Why not a pilgrimage?

2022-04-07

Dear reader,

I didn’t think of myself as the kind of person who would ever go on a pilgrimage.

I’m “spiritual” but not in a religious way that would make me want to take the hajj to Mecca. I had two friends who walked El Camino de Santiago in Spain. The way they glowed when they talked about it got my attention. But I never committed the time to it.

I like traveling. Or do I? When a trip approaches, or when I’m stuck in an airport, I remember that I like the idea of traveling more than the reality. I like being at home. I get to work in the garden or the forest, or do something that I’ve been wanting to do. A pilgrimage does something vague. A staycation gets my firewood stacked.

A pilgrim is a seeker. A pilgrim is on a path of not-knowing. Cat Stevens sang, “So much left to know, and I'm on the road to find out.”

I’m not comfortable with the not-knowing part of that.

My father would often remark that “I don’t know” wasn’t in my vocabulary. My father also stopped playing chess or trivia games with me around age 10 because I won all the time. That didn’t stop me from studying more and reading more. Most of the people I grew up around got a great deal of their self-esteem from having some domain of knowledge or skill. It’s how we were taught.

And that’s been a great path for me. I found people who were better than me at chess and trivia and learned from them, and got better. I love learning, but I’m most comfortable learning if I’m building on things I already know.

I was the only bidder on a large table loom from the recent St. Michael's Interfaith Refugee benefit auction. It was valued at $400 and I bid the minimum of $100. I felt bad about not offering more to the fundraiser, but I was only willing to buy it at a bargain.

Seeing my son ride horseback for the first time, and go ziplining, gives me some idea of the value of our March trip to Costa Rica. This pilgrimage-thing, on the other hand—I have no idea.

I now have this loom and I have the dawning recognition that I might want to use it. But the biggest challenge remains—fear of incompetence. I wove when I was a kid, and someone did the hard bits for me. Tying knots seems like it will be necessary, and I’m bad at that.

In the next line of that song Stevens says, “In the end I'll know, But on the way I wonder.” I’m too impatient for that journey of not-knowing to be very long. I haven’t taken the time to even search YouTube for tutorial videos. Just thinking of trying to be patient enough to watch a 10-minute video makes me feel impatient.

I’m also motivated by glory and credit. You might have seen a famous weaving. Can you name a single famous weaver? (And no, an entire country like Afghanistan doesn’t count!)

Despite all that, I’m taking a fresh look at doing things I previously would have overlooked as not practical, including both weaving and an actual, physical pilgrimage.

When I first thought about writing a column about the trip I’m going on next week, I imagined myself receiving your blessing and praise. Some pilgrimages have approval baked in. If I joined the other 2.5 million people who go on the hajj in non-COVID years, I’d be fulfilling a sacred duty to my God.

But so far, most of what I’ve shared about my pilgrimage with other people has felt off to me. Most of the people I’ve told about it have responded with the faint praise of “Interesting.”

And while I have found that disappointing, it has led me to ask if I’m doing it for approval (whether God’s or yours), or doing it for myself. The answer came back, “myself.” Which led me to decide not to talk much about specifics, at least until I come back.

There is a person I’m meeting on the other end of my journey whose face, if not name, most readers would recognize from a major national news story of recent years. This made me feel Important, which might have factored into my mentioning her name to a few people.

The response overall has been, more or less, “Interesting.” I felt disappointed in this, but again, asked myself why I cared about anyone else caring. I asked myself, would I go on this pilgrimage even if she got cold feet and didn’t show? The answer came back, “Yes.” So I stopped the humble-name-dropping.

I feel self-conscious enough already that I’m going on something that I have the audacity to call a “pilgrimage.” And not in the style of the devoted fan who makes a pilgrimage to Graceland, but as someone who’s taking a road trip to a city I’ve never been that interested in, for reasons I can’t say.

Yes, I did just say “road trip.” I’ll get some walking in like a true pilgrim, but mostly I’m driving. Flights were expensive and didn’t feel right. An airline takes you right there. Add an Uber on the other end, and you never have to feel lost.

So I’m burning 2,000 Prius-miles worth of gas at $4.29/gallon. I’m planning to get lost on purpose somewhere. I’m planning to offer my not-knowing and my curiosity to the exclusion of anything I think I already know about this place I’m visiting. Again, for reasons I can’t say.

And I’d like to keep it that way for as long as I can. I have a feeling that I’ll learn more in the end, and perhaps unlearn even more than that, the longer I keep my mind open to not-knowing.

Why not a pilgrimage? I’ll let you know how it goes. And let me know about your adventures in learning and un-learning.

On pilgrimage,

Tristan
Quill Nook Farm