I'm going to Spain (and it Might Go Terribly)

Hello besties and looky-loos!

Amy Bee here, rhymin’ and stealin’. Okay, no, I’m not doing either of those things (that Beastie Boys doc was gooood, wasn’t it?). It’s more like I’m plannin’ and schemin’ and then hidin’ and feelin’ (generalized-and-non-specific-anxiety-because-those-neuro-ruts-run-deep-and-every-unanswered-email-warrants-a-metaphorical-boot-to-the-head—ooh, another fun song, but wait, what was I—?)

I didn’t finish that sentence, but let’s just let it unspool on its own.

Oh, yeah.

In April, I’m walking the Camino Francés in Spain. Or, more accurately, I’m attempting to walk it. This is important because bad knees, because poor track record, and because attempts are really more my speed than those more fantastical story arcs like triumph, overcoming, resilience . . .

or redemption.

(But I can hope, can’t I? For a teensy, tiny lil’ bit of redemption? For funsies? What if I put it in teeny-tiny font?)

If you’re new to, uh, well—me—a little context: I’ve failed to hike the Pacific Crest Trail three separate times. And I don’t mean “it didn’t turn out the way I hoped.” I mean, I trained, planned, spent money, packed, roped people in, started . . . and then quit. THREE TIMES. Each time for reasons that were very real and also very convoluted and tangled up in my brain. I’m still trying to untangle some of it.

I know more now than I did then. Some burdens have been lifted. Which is why I think I’ve got a decent shot this time.

But still, I carry that history with me. I’m not starting the trail as someone who trusts herself to finish things, much less big physical things. I’m starting as someone who’s decided, what the hell. It’s okay to try. Might as well.

Because through all my adult iterations, one single frickin’ thing has remained true:

I want to start at point A and, hundreds of miles later, arrive at point B. On foot.

Don’t ask me why. I dunno. I mean, I kinda know, and I’ll tell you some of it later if you want (looky-loo 💜). For now, what matters is this: I’m going to try. I’m going to let it be what it needs to be. And I’m going to celebrate the attempt.

(And yes, fine. A teeny, tiny redemption arc. Maybe.)

I’m tackling this hike the same way I tackle most “gotta be brave to do it” things: with a lot of thinking, a lot of rumination, a lot of doubt, and a deep suspicion of my own motivations. You’re soooooo totally seeing how this relates to me learning to perform stories live, right? Okay, good.

I’m not going to turn the Camino into a tidy, performative lesson factory. But I do want to share it with you.

Sometimes that’ll mean the icky interior stuff: fear, resistance, the part of me that wants to quit everything before breakfast. Other times, it’ll be lighter Camino notes: what I’m packing, where I’m heading, stray observations, maybe some photos. Artifacts.

If something feels true, I’ll share it. If all I have is tired feet and a bad attitude, that might be all you get. Silence may also make an appearance. That’s not me being mysterious; that’s just me being me (aka lost in my head).

I’m not promising daily updates. I’m not promising transformation. I’m not promising that I’ll finish, or that if I do finish, it will “mean” what people like these things to mean.

(I’ll take a smidge of redemption, tho. Pleasepleaseplease.)

If you prefer perfectly curated trail content or inspirational endurance mythology, this might not be your jam. That’s okay. Skip over it. I still have lots coming up about performing anyway. TWO SHOWS THIS MONTH. Let the nail-biting commence.

But if you’re here because you know what it’s like to try something without knowing how you’ll behave once it gets hard(although you have a suspicion. But you’re not gonna box yourself in the corner like that, no mo’, nossir. Nobody puts baby in the corner!) or you’re learning to make friends with failure, with trying anyway, with giving yourself a little grace and mercy, then you’re exactly who I want along for the ride.

I’ll see you on the road in April. Or off it. Or back here afterward, sorting through what happened.

Either way, thank you for walking alongside me in whatever form this adventure takes. (Oooh, shivers!)

xoxo,
Amy Bee

(PS—I was gonna post those Beastie Boys lyrics here for some much-needed B-Boy bravado, but um, no. Not a good idea. Don’t look ‘em up. Keep your nostalgia safe and intact.)(PPS-Next post is all about da stories, promise!)

If you’re reading this and thinking, “Oh, hello. This feels familiar,” and you want to validate my story writing AND your well-earned sense of generosity, you can become a paid subscriber.

Nothing dramatic happens when you do. You won’t unlock secret wisdom or bonus bravery. You’ll just be helping me keep on keeping on, trying to do hard stuff anyway, and showing up when it would be easier to just eat a breakfast burrito in bed.

If that feels good to you, thank you. If not, I’m still really glad you’re here. xoxo, Amy