Sometimes I think, “Maybe I’m getting the hang of this. Maybe I’m getting my life in order.”

And then I take a closer look at my much-spouted, never-walked, poorly-remembered Two Saints pilgrimage that I mean to take this spring because it is nearby.

Friends, this is what happens when you speak out of turn.

Also, I’m still doing it.

Maybe tomorrow.

Because this is my life now. Part of my work (the writing part) means I go for a walk. A long walk. A walk I am, to no one’s surprise, deeply unprepared for. But I mean, it’s less than £10 to get a train to Lichfield tomorrow. I could walk for the weekend and return…or, to be really honest, I could just keep walking. Meetings, appointments, learning sessions - they’re all online.

Honestly, I could just walk to Lichfield from my doorstep tomorrow (lol, “just” indeed) and THEN start the official walk on Sunday.

Okay, except.

Except I’m not ready for a 7-9 day walk. I don’t know where there is to stay, and I’m not sure I can just turn up.

This is not the Camino. This is not Spain.

It’s England. In the spring. And sure, the Whatever Camino was 99% walked in fake-summer (that is: a cross between monsoon and November, I swear), but this is England. Sometimes, on very special occasions, it’s not cold and wet. Like today. But mostly, it is cold and wet, even if it’s not officially cold or wet.

And then there’s the path. Is it public footpaths, city paths, some delightful combination of the two and a few village and country roads for good measure?

How much will it cost?

Where will I stop?

What’s the coffee situation?

And again, what sort of terrain are we talking?

Because friends, I am very much NOT a rambler or hill walker in the British interpretation. When I go for a walk here, it’s just a walk. Or at least it’s somewhere I’ve been before. And it doesn’t require, you know, strength or stamina!

I know. I walked across Spain. Sure. This is true. But even in its less-structured spaces, the Camino has infrastructure. The UK has people who climb the Peaks to take their dog for its morning constitutional. All I can imagine is being cold and miserable.

Buy me a hot beverage

Probably because I’m cold right now. And I’m sure I’ll get used to it, and it won’t feel cold, but just at this moment, when I wonder how that guy outside is functioning in shorts and a t-shirt and I’m contemplating zipping up my hoodie to my chin, all I can think about is putting warm dry feet into soaking, cold, squelching shoes. Like I had to last year. On the Camino. I cried a few times on the Camino (because catharsis), but squelchy wet shoes morning? I probably cried off and on for miles.

So I guess the question is, how much preparation is appropriate for the least prepared pilgrim? To go on a voyage of exploration and veneration of the patron saint of the JV football team? To get ready for squelching through the peat bogs and foggy peaks of Ireland? I think I’m talking myself out of the journey before I’ve even taken a step.

But of course, I’ve said I’m doing it. So I’m going. And I’m going to absolutely delight in the journey. I mean, it’s spring. Even the ugly parts of England (like where I’m staying) are pretty in the spring. And my trousers are sensible, and I have the budget.

Just…

Maybe not tomorrow.