Some of my favorite memories of walking the Camino alone happened in the dark. Doing my pilgrimages in the summer months meant long hot days in northern Spain, as well as a busy time of pilgrims. So to ease the walking and finding a place to stay bit, I would typically leave my albergue (hostel) before dawn.

One morning in particular I’ll never forget – heading out in darkness with my flashlight at hand but not on, I realized that I could actually see a bit by moonlight. The route that morning was around and through some farmland – wheat or grass of some sort for animals. The path was narrow and created by pilgrim feet over the months and years before. 

I found myself easily falling into a rhythm of comfortable walking, not bothered by looking down at my feet for where I might step next, but confidently looking ahead and following the path even in the darkness around me. 

When I made my first stop of the morning a while later (time for my favorite café con leche!), I checked my time and my mileage, only to discover that it was my fastest walking rate of the whole Camino!

What had made it so much faster and easier to walk that morning by myself in the dark? It seemed so counterintuitive, but when I dug into it I realized a few things.

First, there were no distractions. My vision was limited, not necessarily to just my next step or two, but I had less overall input from the world around me. Things were muted; the shape of the landscape was a suggestion, not a clear line. The air was quiet – it was before the birds had begun to wake up, like the entire world was asleep and I was just a guest, a witness to the stillness before dawn.

Second, I was walking alone but I didn’t feel lonely or scared. I was confident that I was on the right path, following in the footsteps of those who had walked before me. 

And without other pilgrims near me or in sight, I was freed from an unconscious distraction of comparison. I didn’t have anyone else to measure my progress against, to note if I was catching up or being left behind by others. It was just me in the midst of creation. With no speed comparison, I was free to lean into the pace that worked best for me and my body.

Sometimes I don’t recognize how much mental energy I can give to measuring myself against others. It’s nearly always unconscious, but THERE. That morning in the dark, there was no background calculation going on in my head. It was simply me, my feet, the path, and the surety of the coming sunrise.

Looking back, that was such an unexpected gift. The darkness eliminated comparison I didn’t even know I was holding.

I couldn’t see other pilgrims to measure myself against, to think about who was ahead or behind. I wasn’t silently thinking about who was walking “better” than me, who seemed to be a “truer” pilgrim. I wasn’t wasting mental energy calculating where I stood among other pilgrims.

Instead, it was literally just me and the path.

And that’s when I made my best time.

If you’re feeling stuck right now, I wonder: how much energy are you spending on comparison?

Comparison to the timeline you thought you’d be on. Comparing yourself to friends and peers who seem to have everything figured out, to be living the life that you dreamed of. Comparing your actual desires (if you can even name them) to what you think you should want or have by now.

That comparison doesn’t help you move forward. It just exhausts you and slows you down, stops you in your tracks.

What if you couldn’t see anyone else’s path right now? What if it was just you, the next step in front of you, and the confidence that light is coming?

You don’t need to see the whole path to take the next step in confidence and joy. Sometimes the darkness is actually the gift – it forces you to stop looking around at everyone else and finally lean in to walking at your own pace.

That morning on the Camino, I was walking in darkness, but I was never actually alone. God was there in the stillness of creation, in the path created by thousands of pilgrims before me, in the certainty of the coming dawn. The darkness was not His absence; it was a precursor to His light, an opportunity to trust His promise of light instead of relying on my own (in)ability to see everything clearly laid out in front of me.

The same is true for you. You don’t have to see the whole path. You just need to trust that He does, and that He’s walking with you every step of the way, whether you can see clearly or walk in darkness.

(If you’ll forgive a Hemingway allusion, which seems fitting for stories from Spain) the sun always rises. You just have to keep walking.