Lessons from the Camino: Stoic Discoveries on the Journey
The Camino de Santiago compressed a life into a few weeks for me—a beginning, the long middle, and a kind of ending that points to a new start. It became a living classroom where Stoic ideas stopped being quotes and became muscle and miles. These are the field notes the road wrote into me.
The Camino as a Life in Miniature
In the first days—the “childhood” of the journey—everything hurt. The distances felt long, the elevation unforgiving, and my legs were still learning the work. I carried my own bag, as we all must. People appeared and disappeared like seasons: some stayed for a stretch, others crossed my path just when needed and then were gone.
You can choose the easy road or the pretty one (usually harder, always richer).
Comfort zones tempt; growth asks for another hill.
A single misstep can end things early or delay you for days.
Everything passes—mountains, meseta, rain, sun, blisters, euphoria.
The point isn’t the destination; the point is the walk.
I tried to notice small, unrepeatable gifts: a shared bench, a cloud covering noon sun, a cold beer, Cebreiro cheese with honey, wind on a hot afternoon, birdsong after rain. I realized how little I need—and how much I had taken for granted: towels, hot showers, a roof, a car.
The Camino is a river. Each pilgrim is a drop, each step a new current. Even two drops flowing side by side don’t share the same journey. Every Camino is different—even the same route on the same day.
“Time is a river, a violent stream of events.” — Marcus Aurelius
Perception: Seeing Clearly, Step by Step
Stoicism begins with perception—seeing what’s really in front of you.
Nearly no one has your pace. Don’t compare. Walk your walk.
Focus on the next step. If you stare too far ahead, you trip on what’s underfoot.
In the dark dawn you trip less when you trust each small step.
You can always correct a wrong turn. When lost, adjust and keep going.
“Every day is the same and completely different”—routine holds; terrain and problems change.
Compassion with boundaries: you can help others, but you can’t walk for them. You can’t carry their bag. You can walk beside them—sometimes that’s everything—while not losing yourself in the saving.
“Some things are up to us and some are not.” — Epictetus
Seeing clearly means discerning the boundary between your judgments and choices on one side, and weather, closures, terrain, and other people’s pace on the other.
Action: Do What’s Yours to Do
The Camino rewards simple, steady action.
Plan ahead, but leave room for change. Map distances. Note closures. Then meet reality.
Practice premeditatio malorum: imagine obstacles in advance so they sting less when they arrive.
Plans are sketches. The details—the hidden ascents and ankle-wrenching descents—are the real work.
Start with a basic plan. It’s better to begin and refine than wait for perfect.
A rigid plan can stunt growth. If your body asks for more, go farther. If it asks for less, listen.
Set a minimum daily target. Hit it, then—if possible—go a little further.
Shortcuts can rob you of strength. Sending heavy bags forward or skipping hard stages may be wise sometimes, but ease often delays growth. Do what’s yours to do and earn your endurance.
And serve. When you help someone on the Camino, you help yourself. That’s sympatheia: we’re part of the same body.
“What’s bad for the hive is bad for the bee.” — Marcus Aurelius
Will: Endure and Love Your Fate
The will is how you bear what you can’t change.
My second Camino was a solo stretch of storms and scarcity. A right-knee issue led me to overwork the left foot; a blister erupted on Day 1. Heat rash spread around my ankles. Weather turned, mud deepened, wind rose. I rested on Day 9. Some days the aim shifted from “be better than yesterday” to “survive today.”
This is where amor fati stopped being a phrase. I didn’t reach Bordeaux; I stopped in Aulnay-de-Saintonge. I let go of plans to finish the Norte in March/April. Lodging dictated distances. The elements dictated pace. Acceptance made room for gifts I couldn’t have scheduled: a stranger’s kindness, a dry bed, a hot meal, a clear morning after a night of weather.
This too shall pass. The storm, the sun, the pain, the high—each moves on.
Muscle pain is not injury. Learn the difference. Rest minutes to save days.
“Like a pencil”: sharpening hurts—and makes you useful.
Don’t stop when tired; stop when done—wisely defined by conditions and care.
Ego inimicus est & memento mori. Ego is the enemy, and we’re mortal. Walk humbly.
“The impediment to action advances action. What stands in the way becomes the way.” — Marcus Aurelius “To bear trials with a calm mind robs misfortune of its strength.” — Seneca
Quod obstat viae fit via. The obstacle becomes the path.
Companions, Community, and Love
There are seasons to walk with others and seasons to walk alone. Both matter.
Everyone is walking their own Camino—often for reasons they don’t voice. Be kind.
Walking with someone can ease the miles and multiply joy.
Not every hiker is your “Camino Family.” When a deep connection happens, it’s rare and precious. Home is where someone notices your absence.
On life partners:
Find someone with your pace—or close enough to find a shared rhythm.
You can’t carry their bag; each is responsible for their load. But you can be a team.
Some stages you’ll separate, speed up, slow down, or wait. It’s okay if you meet in the same place at day’s end.
If they are keeping you from growing, it’s not there.
The Camino makes people honest. With old dramas stripped away and the shared vulnerability of blisters, weather, and simple goals, meaningful conversations appear. Show your real self; the right people will stay.
Two Caminos: Community vs. Solitude
On the Camino Francés, paths were clear, beds abundant, hospitality warm. Community buoyed me; comfort masked some deeper reserves. The daily aim: be better than the day before.
On the Solo Camino, paths were faint or unmarked, towns ghost-like, dining options scarce, schedules unpredictable. Support was thin. The aim shifted: endure today so I can walk tomorrow.
Community reveals connection; solitude reveals capacity.
Ease lets you refine strengths; hardship shows you strengths you didn’t know you had.
Both are teachers. Neither is superior.
“If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it.” — Marcus Aurelius
Planning, Letting Go, and the Middle Path
The Stoic path isn’t rigidity; it’s disciplined flexibility.
Plan thoroughly. Expect surprises. Welcome improvements. Then meet the day as it is, not as you wish.
Plans are maps of the valley; you still must feel the mountain with your feet.
The Camino humbles estimates; we tend to underestimate time and effort. Adjust without self-judgment.
Hold outcomes lightly. When reality vetoes your itinerary, shake hands with reality.
You can’t save people and pay the price. Help generously, but don’t get lost in the process.
If everything feels perfectly controlled, you may not be stretching your edge.
“Make the best use of what is in your power, and take the rest as it happens.” — Epictetus
Practices I Carried Home
Simple rituals turned philosophy into practice.
Next-step focus: Name the day’s target, then return attention to the footfall in front of you.
Minimum viable day: Define a small, guaranteed win. After you hit it, go further only if wise.
Control audit: List what’s within your control (judgment, effort, preparation). Release the rest (weather, others’ choices).
Premeditatio malorum: Each morning, anticipate likely obstacles and rehearse calm responses.
If–then scripts: “If café is closed, then I eat what I carry.” “If it rains, then I walk in rain and adjust pace.”
Gratitude inventory: Note three ordinary blessings you ignored before: towels, hot water, a roof.
Sympatheia in action: Do one concrete good for someone daily—carry, share, translate, guide.
Ego check, memento mori: A quiet reminder: I’m not the center; I am finite. Let that shape how I walk and speak.
Listen to the body: Know the difference between pain that warms up and pain that warns you.
A 7‑Day Camino‑at‑Home Experiment
Bring the Camino’s Stoic lessons into ordinary life.
Day 1 — Map your terrain: Goals, constraints, resources. Choose one meaningful daily minimum.
Day 2 — Control audit: Two columns: within control / outside control. Commit to act on the left, accept the right.
Day 3 — Premeditatio malorum: List three likely obstacles. Write your if–then responses.
Day 4 — Walk with someone: Support a friend’s “stage.” Listen more than you speak.
Day 5 — Solitude mile: One hour alone (no headphones). Notice thoughts; return to breath and steps.
Day 6 — The pretty path: Choose a harder, richer option today. Note what it grows in you.
Day 7 — Integrate: Journal what changed. Keep one practice as your new daily minimum.
After the Camino: Integration and Misunderstanding
Back home, many will ask about “the adventure,” but not everyone will understand the growth. Some stayed in their crystal bubble while you changed. You may lose connection with those refusing to walk at your new pace—and that’s okay. Keep walking with humility, not superiority.
You are more resilient than you think. Own your mornings and you often own the day. But remember: ego is an enemy, and life is fragile. Be brave and be kind.
Epilogue: The Path Continues
I came to the Camino not looking for answers. I came to give, not to take. I left fulfilled, believing I touched a few souls along the way, and received more than I knew to ask for.
Though I stopped in Aulnay-de-Saintonge a year ago, and in Bordeaux back in March; I’ll go back to pick up the thread and walk on to Irun—less to conquer miles than to keep practicing what the road taught: see clearly, do what’s mine, and love whatever comes.
Between now and then, my Camino is at home: early mornings, one true step at a time, plans held lightly, gratitude for ordinary luxuries—hot water, a roof, unblistered feet, healing knee—and a daily act of service. I’ll measure progress not by distance, but by character: calmer perception, cleaner action, steadier will.
I don’t walk to arrive; I arrive so I can keep walking. The end of one Camino is only the beginning of the next. Buen Camino—amor fati, memento mori, sympatheia.
