One year ago today, I walked into the plaza in front of the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela after an incredible journey of walking 500 miles across Spain on the Camino de Santiago. I went because I felt called. I went for the physical challenge. I went to deepen my faith. I went to unplug and slow down.
I’ve been asked many times: “What was your favorite part?” This is such a hard question to answer. There were certainly a few moments that stand out: like spending two days at a monastery, placing my rock at the foot of the Iron Cross, and walking into the courtyard outside the cathedral in Santiago.
But the Camino was more than just a few moments… It was made up of thousands of moments. Some beautiful. Some funny. Some painful. Some frustrating. Some joyful. Some spiritual. Some mentally exhausting. Many physically exhausting. And somehow, all of those moments combined to quietly reshape the way I think about life.
Step by Step
When I started my walk on May 28, 2025, it was not the peaceful, spiritual beginning I had imagined when I started in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, France. The climb over the Pyrenees Mountains turned out to be the toughest and most physically demanding day of my life. I underestimated everything. The 4,500-foot climb. The heat (and that’s coming from a Texan). The distance—more than 15 miles. And, to make matters worse, I took three wrong turns along the way.
When I finally arrived at the La Posada hostel that evening, I called Tracy and broke down in tears. I was physically and emotionally exhausted. I told her I still had 485 miles left to walk and I didn’t think I could do it. She listened… and then told me she believed in me. She encouraged me to get a good night’s sleep and see how I felt in the morning.
The next morning, I saw my friend John at the famous 790-kilometer marker sign. To this day, I still think of him as my Camino angel. We had met the previous morning in the lobby of the Hôtel Itzalpea in Saint-Jean when he helped me communicate with the manager (in French) because I didn’t have the correct adapter to charge my phone.
Now here he was again on day two. He invited me to walk with him. Somehow, at the exact moment I needed encouragement, his kindness gave me just enough belief to keep moving forward. I don’t know if he realizes how much that mattered to me. Because I had seriously considered quitting.
The Pyrenees taught me a lesson that has stayed with me this entire year: Big journeys are completed exactly one way: Step by step. Not all at once. Not perfectly. Just one faithful step at a time.
The Real Me
One of my most meaningful experiences on the Camino was spending two days at the Benedictine Monastery San Salvador del Monte in Rabanal del Camino.
There were only two beds available when I arrived… and three of us waiting. Scott from Australia and Rachel from the United Kingdom had already been waiting for hours. Without hesitation, Scott gave up his bed for me. He refused to leave the bench and insisted that I take the last available bed. I argued and resisted… and finally with a heart full of gratitude (and a lot of guilt) I entered the monastery and dropped my backpack at the foot of the bed next to my friend Ned. The next morning I found Scott sitting quietly on a bench outside. When I asked him why he had done it, he simply said, “God’s grace is a gift—unearned and unconditional. You need to learn to accept it.” I knew he was talking about far more than a bed. It was one of the most overwhelming moments of my entire Camino.
During my stay, a monk said something that quietly rearranged my thinking: “Change the direction in which you are looking for happiness.” I have thought about that statement many times during this past year. And little by little—one degree at a time—I have tried to change my direction.
The Camino helped… it has a way of stripping away distractions. There are no packed calendars, no meetings, no presentations, no business cards, and no titles. Just walking, thinking, praying, and listening.
For most of my life, ambition has been one of my greatest gifts. Many of the blessings in my life came from setting goals and working hard.
Somewhere along the Camino, I started asking a different question: Who am I underneath all of those things? Who is Kevin when there is no audience? Who is Kevin when there is no schedule? No achievement to chase. No one to impress.
I began to realize, at age 56, how much of my life I had spent looking beyond the present moment. Always focused on what was next. The Camino invited me into a different rhythm. Walk. Notice. Breathe. Talk to strangers. Eat slowly. Be present. Carry less. Trust the next step.
Steven Huysseune captured it perfectly in his book The Camino Blues when he wrote, “What you were truly searching for was never the road itself, but the experience of being fully present in your own life.”
The silence at the monastery — and the entirety of the walk — created space for reflection that I didn’t even realize I needed. It helped me reconnect with parts of myself that had been buried beneath years of busyness.
Looking back now, I can almost divide my life into two chapters. Before the Camino: achievement, momentum, and proving. After the Camino: alignment, reflection, and becoming.
My walk felt a little like God stripping away layers of paint from a canvas. Over the years, I had painted layer upon layer of achievement, ambition, titles, expectations, and busyness. The Camino didn’t give me a new identity. It simply helped reveal the person God had been shaping underneath those layers all along.
The Camino slowed me down. Not just physically, but spiritually, emotionally, and internally. It taught me that who I am is more important than what I accomplish. I truly believe the path did not change me… it simply revealed the real me.
What I Chose to Leave Behind
One of the traditions of the Camino is carrying a rock from home and placing it at the foot of the Iron Cross.
Pilgrims often carry something symbolic. It could be a burden, a regret, a sin, or a fear. It’s something they are ready to release.
I brought my rock from Georgetown, Texas, and carried it for hundreds of miles on the Camino. The timing of Cruz de Ferro — the Iron Cross — was perfect… the morning after my two-day stay at the monastery. When I finally placed it at the foot of the cross, I wasn’t simply putting down a rock… I was putting down pressure. I was putting down expectations. I was putting down the need to constantly prove myself. I was putting down the belief that my worth was somehow tied to my productivity.
My rock read: “I release the race and embrace God’s grace.”
Looking back, I believe that moment marked a turning point in my life. Not because everything suddenly changed. But because I became more intentional about what I wanted to carry forward.
What I Chose to Carry Forward
When I finally walked into the courtyard outside the cathedral in Santiago, I expected to feel accomplishment (and honestly a lot of relief). But what I felt surprised me… it was thankfulness. Gratitude for every mountain, every blister, every difficult day, every conversation, every lesson, every stranger who became a friend — including Ned, Amy, Sandy, Mike, Tom, Fay, Shannon, Petra, and John, many of whom I still stay in touch with. Every one of them had become part of my Camino.
Looking back, some of the most important moments happened when I least expected them. For example, when I was leaving Los Arcos, I passed a small cemetery with a sign that stopped me in my tracks. It said “YO QUE FUI LO QUE TU ERES, TU SERAS LO QUE YO SOI” — a Spanish saying that means: “I was once what you are, and you will be what I am.” I stood there for a long moment and let that sink in. Life is short. Life is a gift from God meant to be lived fully, shared deeply, stewarded wisely, and savored gratefully with the people that matter most. That has become one of the guiding values of my life.
Another impactful moment was when I attended a pilgrim blessing in the small village of Hontanas. The service was entirely in Spanish. I understood very little of what was being said, but it was a spiritual experience, nonetheless. At the end of the service, each pilgrim received a small written blessing. Mine read: “Success is getting what you want. Happiness is getting what you get.” I carried that little piece of paper for the rest of my Camino.
Over this past year, I’ve noticed myself changing. I’ve become more selective with my time. More protective of my energy. More appreciative of ordinary moments with Tracy, Kip, Kait, my dad, and friends. I am more aware that life is finite and worth savoring now—not someday.
The Camino also deepened my faith. It reminded me that God often meets us not in certainty, but in movement. Not when we have everything figured out, but while we are walking through discomfort, doubt, exhaustion, and uncertainty.
A year later, I still think about the Camino almost every day. Certain moments remain vivid: The sound of shoes crunching on gravel, the kindness of strangers, the silence of early mornings, the exhaustion at the end of long days, the butterflies, the mountains, the conversations. The simplicity of waking up each morning with a grateful heart… ready to walk, eat a Tortilla for breakfast, stop for a café con leche, enjoy a good red wine with dinner, and then fall asleep from physical exhaustion each evening.
And maybe that’s one of the biggest lessons the Camino gave me. Life does not have to be completely figured out. Sometimes the next faithful step is enough.
I am not the same person who started walking across Spain last summer. I thought I was simply going on a long walk toward Santiago. But honestly… a part of Santiago is still walking with me. And maybe the greatest gift of the Camino wasn’t that it changed me. Maybe it simply revealed the person God had been shaping all along.
