I Would Walk Slowly Towards a Spring
In “The Little Prince” by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, the protagonist travels through the universe, arriving at one point on a planet where everything is optimized for maximum efficiency. There he meets a pill merchant, who explains that their society has found a way to save time by consuming pills that quench hunger and thirst instead of eating and drinking. The merchant muses about what he could achieve with the extra 53 minutes a week that the pill would afford him. The line that follows is one of my favorites from the entire book:
“As for me,” said the Little Prince to himself, “if I had fifty three minutes to spend as I pleased, I would walk slowly towards a fresh water spring.”
This book is undoubtedly a social commentary, and the message here is very clear: in the pursuit of optimizing life, we have forgotten how to live. Before I left for my travels, I felt this acutely, especially as a school teacher. I would wake up, rush to work - often eating breakfast during my commute, rush from one classroom to another until noon, inhale my lunch as I graded papers, rush again between classrooms, rush to meetings or tutoring, then rush home to plan more lessons or grade more papers. I’m sure there are many teachers out there who would love the option to take a pill instead of eating and drinking, if only so they could have time during the day to catch their breath. The frenetic pace of life that most working Americans endure is maddening.
The switch after I left was jarring. When I began walking El Camino de Santiago, I was struck by how time seemed to stretch. Because we were experiencing the world on foot, one day seemed to last a month. Another magical and curious thing was how this new way of experiencing time seemed to dawn on all of us at the same time. “Remember the other day when climbed that insanely steep hill?” a friend asked. “I think that was just this morning,” someone else said. “Was it really???” we asked, incredulous. “Time seems to work differently on the Camino, doesn’t it?” The agreement was unanimous.
Some days I did walk quickly, buoyed by the energy of the pilgrims all around me and feeling the endorphins flow through me as a result of a healthy lifestyle. Some days I took my time, taking pictures of every rose or wildflower I passed. I followed the rhythm my feet set that day. But regardless of my pace, each moment felt full. The Camino is real life, I often found myself thinking.
When I reached Santiago de Compostela, it was difficult for me to sit still. I was ready to get up, go to the Pilgrim’s Office to collect my compostela, check into my albergue, and greet other pilgrim friends. The frantic rhythm is hard to unlearn, and being in a city again compounded that. Reprogramming myself to slow down and relish life is not instantaneous. I find that I need constant reminders.
Over the course of the Camino, I fell in love with long-distance walking as a way to experience life slowly. A few weeks after reaching Santiago, I set off for Romania to hike the Via Transilvanica with a friend I had made on the Camino. At one point, my friend and I came upon a spring. I thought of the Little Prince as I walked slowly towards it, filling my water bottle with fresh mountain water. It was the first of many springs and wells we would find on the VT.
In about a month, I will set off to hike the Appalachian Trail. I can’t wait to get back to walking, back to the natural rhythms of the forest. I know at some point I will probably need to rejoin the ‘real world’ with its head-spinning pace and its lifelessness disguised as convenience and efficiency. I hope when I do, I am able to hold onto this gift of slowness.
