Day 21: Bone on Concrete and Bonfires 🔥

March 29, 2025

🥾 The Pain Game

There are days when your feet feel like clouds. And then there are days like today—when every 30 minutes I had to stop walking because it felt like bone grinding against pavement. I was limping, muttering actual “ow"s, trying to psych myself up just to keep going. I don’t know if it’s leftover from the wet shoes or just the toll of this journey catching up with me, but the pain is constant and excruciating. Still, I kept moving. What else can you do?

💨 Saying Thank You to the Wind

Around midday, my mood began to shift. My feet still hurt, but I realized—hey, I’m actually going to make it. I’m not racing the sun or sprinting to beat a temple closing time. I’m just walking. Slowly, yes. Limping, yes. But walking. I said “thank you” out loud into the wind. Not to anyone in particular. Just… thank you.

This journey has become a bit of a proving ground for me. After years of living in comfort—especially post-pandemic—I felt like I needed to do something hard. Something that reminded me I’m not a soft, comfortable blob. I’m still a badass. Even if it hurts. Even if I’m 32 and starting to question what my body can and can’t do anymore. Turns out it can still do a a lot.

🌲 Slightly Losing It, Slightly Finding It

At one point I hit a weird kind of blissed-out, loopy moment on the trail. Could’ve been dehydration. Could’ve been the solitude. But for a brief period, it felt like the trees were whispering to me. Not in words—more like in personalities. They each had a little vibe, a little rustle-language of their own. Like a soft, forest rave just for me. Don’t worry, I know I was losing it a bit.

But then… near the end of the walk, an old man saw me on the road. He motioned, “Are you walking?” I nodded. He gave me a big thumbs-up. A very “you got this” from someone who clearly knew what I was going through. That kept me going.

🏠 A Room, A Fire, A Story

I made it to my Airbnb limping and sore. My host greeted me with quiet kindness and, importantly, a vibe that made me feel safe—like he was aware of the potential awkwardness of a woman solo staying in a man’s house alone and was going out of his way to be respectful.

He gave me tea. I microwaved some ramen. Then I saw him sitting out at a bonfire and decided to be brave and join. He let me, and we talked.

He had walked the pilgrimage too. Right next to my futon was his own stamp book, his walking stick, his pilgrim’s hat, and his prayer pouch. I told him mine would be my most treasured thing when I get home. I meant it. If my house ever catches fire, I know what I’m grabbing first.

👣 You Are Kōbō Daishi

When I asked if he believed Kōbō Daishi walked with us on the trail, he said, “No Kobo Dashi dosen’t walk with you, when you walk you are Kōbō Daishi.” That hit me hard. It’s not about some ghostly figure beside you. It’s about becoming that presence yourself—walking with intention, with kindness, with purpose. I’ll be thinking about that for a long time.

He shared his story—30 years as a high-up businessman, burnout, divorce, two kids. He left it all behind and moved to the woods, now works with the forest service part-time and runs this guest house. He told me he’s genuinely happy now. The stress is gone. There’s a lot in that.

Then he handed me a beer. Free, cold, no big speech. Just a gesture that said, “You're welcome here.” And I felt cool. Like I’d been invited to a secret club of burned-out wanderers who now sit around fires and sip quiet beers.

🌕 Goodnight, Kōbō

I only had one beer and went to bed early. Slept deeply. Maybe it was the silence. Maybe it was the tea. Maybe it was the feeling of being exactly where I was supposed to be.

And maybe, just maybe, that old man was right—I am Kōbō Daishi. At least for a few more weeks.