Every morning I wake up and think, “Really? We’re going to do this again?”

By “this” I mean walk 12-17 miles through Spanish towns and countryside. In rain. Or sun. Or, ideally, partial clouds.

But I don’t express this thought because what’s the point? Michael and I came here with one goal: to walk from the Spanish-Portuguese border to Santiago de Compostela so Michael could fulfill the vow he made to me four years ago. On our wedding day.

We wrote our own vows (much to my surprise). I heard Michael’s promise at the same time all of our guests did:

I promise that I will join you on a Camino walk and share in one of your passions. . .

My favorite line of his? The one I’ve remembered by heart ever since I heard it? “However much you love me, I love you more.” Michael can be competitive. . .

But the sentiment has held true over our four years of marriage. Love is not a competition. But there are many times where I think, “Wow. He still likes me.”

When he says something or does something that causes me to roll my eyes, sometimes I chant, “I love my husband. I love my husband. I love my husband.” Aloud. In front of him. And we both laugh.

I wish you could all hear the conversations we have. How much he makes me laugh. I wish I captured more of those moments. But then, every day, I know they’ll be more. I am a very lucky woman.

And today? I’m lucky that we don’t have to walk. That our day will be filled with more laughter.

As I write this, Michael sleeps beside me. Today is the first time in seven days we don’t have to be up and packed by 8am.

Today is the first day we will not apply bandages to our feet to cover up our “hotspots.”

Today is the first day we will not don a daypack for five or six or seven hours.

Today is the first day we’ll play the role of tourists instead of pilgrims.

Tonight is the first time we will sleep in the same bed we slept in the night before.

As the bell tower chimes 8:30, the birds sing outside our open window. For a moment I hear a distant, muted conversation in the breakfast room below me. The ring of a coffee cup meeting its saucer.

And I think, “Ah. Our first day of rest.”

Then I remember that this is my husband’s first time in this city. As he stirs, I finish writing and go out to create more memories with him.