Without an End

"The most beautiful moment of a kiss is the three seconds before it."

A few years ago, I set out on one of the greatest journeys of my life—the Way of St. James along the Atlantic coast. I described it in my book, how I walked nearly 900 km, forgetting to mention that there was a tiny, brief stretch I didn’t actually complete. I wondered for a long time if I’d ever regret it. I had so many chances to fix this “mistake,” but I never did. Now, I think it was never a mistake. Quite the opposite.

When I had about 20 km left to reach Porto, I met an old friend on that secluded path, someone I hadn’t seen in nearly a decade. Out in the middle of nowhere, at 7 a.m., with the sun barely risen, we didn't just pass each other by as he ran past me. We had breakfast together, and since I had fallen quite a bit behind my schedule, he gave me a ride—those last 10 km to Porto.

Last year, as spring had just begun, fate gifted me a group of Germans, with whom I spent a month in this beautiful city. Hearing my story of how those 10 km were left unfinished, they quickly organized an outing, during which we would all walk that perfect stretch from the tiny coastal village right into the heart of Porto. We walked for a long time—much too long, I thought—and finally, stopping to admire the sunset with a glass of wine in hand, I realized that day would be no more special than any other. I called a taxi, and along with a few friends who’d also tired of determined walking, we left the guys to finish the hike, surprised that I didn’t want to finish it myself.

A few long weeks later, I walked this same path on my birthday. Walking, I gathered in my mind the things that had made the year beautiful (I left them here: ). The sun had already set, giving me the most magnificent, pink sky, promising life; ocean waves crashed beside me, and Porto’s lights sparkled in the distance. I lost count of how many times fate had given me those rare, high moments—so brief yet so real—where you feel like you’re missing nothing in life. Where if the movie of your life ended now, it would be the most beautiful ending, one you could never have come up with yourself. Only a few kilometers remained. And I turned around and walked back.

The most beautiful moment of a kiss is the three seconds before it. And this path, to me, is that moment, one I’ve stretched to infinity over these years. There are no impassable paths in this world. But there are those we choose not to take—for many reasons. Those moments before something happens: a kiss, a phrase, a distance walked—they can give so much and just as easily take it away. Perhaps it’s age. Or perhaps it’s simply become much more important to preserve the old than to have something new. Maybe life has shown me how painfully the desire to finish, to see, to conquer something can take away what you thought would last forever.

Perhaps that’s why, walking along the ocean, and seeing those small lights gleaming on the horizon, I no longer take another step forward. And though there are many things I’ve dreamed—and still dream—of finding alone, unaccompanied, without a call from anyone, this path I’ll keep as a small miracle. Like the end of a rainbow, which everyone tries to see, but no one manages to find. Or maybe, someday, I’ll accidentally end up there. And then, I’ll have nothing left but to thank—or blame—fate. And I’m inclined to blame it for everything.

There was a mountain just like this in the Dolomites, which, after a week of climbing, I found I no longer had the strength or desire to conquer. It stayed there, my unclaimed peak, over which I raise a glass of Aperol, admiring it from afar. It’s a good feeling, no longer wanting to prove anything to anyone. And even better—to no longer feel the need to prove anything to yourself.

Let’s leave a few moments: unkissed, unspoken, untraveled. Like that aching miracle you still believe in, but that needs more time to come true. And when you least expect it, maybe those three seconds will finally come to an end, one you thought you’d never experience.