I vividly remember a ski-trip with my dad, our neighbor Mr. Jones, my sister and her boyfriend. It’s etched into my memory because at one point in the night everyone except my dad migrated into the hotel lobby to try to sleep away from the freight train that was my dad’s snoring. I’ve become my dad…
Hello, my name is Jon, and I snore.
It's been a journey filled with restless nights and a relentless quest for peace. I suspect that my last night without snoring was a long time ago, but the story I'm about to share goes beyond the count of days.
My struggle with snoring began quietly, but it soon grew into a deafening chorus of guilt. At night, as I lay beside my partner, I was troubled by the thought of disrupting their sleep. This wasn’t just a personal battle; it was a shared one, where my snoring echoed as loudly in the realm of my conscience as it did in our bedroom (and often in the guest bedroom).
The weight of guilt was a constant companion, growing heavier with every trip I took. On airplanes, crammed in close quarters, my heart sank with every tired glance from disturbed passengers. In hostels, amidst travelers seeking rest from their journeys, I lay awake, dreading the moment my snoring would disturb the stillness of the night. The guilt was suffocating, a silent scream that kept me awake, ironically in fear of the sleep that brought unrest to others.
This burden of guilt led me down a path of endless searching - for remedies, for cures, for any kind of reprieve. This journey became a metaphorical pilgrimage, not just for a cure but for self-acceptance and understanding.
Each step, each restless night, was part of a larger journey towards acceptance, both of myself and from others. Like the varied landscapes I traversed on my pilgrimages, my journey through the realm of snoring had its challenges and revelations.
I started to frame my snoring as part of the pilgrim's path, a unique obstacle to overcome, not just for me but for those I encountered. I began sharing my story with fellow travelers, finding solace in our shared experiences. Many of these conversations, much like the ones on the Camino, were filled with empathy and mutual understanding.
This new perspective transformed my nightly ritual. Instead of a preamble to guilt, it became an opportunity for camaraderie and storytelling. My snoring, once a source of embarrassment, turned into a catalyst for connection. I found that in the shared spaces of hostels and campsites, honesty about my snoring led to unexpected friendships, laughter, and a sense of community.
I try view each night as another leg of my journey, another opportunity to embrace my imperfections. The Camino taught me that every traveler carries their burdens, visible or not. In trying to accept mine, hopefully, I will lighten my load and help others do the same.
So, as I embark on another Camino deep in the heart of France, I do so with a heart full of gratitude. The guilt may still make occasional visits (like last night), but I must remember that it's fleeting and no longer holds power over me. I've learned that acceptance, like any pilgrimage, is a journey with no end, and it's in the walking, the sharing, and the sleeping, that we find our peace.
Thank you for letting me share my story.
