What the backpack holds

The zipper truth

Key moment: Before the Camino, I treated my backpack like a magician’s hat: if I pulled enough objects from careful pockets, perhaps I could manufacture safety. Rain cover, spare batteries, three types of snacks that crinkled aggressively in quiet dorms. Underneath, less visible: a letter I was afraid to read, a photo folded until the creases looked like scars, guilt for leaving people who loved me, gratitude for being allowed to go anyway.

1. Packing is holy in the mundane sense of holiness—repetition, attention, the naming of necessities. Unpacking on the trail became liturgy too. Rainy afternoon in a municipal albergue, everyone’s gear hanging like wounded birds from lines strung across courtyards. I spread my things on a plastic chair and saw my life reduced to artefacts. It should have felt diminishing. It felt clarifying.

2. I discovered half my fears lived at the bottom of the pack, crumpled beside a forgotten granola bar. Literal crumbs. Literal metaphors. I laughed until my ribs hurt, then felt tears arrive without permission. A pilgrim from another continent handed me toilet paper—practical tenderness we both pretended was only about sneezing.

3. Hope hid in smaller pockets: a fresh pair of socks rolled tight as promise, a tiny notebook where I wrote sentences I would never post online. The Camino encourages low-stakes honesty. You cannot maintain a pristine persona when everyone knows how your laundry smells. Hope became the decision to write one true line before sleep.

By the time I reached regions where the path grew familiar to my feet, my pack weighed differently—not because I had discarded much gear, but because I had reorganised what I carried emotionally. Some items I mailed home. Some fears I could not mail; I walked them until they changed density.

If you pack for pilgrimage, pack curiosity alongside waterproofing. You will discover your backpack holds stories you did not realise you authored. Zipper truth: what we carry shapes our stride; what we release shapes our breathing. Both matter. Both become prayer if you let them.

If you pack for pilgrimage, pack curiosity alongside waterproofing. You will discover your backpack holds stories you did not realise you authored. Zipper truth: what we carry shapes our stride; what we release shapes our breathing. Both matter. Both become prayer if you let them.