#82: Vikings, pilgrims, catharsis.

Processing life and loss to the next level.

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“In case I don’t see you before you go viking, ALL THE BEST!”

My face split into a wide grin at my mentee Mark’s email; his words felt like a campfire, warming my heart. Including his surprising use of "VIKING."

I'm in the midst of preparing for a journey two years in the making — a pilgrimage across Scandinavia. From June 1st to June 28th, I'll be walking St. Olavsleden, also known as St. Olav’s Way. It has nothing to do with the snowman from Frozen and everything to do with an 11th-century crusader.

St. Olav’s Way is the world’s northernmost pilgrim route, winding 580 kilometers from the Baltic side of Sweden to the Atlantic flank of Norway. It’s not famous or glitzy — some Scandinavians haven’t even heard of it.

During my 28 days of walking, I’ll pass through villages, climb foothills, stroll along rivers and lakes, and traverse forests and meadows. I’ll sleep in hostels, small hotels, rooms in houses, and the occasional cabin in the woods. The point though is to walk, alone with my thoughts, every single day.

Old Sue would have seen this journey as a test of mental fortitude and physical stamina. She’d have her stats, performance apparel, and nutrition plan ready. She’d approach it as a challenge that would prove her badassery.

But I have evolved significantly from that mindset. My objectives are now internal. Metrics of success will include tears shed, grief examined, loss metabolized, connections made, synchronicities stumbled upon. 

Finally, I don’t have to prove anything. I’ve done that. Now I get to see what’s under my mettle.

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The last seven years have been a marathon.

In the face of massive grief and uncertainty, I’ve shown up for my kids, for people around the globe at my company, for my friends and family, and for readers through 80+ issues of The Luminist.

I’ve developed a spine of steel and a don’t-mess-with-me attitude that allowed me to forge ahead, no matter what the world threw at me. And that’s what we’ve all been taught to strive for, right? To be resilient, adaptable, agile, dauntless. For a while it felt great to be that warrior. I had “made it” — I had found my gear and could plow forward as long as I liked. 

But two years ago, while chugging through my joy-filled but overpacked life, a knowing started to sink in. I couldn’t continue like this. I didn’t want to continue like this. 

Because there’s more to being human than perfecting your bulldozer impression.

I realized that I was longing for a break from the endless striving — a moment to pause, breathe, reset, and realign after all that I had been through. Because there hadn’t been time before. I was in save-my-family mode. But with one kid in college and another almost there, I could feel it approaching with equal parts fear and relief.

And just like that, I knew. I was going on a pilgrimage.

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A pilgrimage is a ritual of leaving behind the familiar to discover new depths of the mind, heart, and soul.

Historically, pilgrimages were acts of religious devotion. My quest, while not religious, is undeniably spiritual. I am unraveling so I can rebuild… so I can be reborn, if you will.

My evolution from Old Sue’s feel-nothing policy to today’s feel-everything ethos demands I confront my most-avoided emotions. Some feelings — about Mike’s death, absolutely, but also smaller losses like bone marrow biopsies and broken front teeth, babies in incubators and teenagers dangerously defying rules — remain buried and in need of catharsis. Or at least a face-to-face meeting to talk it out.

This emotional spelunking wasn’t a priority before, but with the marathon complete, its at the top of the list.

Just like our physical bodies, our emotions need space to heal. Ignoring that throb in your knee won’t make it go away, especially if you’re walking on it every day. The healing process might hurt, but it’ll be so worth it when you’re able to play beach volleyball again.

Part of me wonders if I’m a masochist or unsatisfiable or both. Because I already cry and laugh at a drop of a hat. I get the “awe chills” by watching the a sunrise from my bedroom window. My heart bursts when Connor does his own laundry. Why am I keen to open up these old wounds when my life is so full already?

Because I have to know…

• How much more deeply could I feel the love of my kids if I worked through the scar tissue of Mike’s death?

• How much more could I love my body if I unwound my feelings about my past health challenges?

• How much more could I give you, dear reader, if I went all the way? Instead of skirting around the edges?

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Vikings were epic explorers.

They braved leagues of wild sea to find fertile lands… or not. Sometimes they ended up on the glaciers of Greenland.

Though they didn’t know what they would find or if it would be worth it, they set out anyway.

Ignoring the pillaging part, my pilgrim journey doesn’t feel that different. It requires boldness and faith and determination. Even after writing TL for over a year, there are places in my psyche I haven’t dared to excavate — places so sensitive that I’m afraid a feather-light touch will cause me to collapse… or reveal a roiling monster I don’t know how to tame.

But the point isn’t what I will find down there. It’s that I’m going to look in the first place.

I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in a castle of self-control. I want to be free to explore any inner and outer landscape that intrigues me. That freedom can only come from knowing that I can bend, crack, crumble, unravel, adapt, re-emerge, and survive… no matter what. 

So in the spirit of the pilgrims and the vikings, I’m going to go see what it’s like in my caves and canyons. I’m going to see who I am without comforts and distractions. I’m going to see who I can be when I’m not afraid of any part of me.

In liberation,

P.S. Our publishing schedule during this pilgrimage is up in the air! We are going to let it flow. You may see some posts from me from St. Olav’s, you might see repeats of some of our favorite posts.

I can promise you’ll hear all about it on the other side. I can’t wait to share it with you. 

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