Are You a Tourist or a Pilgrim?
By Liz Michalski | September 27, 2024 |
This past summer I was lucky enough to hike a portion of the Southwest Coast Path in Cornwall, England. Because the dates of my trip changed several times and it wound up being pulled together at the last minute, I did something I’ve never done before: I hired a guide to help me plan it. Her expertise was invaluable – she set up stays at local inns, recommended places to eat, shared daily weather updates, and checked in at the end of each day to make sure I’d made it.
After the trip was over, she requested a zoom call to debrief, and asked whether there was anything I would have done differently. The only thing I could think of was that I wished we’d built in time to see or even attend a show at the Minack Theatre. Carved into rugged stone and perched on a cliff over the water, it is breathtakingly beautiful with madly good acoustics. It was directly on my path, and I’d counted on being able to ramble about the grounds since it was the off season, but there was a production going on that afternoon so the theatre was closed to those not attending. I could have purchased a ticket, but that meant I would still be on the path when it was getting dark, and with hundred-foot drops into the ocean on one side, it wasn’t a scenario I was comfortable with. So with regret I picked up my pack and continued walking, listening as the music from the theatre filled the air for the next half mile.
I shared this with my guide, who was quiet for a moment. “Well,” she said at last. “Sometimes you have to choose. You can be a pilgrim or a tourist, but not both.”
I’ve been turning her statement over in my head ever since, asking which I am in each situation I encounter. Not because it will change what I do, necessarily, but because it allows me to recognize what is important to me, which helps me set priorities.
There’s no shame in either category. Not everything we do is going to call to our soul and ask for a deeper investment of time and energy. And that’s ok.
I’m a tourist, for example, when it comes to my interest in watercolors. A surface level knowledge and understanding is plenty for me at this time, and I’m quick to move on to other activities especially when what I am doing becomes difficult. If the end result of my attempt to paint a bunny looks more like a mutant ninja turtle, I’m mostly okay with that.
But as a hiker, I am a pilgrim. I take delight in the rhythm of the walk, the concentration and endurance it requires to put one foot in front of the next over and over again. The simple state of being on the trail for hours is enough, without the need to do anything else. And I’m invested in my ability to summit certain heights or meet certain goals. If I fail, it matters to me. But I’m willing to take that risk even if it means being humbled.
For me, an activity falls under the pilgrim category if it:
- Is something I find myself thinking about when I am not doing it.
- Involves a level of discomfort or sacrifice that I am willing to overlook in order to participate.
- Allows me to deepen my practice through repetition.
- Would create a noticeable lack in my life if I were unable to perform it again.
- Has an outcome that matters to me, that I will actively pursue even in the face of failure.
As a writer, I began as a tourist. Writing came easily to me. It was something I could do without much thought or effort. And then one day I reached a stage where I recognized a crossroads. I could either continue on at the level I was at and be comfortable with that, or I could challenge myself and do the work it would take to improve, all the while understanding that the work would not necessarily guarantee an improvement.
I chose – and continue to choose – to do the work. To read novels I admire and dissect them, line by line, to see what makes them so good. To study books on craft and character and plot, to attend writing conferences when I can, to write and ask for feedback and try and take that feedback with good grace. It is not always fun. It is not always easy. I frequently fail to meet my own goals. I often am embarrassed. But something about putting the words down and creating new people and new worlds calls me in a way that few other things ever have. Writing and I may break up sometimes, but so far we’ve always gotten back together.
Now it’s your turn. How would you decide whether you are a pilgrim or a tourist in an activity? And where does your writing fall on the spectrum?
Liz Michalski’s (she/her) second novel, Darling Girl, was published in 2022 by Dutton. Her first novel, Evenfall, was published by Berkley Books (Penguin). Liz has been a reporter, an editor, and a freelance writer. In her previous life, she wrangled with ill-tempered horses and oversized show dogs. These days she’s downsized to one husband, two children and a medium-sized mutt.
Liz, I appreciate the 5-point deep dive into defining pilgrim. Thank you for sharing this thoughtfulness in applying it to our writing.
Last year I encountered the tourist/pilgrim juxtaposition on a facebook page I follow and, intrigued like you, wrote about it on my website looking at the definitions, but applying to lifestyle traits and habits. Being a tourist is a way to dip our toes in and test the ethos of a place, a culture, or an art before deciding to become pilgrims and immersing ourselves within it.
Love this. I have discovered in life that sometimes I was content being a tourist when an event (e.g., diagnosis, lifestyle change) demanded that I put on my hiking boots and become a pilgrim. (And with writing? Always a happy tourist trudging forward!) TY
Same, Anne – sometimes circumstances dictate and we don’t get to choose. Here’s to trudging!
I love your description of the difference between tourist and pilgrim, Lisa. Thank you for sharing it, and thank you for reading!
I like the distinction. I find the tourist mode entertains, sometimes teaches. The pilgrim mode always teaches, sometimes nurtures. Maybe it is as much our attitude as the activity itself.
On hiking, you might enjoy the works of John D Burns (if not already a fan!). He often makes this same distinction. Is the walker engaging with his surroundings or merely ticking off his Munro list? Compass and map or gps?
On writing, what do you think of such classics as Poe’s Philosophy of composition? Does studying our craft enhance our appreciation of the written word as well as our skills?
Burns is amazing both for his philosophy and his endurance!!!!
I haven’t read Poe’s Philosophy of Composition since college, so perhaps it is time for another look. And yes, I think you are right – it does enhance our appreciation, but I’ve also found that the opposite is true. There are times when too much analysis has made the joy of reading disappear, albeit temporarily.
Ah Liz, I am definitely a pilgrim…when it comes to writing. There is the thinking about it, the discomfort, because I am not exactly WHERE I want to be, but I will always actively pursue it, even if I face failure.
I think I have always been a pilgrim by your definition. Though I prepared to be a teacher when in college and did love teaching high school juniors (was I crazy, a bit)! But after the births of my three children, I went back to school to become a nurse. I really wanted to be a doctor…but realized that was way over the top.
Now it is to publish my forever novel, to truly BE a part of this group. It is a challenge. I loved DARLING GIRL. I love my novel. But my hope is to eliminate the GRIM in pilgrim and add the word JOY to my journey instead.
So much to love in this comment, Beth. First off, you are already truly a part of this group. Second, thank you for your kind words about Darling Girl. And third, I love the idea of a piljoy!!!!! Thank you for sharing it!
You could look to the Latin form of the word, peregrine, and employ “grin”!! lol…
Hello Liz. As all good posts do, yours provokes the reader to respond. Applied to writing, I am in most respects a tourist, someone on a train gazing out until something unsought, unbidden signals me to get off.
But your very readable description of a hiking tour leads me think of your trip in other terms. You begin in the most rational way by planning ahead, by covering all the bases, even going so far as to hire a private “events planner” to equip you with further guidance before leaving home. One blip figured on your otherwise flawless trip (the Minack Theatre), but otherwise you seem never to have missed a beat.
I see this in relation to the old shopworn distinction between outliners and pantsers, those who devote time and energy to designing a novel before crafting it, and those who don’t. I go somewhere and take it from there, day by day. I don’t worry about getting lost–I enjoy making my itinerary up as I go along. So what am I, a tourist? A pilgrim? Maybe just the village idiot who enjoys being surprised and surprising himself.
Thanks very much.
That’s an interesting analogy, Barry – I hadn’t thought of it that way before. Although I do think the energy expansion is similar – we pantsers just expend it all during the course of the writing. And no one who met you in real life would ever dare consider you the village idiot – although I can see a bit of the knave in the best possible way.
Unmasked! I must flee to the countryside.
Love this post, Liz. What a wonderful way to think of our pursuits. Hats off to you on the hike, which I know to be a vigorous one. (Have you read The Salt Path? I’m sure you have. I loved it so much.) I have at times been a hiking pilgrim, but have let it drift for a while. I started painting as a tourist but have become a pilgrim. Writing remains my pilgrim path and I can’t imagine that changing. Thank you for this post.
It was definitely vigorous and life changing in a very deep way. Loved The Salt Path as well – I read it for the first time a month before my trip. And as someone who has watched your painting journey unfold, I am so impressed.
I think I’d decide if I were a tourist or a pilgrim by the depth of the experience. I think of a tourist as a surface-seeker — folks who are there to get an impression, see the sights, take in the smells, buy a T-shirt, and move on. While a pilgrim hoes the fields, plants seeds, tends to the crops, and later sets the table for a feast they share with a bigger community. Despite stops and starts, I’m still a pilgrim-writer — even if I might, sometimes, wish I were a tourist.
Thanks for this, Liz!
A lovely definition, Teri. There’s good to be found in both roles, but you are for sure a pilgrim in community building and I appreciate that so much.
Liz, thank you sharing your guide’s words and your own reflections on being a tourist or a pilgrim. I’m definitely a pilgrim when it comes to the writing life even though I might’ve started out as a tourist. Will die pen in hand and a psalm upon my lips :)
Vijaya, I always look forward to your comments – thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts. And I so love your last line!
Thank you, Liz. What a wonderful distinction! I love your five questions. They are now part of my toolkit.
Someone once said about me that I didn’t have hobbies; I had obsessions. I’m afraid it fits. If I’m not willing to rise above the discomfort and make the effort to improve, I don’t pursue an activity very far. It even applied to my activities as a tourist. My wife said that I didn’t tour countries; I occupied them. Since I was there, I wanted not only to see but also to experience and understand the place, to absorb it.
I’m grateful to be able to articulate the difference now. As you said, it helps make decisions. It also helps me understand some of the decisions I’ve made.
I write because I can’t think of anything better to do; it’s an enriching and satisfying experience, and the epiphanies more than make up for the frustrations and disappointments.
Pilgrim. With a mission: to leave behind a legacy proving it doesn’t require a traditional publisher to write good mainstream fiction, and have it last.
I don’t think I was ever a tourist – it costs me way too much to write, physically and mentally. But I am pleased with the amazing amount of learning that happens for the writer on the journey – even though I can only pass on an amuse-bouche of that to the reader (more if they re-read).
It’s a heady cocktail.
You had me at Southwest Coast Path. I walked parts of it even before I read The Salt Path, and many other trails besides. I’ve been mulling over your definitions of tourist and pilgrim, as well as the other comments: all insightful as usual. One thing I’d add is that there are times when it is important for me to recognise that sometimes I AM just a tourist, no matter how much I think I’m an authority on something or someplace. Not that I couldn’t become a pilgrim there, if granted unlimited time, but rather reminding myself that there are times to listen rather than speak, times to respect someone else’s deeper knowledge. “I’m just a tourist here” has been my shorthand for this reminder.
Hi, I’ve never thought of making that distinction but it makes sense. I like it. The only thing that I’d add is that for me, my pilgim activities are the ones that I think are worth doing for their own sake, not because of any exterior reward.