Four weeks ago, I laced up my boots and took the first of what would become over 600 kilometres walked across France and northern Spain.

The Camino de Santiago had been on my bucket list for years. My "reframing" last July finally gave me the gift of time to pursue it. I had no idea what was waiting for me on the other side.

Life fits into a backpack

There is something radical about reducing your entire existence to what you can carry on your back. No screens. No calendar. No endless decisions. Just the path, your breath, and the next step. I expected to miss the noise. Instead, I found a mental clarity I hadn't felt in years. The fatigue was physical. Deeply, honestly physical and my mind came alive in the silence that followed.

Loneliness is a doorway

I chose to walk alone. It was a calling, and it asked something of me - to be open, vulnerable, willing to start conversations with strangers from every corner of the world. Three times I took rest days and lost the new friends I'd made. Three times I had to begin again. Each time it stung a little. And each time, I was reminded that people move in and out of our lives for a reason. Some of the most meaningful conversations I had were with people I would never have approached back home. The Camino has a way of dissolving the walls we build around ourselves.

Stop racing toward the finish line

In the early days I fell into an old trap. Needing to be at the front, amongst the first on the path. A few days in, I caught myself and asked: who am I actually doing this for? The moment I settled into my own rhythm, everything changed. The blisters didn't disappear. The rain didn't stop. But I stopped measuring the walk by the kilometres remaining and started living it step by step. The journey wasn't the path to something. It was the thing itself.

Everyone is carrying something

One of the most humbling parts of the Camino is discovering why the person beside you is walking. An inflection point. A grief they're working through. A decision they can't make from behind a desk. Purpose is everywhere on the path - raw, honest, human purpose. It reminded me that when people know their why, they find a way through almost anything. Watching strangers dig deep on the hardest days moved me more than I expected.

We are all holding a hand of cards

Every person I walked with was carrying their own hand. A unique set of cards representing their life. Some cards were wonderful. Others were heavy, painful and deeply private. Nobody's hand was all aces. What struck me was how rarely people show you their full deck, and how much it means when they do. It changed the way I listened. It changed the way I judged. The Camino taught me to make space for people to carry what they're carrying without trying to fix it, reorder it, or pretend it isn't there. Sometimes walking alongside someone is enough.

The bumps are not the story

There were days of relentless rain that soaked through everything. Days where 28km felt impossible. Days where the path threw something at me I wasn't ready for. But I'm done now, and those aren't the moments I return to. What I remember is the sunrise over the Spanish landscapes. The stranger who shared their food. The people that I grew to love. The moment the cathedral at Santiago came into view for the first time. Hardship fades. What remains is what you chose to do with it.

None of it happens without the people in your corner

My wife made all of this possible. Five weeks holding our family together. Our kids, our home, our life. All without hesitation. That kind of love and support is not small. It is everything. Behind every meaningful thing I have done, she has been there. I will not forget that and I will always love her immensely for it.

I return home lighter in ways I didn't expect. Different questions. Better ones.

If the Camino is on your list - go. Go now. It will give you back more than you bring to it.

Buen Camino.