A Note from Jenn 💌

Tuesday · August 25, 2026 · Durango to Bilbao

Hey you, it's me.

Days 5 & 6 · The Power of Choice

On Day 5, we rode from Durango to Castillo de Arteaga.

Physically, I was on the Camino. Mentally, I wasn't there at all.

My heart was back home with Marley as she moved into her new apartment. I kept thinking about what it would feel like to finish this journey, walk back through my front door, and see her room look different. I knew this day was coming. I knew moving out was good for her. I was proud of her and excited about the life she was building.

But it still hurt.

By the time we arrived, I was a mess. I was emotionally overwhelmed, my calves were aching, and I was ready to cry. The pain in my legs was the only thing I could focus on, but deep down, I knew my calves weren't the real problem.

I was grieving a season of our lives that was ending.

I thought I came to the Camino to let go of the pain, the grief, and the fear. Instead, I am walking Silent to Spoken, finding my own voice along the way. And sometimes finding your voice sounds less like having the right words and more like finally admitting, “This hurts.”

So I paused.

Not the kind of pause where everything immediately becomes clear. I was still tired. Marley was still moving. Her room would still look different when I got home. Nothing about the situation had changed.

But I stopped trying to outrun what I was feeling.

I prayed.

That was it.

There are no perfect words or quick answers, only the truth.

I needed God, and I needed to stop trying to carry tomorrow before it arrived.

That night, I moved through PAUSE in the most real way I could. I paused long enough to acknowledge what I was feeling. I began to understand that the pain in my body was tangled up with the grief in my heart. I surrendered the next day because I didn't have the strength to figure it out.

Then I went to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up and got back on Ike, the bike. I rode 24 miles into Bilbao with a different mindset.

The circumstances had not changed, but something in me had shifted.

I wasn't magically free of sadness. I still missed Marley and was afraid of what home might feel like when this journey was over. But I was no longer letting that fear tell the whole story.

Later, Marley and I talked.

“How is the new apartment?” I asked.

“Great,” she said. “We're exhausted from cleaning, running errands, and unpacking. I can't wait to have you over and cook dinner for you. How was your day?”

“Tough,” I told her. “I wasn't here mentally.”

“Well, I'm so proud of you,” she said. “You inspire me to move outside my comfort zone. I hate making phone calls, but today I called the office and asked to change one of my classes.”

When we hung up, I thought, She is finding her voice while I am walking to find mine.

I had focused so intently on visualizing the changed room that I missed what else was around me.

I missed her happiness in the new apartment, her willingness to invite me for dinner, my daughter's independence, and her courage in voicing her needs. This isn't a relationship breaking apart, but rather one that is transforming.

On Day 5, fear showed me an empty room. On Day 6, love showed me a new door.

Maybe that is the power of choice.

We don't control everything that occurs. Life's changes are unavoidable. We can't keep people in the seasons when we felt most secure, nor can we shield ourselves from every ending.

But we can pause.

We can allow our nervous systems time to reset. We can acknowledge our pain instead of pretending to be okay. We can ask ourselves what is true beyond the fear. We can let go of trying to control what we were never meant to control.

And when we are ready, we can emerge able to see the choices in front of us.

I could choose to see Marley's move only as something I was losing, or I could allow myself to see the woman she is becoming. I could focus only on the room that would be different, or I could look forward to sitting at her table while she cooked dinner for me. I could let fear decide what this new season meant, or I could enter it with grief, love, and an open heart.

The power of choice does not mean we can choose away the pain. It means pain does not get to make every decision for us.

God did not remove the change I feared. He met me in it.

I asked Him to go before me, and He was already there, in Bilbao, in Marley's new apartment, in the phone call I didn't know was coming, and in the courage both of us were learning to use.

Her room will still look different when I walk through the door. I cannot choose that.

But I can choose how I meet what comes next.

I can grieve what is ending and still welcome what is beginning. I can miss the little girl who once lived down the hall and celebrate the woman who invites me into her home. I can fear change and still believe something beautiful awaits on the other side.

Maybe you cannot control the change happening in your life either.

But what might become possible if you paused long enough to see that fear is not your only choice?

Whatever is changing, may you give yourself permission to grieve what was lost and remain open to what is still unfolding.

I think that is the part of midlife we don't talk about enough. The choices in front of us can hold sadness and happiness at the same time. One does not make the other less true.

¡Buen Camino!

I love you; stay sweet out there.

Sending care from the Camino,

~ Jenn

Midlife wasn't meant to be walked alone. Midlife resources and support:
lavishlifeliving.com

Remember: The deeper we dive, the sweeter it gets.

What Are You Learning to Choose?

The change you are grieving, and the door you did not expect. Send it to me if you want. Nobody else sees this.

Your name (optional) Your reply Email ~ Join the Pen Pal list

Send Jenn Your Reply