I am an asshole

Stage 7: Torres del Rio to Logroño
Official: 19.93km // iPhone Step Count 23.46km

Stage 8: Logroño to Nájera
Official: 28.9km // iPhone Step Count: 29.8km

I am an asshole. 

I am mean, vindictive, manipulative, rude, inappropriate, condescending, and controlling. I take over conversations. I force my opinion on others without prompting. I talk far too much and often at an excessive volume. 

I am an asshole. 

If I were nicer, I’d write something more proper in this public forum, but the truth is I’m an asshole. 

I cuss often and in improper places. I drink frequently and often to excess. I judge others. I cut people down with quick jokes and sarcastic remarks. I rarely mince words. I have little patience, and cannot stand stupidity. 

I am an asshole. 

I use people for my personal gain. I am fake. I put up a false persona to get ahead. I lie. 

I am an asshole. 

As I walk the Camino, these thoughts pound my mind with greater frequency than my feet beat the ground. As their reality enters my mind, moments of shame, memories of failure, and nightmares of pain flood my thoughts. I’m faced with the truth of my life.

I am an asshole. 

I have done and said countless things that I can never take back. I have acted in ways that I cannot forgive. I have worn so many masks, and they each have tattooed themselves across my face.  

I am an asshole. 

As I pound upon the rocks and stones, the battering wavers through my walking-stick. My hand quivers in anger as I attempt to shake my embarrassing past. Each failure is plastered on billboards along the way.

Do people know truth? Can they see beyond the facade? Can they see me for who I am? 

I am an asshole. 

The idea drives nails into my mind. As my body weakens from the hundreds of miles walked, my mind strengthens as it resurfaces thoughts I once so eagerly suppressed. Glaring hours of internal dialogue wrestle heavily. Knockout blows swung without end. While no scars reveal the toils of my mind, my body’s aches and pains reflect the day’s internal battle. The blisters, muscle spasms, and swelling are my only rewards. 

I am an asshole. 

As I continue to struggle with the truth of myself, a hint of light seeps through the cracks.

Between each step, a quick memory arises of a positive and affirming experience. As my stick supports my falls, I recall moments where I have been like that stick for others. As the path crosses a bridge at the perfect moment, I recognize those incidences of connection I have been for others. As a cup of café con leche warms and energizes my midday break, I summon back to those times I have warmed and comforted others.

I walk facing my shadow every day. With the sun rising behind my back each morning, I follow my darkened silhouette. The asshole is ever-present before my eye. Yet, as the sun rises higher in the sky, my shadow’s long cast shrinks and slithers behind my side. 

I am still an asshole. That truth is tethered to me like my shadow. Yet, like my shadow, when I allow the sun to cast light upon my face, my masks fade away. The light of day dawns.

I am not perfect—a statement that feels both a burden to admit and a weight to carry—reminds me of my humanity. I am an asshole, but I’m more than that. I am my shadow, but I am also the light it hides behind. I will struggle daily to overcome the sins of my past, and I will often easily repeat them. I know I’m an asshole, and there is a sense of liberation in finally knowing my name.