In 1985, I spent an intense week of bioenergetic psychotherapy on the island of Porto Heli in Greece. I shared the experience with 25 other people, half of whom were psychotherapists who specialized in bioenergetics. There were only three Americans, two women plus yours truly.

I was wrestling with personal and career issues at the time. Decisions had to be made; something had to give — or change.

I recently previewed a soon-to-be-published book by my friend Rick Wile entitled, “The Geriatric Pilgrim: Tales from the Journey.” A pilgrimage is defined as a “journey to a sacred place,” so my trip to Greece could be termed a pilgrimage. Greece might be described as a “sacred place” because of its history, and I was definitely on a journey of self-discovery.

A pilgrimage could also be defined more broadly, I believe, as someone’s journey through life. Most of us make some big moves during our journey, a change in location or career or marriage or philosophy or religious belief as we progress towards personal fulfillment. Rick Wile’s book prompted me to reflect upon some of my own pilgrimages.

In 1960, I moved from Wilmington, Delaware to Brunswick, Maine to attend Bowdoin College. I’d never been on the campus; I had no idea what college was all about. Looking back, that was one of the best pilgrimages I ever experienced.

In the summer of 1963, I spent 12 weeks in Europe, six weeks working at an aviation company in Paris and six weeks hitchhiking around Europe. I wore a suit and tie while hitchhiking (no joke), and held up a sign that read “American student.” Europeans loved President Kennedy, so getting a ride was seldom a problem. That summer, I learned a lot about America as well as myself, although my French barely exceeded the basics.

In the summer of 1968, I left a job in advertising in New York City to return to Bowdoin and work in the admissions office, a far more fulfilling position.

In the summer of 1973, while serving as Director of Admissions at Ohio Wesleyan, I took a course in magazine article writing, which led to having an article published in Parade magazine entitled, “The College You Want May Be Looking For You.” That successful foray into the publishing world led me to believe I might have a future as a writer.

In the summer of 1975, I moved from Ohio Wesleyan to the Barton-Gillet Company, a firm in Baltimore specializing in creating communications materials for colleges and schools and other nonprofits, as was well as annual reports for companies. I served as an account executive in addition to writing for scores of clients.

In the summer of 1986, I left my marriage and moved to Massachusetts to go out on my own, a gutsy leap of faith, although it worked out.

In 1989, I quit drinking and married Tina in the Bowdoin Chapel, both of which were very positive and significant moves along my personal pilgrimage.

In 2002, Tina and I moved from Massachusetts to Brunswick. I had gone to Bowdoin, and she had lived her formative years here, so it seemed like the right last geographical step on our marital journey.

My own “spiritual” journey in terms of formal religious affiliation has proceeded in fits and starts — and an occasional hiatus. The Presbyterian Church at first, because that’s where my mother took us; the Methodist Church so I could play in the church basketball league; an Episcopal Church in Baltimore, because my former wife grew up in that tradition; after moving to Maine, Tina and I spent several years of semi-serious searching before landing at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Brunswick five years ago, the right church at the right time for both of us.

In October, 2020, Anneka Willams, one of our students as part of the Bowdoin Host Family program, asked if I’d write flash fiction with her. That was a new genre for me, but it led to the publication of our book (“A Flash Fiction Exchange Between Methuselah and the Maiden: Sixty Stories to While Away the Hours”) I taught a flash fiction course for the Mid Coast Senior College this past winter, and I’ll teach it again starting in November. To top it off, I’m having a delightful time doing flash fiction with my precocious seven-year-old granddaughter Phoebe. Some journeys take interesting side paths.

As to the future, I’m excited at the prospect of helping Rick Muhr, an amazing running coach, inspirational leader and talented speaker, tell his life story. Rick, who lives in Grafton, Massachusetts, had a horrendous bicycle accident last October, which put him in the hospital for nearly two months While in the hospital, he discovered he had kidney cancer. The tumor was removed, and then it seemed he had colon cancer, but that proved to be a false scare. Rick, who has coached thousands of runners and given scores of speeches over the last 20 years, has bounced back remarkably from these setbacks — running again, coaching again, inspiring again. Interestingly, Rick referred to our working together as a “journey.”

I invite you, dear readers, to reflect upon your own pilgrimages through life. And to keep on exploring to see what you can find.

David Treadwell, a Brunswick writer, welcomes commentary and suggestions for future “Just a Little Old” columns. dtreadw575@aol.com.

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