Patience emerges as a trait worth valuing. “Patience Grasshopper.”

I’m not going to get to my night’s lodging quickly. I realize that, at my pace, I’ll be there in four or five hours. If I hurry, who knows what might happen. I might twist an ankle. “Darn, I didn’t see that uneven part of the trail.” “Darn, what is that rock doing on the trail?” Or, I move and twist too quickly that I feel that unusual pain near a knee. “Oh, oh, watch out for that meniscus.”

I’m also not going to understand the world around me quickly. I have to allow that which may be an anomaly to become a pattern, or simply to remain an anomaly. “Well, that is an interesting house with the beautiful flower and shrub garden.” I eventually see that more than in Portugal, Spain, and Italy every other house has a garden! Maybe more expendable income?

“Why does every village have this nice building, with Mairie above the doorway?” I eventually learn that every village and town has one, no matter it’s size, because it’s the village or town government building. At a last resource, pilgrims can enter and request help finding a night’s lodging. But, of course, some things simply remain an anomaly. “Hi cows, looks like I’ve made your day!” “Hi cows, nice of you all to come over and say hello.” “Why didn’t that group of cows notice me?” “Why didn’t that herd of cattle walk to the fence to greet me?”

I have to be patient with myself. Even in a familiar place like home, I have a range of feelings. From anxiety to peace. So also I have a whole range of feelings here. The trick is not imposing or forcing certain feelings. “Why be anxious, I’ll find some shadey spot to rest eventually.” “Why be anxious, I’ll find something to eat eventually.” Or, “now I understand, every village still has work to be done and services to provide, even if those MAirie buildings sure seem like they are closed most hours of the day.” Or, after a long hot day, and then a shower and a nap…and then a cold lemonade or beer, “It can’t get much better than this!”

Of course, patience isn’t the last word always. When my body aches, I take a Tylenol. I sure hope it makes a difference fast. When I take a train to Strasbourg on a rest day, I want the 2-hour train, not the 4-hour train.

Patience is kin to slow travel. Rather than fast speed affecting or determining everything, from my feelings to what I understand, my slow pace allows things to unfold. The world appears at its own pace, at reveals itself at its own choosing.

Patience is kin to trust. I trust that the world, or at least part of it, will unveil itself if I give it time. Patience is kin to hope. I hope that that which I finally see or that which I finally accomplish is worthwhile.

Patience. Easy to value. Harder to acquire.