAR:
Meet Sarah Brooke Lyons
A Texas native, Sarah began photographing professionally in San Antonio in 2007. After exploring many areas of photography, her entrepreneurial drive and artistic spirit found a home in commercial and editorial photography.
Sarah has created projects such as 1005 Faces; taking portraits of 1005 San Antonio-area residents as a celebration of the diversity of our community. Internationally, she has shared the voices of neighborhoods in Brazil, West Africa, China, and Haiti by documenting daily life.
Whether at home or on a distant adventure, Sarah longs to show the world how inspiring we humans can be and how much beauty is in the world.
sarahbrookelyons.com | Instagram: @sarahbrookelyons, @lyonsphotocompany