Camino Gratitude Primitivo

Nothing says “Buen Camino” quite like the rhythmic squish-squish of a soaked sneaker before sunrise.

Stepping into a calf-deep puddle in the pitch black is a unique kind of test. I stood debating the options: Do I stop immediately to change my socks, or do I keep trudging, knowing the darkness likely has a few more “watering holes” waiting for me? I chose the latter, grumbling through the rain and questioning my IQ. How can someone be smart enough to plan a pilgrimage but dumb enough to walk into a rain storm in the dark?

Fortunately, the training was more scenic and drier when Colleen and I headed to Cabo San Lucas. Trading rain for margaritas and enchiladas with the Boselli clan was a definite upgrade. My brother, Steve, took point as the drill sergeant, mapping out 10-mile hikes every morning along the Pacific Coast.

Steve is my favorite walking companion because he’s mastered the art of “joyful wandering.” He’s undergone a radical transformation—shifting from a high-powered businessman to a man who serves God and neighbor with genuine humility. He’s the only person I know who can quote Saint Teresa of Calcutta while navigating a cactus field. He lives by her reminders:

• “Giving oneself to God means accepting everything that happens to us with a smile, and total surrender to His will.”

• “Give yourself fully to God. He will use you to accomplish great things on the condition that you believe much more in His love than in your weakness.”

Of course, “total surrender” was put to the test when Steve and I managed to get spectacularly lost.

We eventually found ourselves staring down a ten-foot wall, surrounded by miles of cactus and the occasional snake. When the locals told us to turn around, we naturally ignored them, hiking deeper into the brush, moving further away from our destination with every confident stride.

Eventually, we ran out of water, out of trail, and out of conversation. We ended up belly-crawling under a rusty fence to escape the prickly underbrush that was currently using our legs as pincushions. Armed with nothing but “broken” Spanish and sheer stubbornness, we finally stumbled upon an escape route to Medano Bay.

When we finally limped home, thirsty, scratched up, and starving, we were greeted with… absolutely zero concern. Our family not realizing we were lost in the Baja outback. No fanfare, no rescue party—just two hungry brothers who had successfully surrendered to the trail (and a few cactus needles).