Beyond Reason

Let me make something very clear: I am not a person who believes that everything happens for a reason. Yes, there might be a scientific rationale, something tangible that helps explain a series of phenomena, but in my mind things in life — bad or good — do not happen for some sort of intangible, higher reason.

I say this because something unexpected just happened to me. After walking 700 kilometers, from Aosta to Siena, Italy, I was taking a rest day in Siena. On my way to do laundry, I slipped on a step and fractured a bone in my foot. A simple action that led to a grave situation.

My walk to Rome is, at least for now, finished.

I don’t want to or need to find a reason for this. I do not believe that the universe was sending me some sort of message.

Was I tired? Sure I was. I’ve walked 700 km in the past five weeks. That’s why I planned regular rest days. That’s why I paced myself, took breaks, got plenty of sleep, drank a lot of fluids, made sure I adequately fueled myself every day. My body wasn’t sending me a signal that I needed to stop. I walked from Aosta to Siena without a single blister. Other than a few scratches and bruises, I didn’t have any problems. Literally the day before I slipped I was dancing in my boots to the melody of “I’m too sexy for this trail” with my Camino friends. I have never felt more emotionally or physically strong in my life.

I simply slipped on a step and twisted my foot and crack.

The fact is, no matter how much we prepare ourselves, no matter how much we try and do the right thing, shit happens, often at the least opportune moments of our lives. Shit happens to so-called good people and shit happens to so-called bad people, and when it does happen, it sucks. Full stop. To say that things happen for a reason tends to oversimplify life, as if there is some easy answer that has already been written for us that will magically make the bad feelings go away.

No, I don’t believe there is some predetermined, abstract reason for this happening. Life is not that simple.

But while I don’t believe that there is some inherent reason for every event that takes place in our lives, I do think we can — and should — find meaning in the darkest moments. In fact, I think that it is our responsibility as human beings to actively seek out meaning. It isn’t easy; it takes work. But finding meaning is a form of empowerment. It helps us understand events in the context of our lives. It connects us to those around us. It helps us grow. It helps us move forward. It helps us survive. 

Meaning ultimately is what makes us human.

I imagine that all of this sounds like I’m contradicting my story of The Magic Door. Perhaps on some level I am. But I want to clarify what I meant by The Magic Door. I think we are often, sometimes unconsciously, looking for something to help us cope with and understand our lives. If we didn’t need something in a specific moment, we probably wouldn’t notice the thing we need — or we wouldn’t assign it the same value as The Magic Door. I guess, in the end, I don’t believe in a magical force that exists outside of us, something or someone waving her or his wand to send us an invisible directive; rather, The Magic Door is something that exists on our insides that helps connect us to the external world.

For example, Monday morning. I had to get an orthopedic boot to replace the cast that I had on my foot. This was not an easy task to accomplish in a country where I don’t speak the language. This was not an easy task to accomplish alone. This was not an easy task to accomplish in pain on crutches on uneven, hilly streets. The woman at the reception of my hotel helped me find a nearby store that was supposed to open at 9 a.m. Of course, when I arrived at 9:45, it was closed. No sign, no indication of when they would be open. Nothing.

Welcome to Italy.

As I was standing in front of the store that was supposed to be open (but of course wasn’t), my taxi long gone, I saw the Via Francigena trail marker sticker. I’ve literally seen hundreds, maybe even thousands of these stickers over the past few weeks. But this one reassured me that I’m still on The Way, even though I’m not on The Way. It put me at ease.

Was it magic? You can call it that if you want to. Magic has a beautiful connotation.

But the reality is, I’ve been booking hotels in the center of Siena because things are closer together and easier to get to — the historical city center being where the Via Francigena runs. So of course I’d see a sticker in that area. It wasn’t put there as a secret code to me. It was put there to guide pilgrims through the city. It doesn’t inherently mean anything. It wasn’t magic. It was a sticker. 

However Monday morning I needed it to mean something more. And so it did. It does. To me.

If I hadn’t hurt my foot, I would have passed that same sticker while walking out of Siena and probably not have even noticed it other than a quick glance to make sure I was on the route.

Magic. Meaning. TomAto. TomAHto.

In the last few days, I’ve received a lot of support from family and friends near and far. And when people say to me that things happen for a reason, I accept the sentiment with a warm heart. But I’ve also received a lot of (well intentioned, I know) advice that just doesn’t work for me. Such as, the advice that I shouldn’t feel angry because my anger won’t change the situation. 

Well, guess what? I am angry this happened. I’m downright pissed off. I’m angry and I’m sad and I’m devastated. I know that I can come back and finish this walk some day. And I know that the circumstances of my life could be much worse. I know that I could be a girl in a war-torn country or a man dying of cancer or a mother whose son has just been gunned down. I know these things. But that doesn’t make what has happened to me any less difficult. (I’ll write more soon on the challenges of having a medical crisis while traveling alone in a foreign country.)

It’s rarely difficult for me to extract the good from the bad. The silver lining is almost always a fingernail’s scratch below the surface. There is so much good that I’ve seen in these past few days. The Italian couple who stopped to offer assistance as I slowly crutched my way up a hill. A woman who silently handed me a tissue as I stood crying in the orthopedic store. The store owner who kindly carried my purchase up the stairs of my hotel. The stranger who offered me his shoulder as I hopped up the last two stairs.

But it’s important to acknowledge my frustration at the same time. It’s important to feel what I’m feeling. Shit has happened big time. I recognize that this can’t be changed or reversed. But I know that I can, eventually, find a way into this shit pile that leads to meaning.