As an undergraduate student at Campion College in Regina sometime around 1996, my introductory English professor was Fr. Monty Williams, SJ. He frequently challenged the class to consider the deeper questions of life, and he would often ask us the difference between living as a tourist and as a pilgrim. This existential problem made little sense to me as an inexperienced student. Recognizing that they both involve travel and new experiences, the terms essentially seemed the same. It was only during the summer of 2016 that finally understood the difference. It took 20 years of life-experience as a Jesuit, a formation in the spirituality of St. Ignatius, and a long walk to learn the subtle distinction.

The Camino of Santiago has grown in popularity over the last 20 years. In the months of planning before my 840-kilometre trek across the ancient pilgrimage route in Spain, many friends shared their own experiences of the Camino. It seemed there was no limit to what could be seen and done over the 32-day journey. I was encouraged to visit particular churches and local monasteries.

I had the addresses of two-dozen restaurants that I just shouldn’t miss and an even longer inventory of hostels that I absolutely needed to stay in. This would be a grand adventure, and – as I set out on from St. Jean Pied de Porte in France on 1 July 2016 – I felt that that a single moment couldn’t be wasted if I wanted to see everything.

The first day of the trip was the most gruelling. I climbed a continual ascent of about 1100 metres over the Pyrenees Mountains during a 10-hour period. There were moments when I wanted to rest; there were periods when I wanted to take off my shoes. Nevertheless, I was in a rush to get over the mountains and reach the town on the other side. The hostel that a friend told me to stay in did not taking reservations; I needed to be quick if I wanted to get a room. With this in mind, I made it to Roncesvalles in Spain very quickly. Because of my haste, I arrived far ahead of the 150 other pilgrims who set out with me in the morning.

Despite the apparent success of the first day, having climbed the mountain and reached the hostel in early afternoon, something seemed wrong. As I went through the whole of my experience hour-by-hour as St. Ignatius asks Jesuits to do in the Daily Examine, it seemed like the day was spiritually empty. Who did I speak with? What moments caught my attention? Where did I find the time for gratitude?

At that moment, it became clear that in the rush to the destination, I missed a whole part of the journey. I resolved at that moment to trust a little more in the divine providence of God to show me what I needed to see. From then, I would take things a lot slower.

The next day began very early, as did the rest of the 31 days after that, but my outlook was different. I stopped frequently to rest and admire the vistas. When there was a local town square or coffee shop, I took off my boots and spent time with other pilgrims travelling the same route.

Over the next few days, the experience of the Camino became a little sweeter and the depth of the excursion started to transform me. My nightly reflections were punctuated not by the sites that were checked off my list but by the experiences that I had. Meaningful conversations… intimate moments… joy-filled encounters all defined my day.

I was about 10 days out from Santiago when I had a chance to articulate my new insight. Sitting in a pub with two young Swiss men who just arrived to Spain, we chatted informally. One told me that walking a small part of the Camino was on his bucket-list for years; he asked if I had any helpful suggestions as they began. At that point, I knew what I should tell him.

Rather than looking with focus toward the end of the Camino as something that you need to accomplish or making long lists of things to see along the way, I suggested he go slowly and with intentionality. In my experience, I said, we should not look toward the destination with an unflinching gaze but be aware of the present moment. In doing this, our eyes are opened to a whole variety of once-in-a-lifetime encounters that would otherwise be lost. He was intrigued, but still not clear about what I was suggesting.

I clarified that never again would he sit in a pub eating Spanish pastries with a Jesuit priest from Canada. His earlier experiences of chitchatting with Italians on a dirt road in the noonday Spanish sun will never come again. The taste of garlic soup made by Marco in his small restaurant next door could never be duplicated. Everything – absolutely everything – encountered on the Camino is a bucket-list experience if we are attentive to the present moment.

Of course, the destination is important and we must keep in mind where we are going. Nevertheless, the grace of the Camino comes when we see that what is important is not where you end up but where you are.

This – it seems – highlights the difference between a tourist and a pilgrim. Far too often we rush through our own lives trying to tick off items from our bucket-list. Too great a focus on the future shifts our attitude toward that of a tourist. Rather than looking forward at what we might have or might accomplish, it is far more spiritually grounding to look to what we have actually done and are actually doing… and to be grateful for what is.

Perhaps we might call this the reverse-bucket-list. Once we start to be attentive to the ways that God is active now, we see hundreds of these once-in-a-lifetime experiences every day. In this, our lives are filled with deep gratitude. By being present to the experiences of vibrancy and joy in the present moment, we in fact live the very intentional attitude of a pilgrim.

Understanding this subtle distinction has made all the difference.