Camino Reflection: A Planless Path
I was walking on the Camino without any real plan for what I was going to do once I finished and got back to Africa. At first, that felt fine — just walk, reflect, survive the day. One foot in front of the other. But as the days passed and the end of the trail crept closer, I started to notice something shift inside me. Without a plan, I began to feel increasingly unsettled. I couldn’t shake this sense of unease. I felt more and more anxious, and strangely — even in the beauty of Spain — more and more depressed.
The truth is, the future looked bleak. I didn’t know what I would return to. I didn’t know what to look forward to. And when you don’t know what you’re moving toward, it’s hard to keep walking, even on a Camino.
But then I began talking to people — just simple conversations. Someone would say, “What’s next?” and I’d answer, almost instinctively, “I think I’ll visit an old friend. I might open a bottle of wine with someone. I’ll probably go on another little adventure.” And strangely, just speaking those ideas — putting small points of joy into the future — made everything lighter.
The more I planned, the more hopeful I felt. The more I imagined, the less afraid I became.
And suddenly, the path ahead felt not only possible — it felt exciting.
That’s when I understood this simple but vital truth:
In mourning, happiness doesn’t happen by accident. You have to plan for it.
⸻
The Grief–happiness Conflict
When you’re deep in grief, happiness feels dangerous. There’s a strange loyalty to sadness — a sense that if you dare to smile, you’re forgetting. If you enjoy something, you’re moving on too soon. It’s as if laughter has become betrayal, and excitement a kind of guilt.
But here’s the hard truth: grief and happiness are not enemies. They are companions on the same road.
Grief is the cost of love. Joy is the reward of remembering that love well.
Joy doesn’t mean you’re “over it.” It means you’re in it, and still choosing to live.
And that choice — to feel excitement, to plan happiness — is not a sign of weakness. It is one of the bravest decisions you’ll make in mourning.
⸻
Why Planning happiness Matters
You won’t stumble upon joy by accident, especially not in the fog of loss. That’s why planning happiness matters — not just emotionally, but psychologically and biologically.
Here’s what happens when you plan for happiness:
• You create anticipation. Your brain begins to release dopamine as soon as you imagine something pleasurable. This anticipation becomes a source of energy and motivation.
• You reclaim agency. Loss makes you feel powerless. Planning something — even small — gives you back control.
• You balance your emotional load. Grief may still weigh heavily, but a planned happiness lightens the load, even if briefly.
• You reconnect with time. Grief distorts time — making every hour feel endless. Looking forward helps you re-enter the rhythm of life.
• You connect with people. Many happy moments — dinners, trips, gatherings — are shared experiences. Planning them means you’re not only connecting with others, but also reconnecting with your own sanity. Social interaction can be a lifeline in mourning, reminding you that you still belong to the living world. Isolation can make grief heavier; connection can make it lighter, even for a moment.
When you plan for happiness, you’re not just filling your diary. You’re quietly making a declaration:
I am still here. I am still part of life. I am still capable of feeling good things.
Without a plan, days stretch endlessly and painfully.
With a plan, they start to gather shape — and you begin to remember that there is still more to come.
⸻
The Three Kinds of happiness to Plan For
Let’s break happiness into something manageable. It doesn’t have to be grand or profound.
It just has to be real.
1. Small happy moments (Daily and Weekly)
These are your everyday joys. They are the gentle rituals that remind you you’re alive — and that life is still good in moments.
• A cup of your favourite tea in the same sunny spot every morning.
• Lighting a candle and listening to one special song before bed.
• Friday movie night with your pet, your blanket, and no expectations.
• A walk with a friend who knows how to listen — not fix.
These happy moments don’t change your life. But they steady it.
They are your scaffolding.
2. Medium happy moments (Monthly)
These require a little intention and effort. They’re slightly bigger than daily comforts but still very doable.
• A weekend trip to the sea or the mountains.
• Hosting a small dinner with two or three people who lift your spirit.
• Enrolling in a class — writing, dancing, painting, cooking.
• Visiting a market, museum, or concert you wouldn’t usually attend.
. Booking a show with a friend
They break up the monotony of grief and inject movement into your life.
They are your momentum.
3. Big happy moments (Quarterly or Annually)
These are your future hopes. Your acts of courage. Your reasons to rebuild.
• A journey — like a Camino.
• A project — like planting a garden or writing a book.
• A tribute — like starting something in their memory.
• A reunion — meeting up with those you’ve lost touch with.
They ask more of you. They stretch you. But they also show you what you’re capable of.
They are your vision.
⸻
Letting Go of the Guilt
Here’s the tricky bit: many mourners struggle not with planning, but with feeling allowed to plan.
You might think:
• If I go to the beach, does it mean I’ve forgotten them?
• If I fall in love again one day, does that undo what we had?
• If I laugh at dinner, does that mean I’m okay — and shouldn’t be?
This guilt is common. But it’s also misplaced.
Happiness doesn’t replace grief.
It lives alongside it.
It says: I carry this loss, and I still choose to see the sunrise.
You are not betraying your person by planning joy.
You are honouring them by living well, as they would have wanted.
⸻
Reframing happy: It May Look Different Now
One of the hidden challenges of post-loss life is that joy often comes in unfamiliar forms.
The things that once excited you may now feel empty or irrelevant. That doesn’t mean something is wrong. It just means you’ve changed. And your joy will have to change too.
Where once you loved the crowds, now you may crave quiet.
Where once you filled your calendar, now you may protect your space.
Let that be okay.
Don’t chase the old joy.
Be open to new happy moments finding you in unexpected ways.
⸻
Practical Tips to Start Planning Joy
If the thought of happy still feels far away, start gently. Here are some ways to ease into it:
1. Use Your Calendar — Start with one small plan per week. Physically write it down — it makes it more real.
2. The happiness Jar — Fill a jar with small slips of paper, each with a simple happy action: “Go for a swim,” “Eat ice cream on the porch,” “Message an old friend.” Pull one when you feel stuck.
3. Create a “Looking Forward To” List — Make a simple list of 10 things you’re looking forward to — real or imagined.
4. Ask for Help — If planning is hard, ask a friend to plan with you. Let them suggest or book something.
5. Tie happy actions to Memory — Do something your person loved: visit their favourite place, listen to their favourite song, plant their favourite flower. Happy moments can be remembrance, too.
6. Plan with People, Not Just for Yourself — Planning something exciting by yourself is good — it gives you freedom, control, and space to recharge. But planning something exciting with a group of friends can be even better. A road trip, a weekend away, a day hike, or even just joining a group that’s going somewhere interesting — these kinds of plans not only give you something to look forward to, they also deepen your connections with others. It’s the double benefit: you get the happiness of the activity itself, and the happiness of shared company. Both matter in grief, because mourning can make you retreat and isolate. Being intentional about including others in your plans helps you stay socially connected while still creating experiences that lift you.
⸻
When the Plan Fails
Not every plan works. Sometimes you book something — and you just can’t go. Sometimes you show up — and cry through the whole thing.
That’s okay.
The goal isn’t perfection.
The goal is intention.
You tried. That counts.
Try again. You will get stronger. And the happiness will become more natural with time.
⸻
Reimagining Your Future
Grief flattens your future. It takes away the picture you’d painted — the birthdays, anniversaries, retirements, holidays. That imagined life is gone.
But a new life is still possible.
You can build a new picture. And that process starts with small, intentional happy moments .
Think of it like this: you’re planting seeds. Some will grow. Some won’t. But if you keep planting, a garden will emerge.
One walk. One lunch. One invitation. One plan.
And then another.
This is how you slowly remember that you are still here.
And life — though changed — is still yours.
⸻
Final Thoughts: happiness Is a Discipline
happiness isn’t just a feeling. ITS a discipline. A decision. A rhythm.
You may not feel ready. That’s okay. But start anyway.
Put a marker in the future — a cup of coffee, a reunion, a dance.
Give your brain something to anticipate.
Give your heart something to stretch toward.
And know this: planning happiness is not moving on. It’s moving with.
Grief in one hand. Joy in the other.
Both are real. Both are valid. Both are yours to carry.
⸻
Reflective Questions
1. What’s one small happy moment I can plan for this week?
2. What brings me excitement or energy, even for a moment?
3. When was the last time I felt truly happy? What was happening?
4. What new happy moments might I be open to, now that I’ve changed?
5. What’s one future event I could begin planning — even if it feels far away?
⸻
Because of Angé
Because of Angé, I will plan the coffee date. I will book the dinner. I will go on the road trip. I will say yes to the hike, even if my heart still aches. I will light the candle, pour the wine, and raise a glass to her. Because of Angé, I will keep choosing joy — not instead of grief, but because of it.
She lived well. She planned well. She laughed with her whole body. She knew that joy is not a luxury — it’s a way of honouring life.
So I will too.
Because of her
