It seems like forever since I started planning for this pilgrimage. Have my intents changed? Have my worries taken new forms? Have my boundaries widened or narrowed? I’ve spent the last fifteen or so years thinking about walking the Camino de Santiago one day, and finally that one day is here. What does that mean? My brain is overwhelmed with the possibilities – whether infinity or complete dearth of options, either is too much to think on at this precise moment.

So I do what I can. I scan over my mental packing list, checking off items, wondering if the things I have will be good enough. I didn’t get paid at all this month, and I had the unexpected expenses from traveling home last month for my dad’s surgery, so I wasn’t able to buy some of the clothing I’d have liked to have. But I’ll be OK. I’ve got the major things – great pack, sleeping bag, two great pairs of shoes, socks, layers of clothes that I already own (I worry about my pants being capris – hope it doesn’t get too cold, but I do have long socks, so worse comes to worse, I’ll make do), first aid items, shampoo and soap.

In the end, I couldn’t afford a camera, either. I might borrow one from a friend, but I don’t know. I don’t want to be put in a position where I might accidentally drop it or get it wet, so I haven’t made up my mind whether or not to accept the offer. Plus, it’s bulkier than I really have room for. I don’t know.

Other than that, all that’s really left for me to do is finish up the website I’ve been working on for a client, stock up on cat supplies for the cat sitter (my sainted boyfriend), clean the house, go back through my pack one more time to make sure I’ve got everything, and get on a plane to Paris.

I’m not nervous at all about traveling. I’m a little nervous about not having the money that I’d thought I’d have in my bank account to make sure that bills are paid while I’m gone, but I’ve paid my rent so at least I won’t get kicked out of my apartment. Everything else will just have to sort itself out. I’ve still got the fundraiser open, so as much as I don’t want to, I could beg a little more. And maybe clients will find the means to pay me while I’m away, and I can just have them direct deposit.

I’m tired of worrying about money. For an imaginary concept, it sure does have a way of taking over your life. It’s going to be a pleasure to be on the road, walking and thinking about something other than silly green paper for awhile.