Today’s Morning Buzz is brought to you by Sheila Shockey, Founder, CEO, Futurist, Shock Talk Podcast Host at Shockey Consulting and artist/gallery owner at 80 Santa Fe in Downtown Overland Park, Kansas. Follow Sheila on LinkedIn and Instagram, and Shockey Consulting.
- What I’m listening to: They turned the Christmas music on at work today — bah, humbug!
- What I’m eating: Halloween candy
- What I’m working on: “Saving Democracy, One Dinner Table at a Time – A Holiday Survival Guide” training program.
Somewhere between Porrino and Arcade—about 30 miles into what was supposed to be my triumphant march into my sixties—I passed my first kidney stone.
That’s right. I started a new decade and a new medical chart entry in a foreign country simultaneously.
But let’s back up.
The Plan (You Know, the One That Never Works)
The Camino de Santiago is a network of ancient pilgrimage routes leading to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Spain. For over 1,000 years, people have walked these paths seeking spiritual awakening, adventure, or—like me—to prove that 60 is just a number and not a speed limit.
My reason wasn’t deeply spiritual. I simply wanted to go into my 60s strong—going into the next phase of life well-prepared to meet new challenges head-on.
Eighty miles in five days. Portugal to Spain. My wonderful friend and co-worker, Molly Saunders, invited me on this trip. Her support and encouragement were instrumental in my decision to embark on this journey. I jumped at the chance to prove something to myself and spend time with her. I trained (kind of… well, not really). I read the blogs. I bought the expensive wool toe socks that promised to prevent blisters and possibly cure existential dread. I was ready.
Except, of course, I wasn’t.
When the Plan Meets Reality (and Your Ureter)
Here’s what people tell you to prepare for on the Camino: sore muscles, heavy packs, blisters, unexpected tears, and profound moments of reflection.
On day two, the pain hit. If you’ve never had a kidney stone, imagine being stabbed from the inside by a tiny, vengeful mineral while your other organs cheer it on. Now imagine you are miles from anywhere with a name you can pronounce, and your choices are: stop, or keep walking.
I kept walking.
Because I’m stubborn. The kind of stubborn that’s familiar to anyone who’s ever worked in local government—the kind that gets you through budget hearings that last longer than some wars, and community meetings where residents argue passionately about backyard chickens. The kind that makes you say, “I didn’t come this far to quit now.”
By the time I reached Santiago a few days later, I’d passed two kidney stones, consumed exceptional Spanish wine, eaten food so good it could have ended wars, and met people who restored my faith in humanity.
But the real lesson wasn’t just about endurance. It was about adaptability and resilience. It was about the ability to keep moving forward, even when the path is not what you expected.
The Leadership Lesson Nobody Puts in the Training Manual
We in public service love a good plan. We build comprehensive plans. Contingency plans. Strategic plans. We hold workshops, conduct SWOT analyses, and color-code spreadsheets. We train for scenarios that might never happen and prepare for crises we hope will never occur.
And that’s good. Preparation matters. I needed more of those training walks before the Camino. You need that strategic plan before the next crisis hits.
But then reality laces up its hiking boots and says, “Cute plan. Let’s see how you handle this.”
Because it’s never if something unexpected will happen—it’s when.
Your IT department head resigns right before a big launch.
The governing body cuts your funding mid-year.
Or your body decides to manufacture gravel and ship it through your internal plumbing—internationally.
At that point, it’s not about how well you prepared. It’s about whether you can adapt when the plan falls apart.
The Path Forward (or, Keep Walking Anyway)
On the Camino, everyone travels their own way, even when following the same trail. The word “Camino” itself means “the way” in Spanish. Some people charge ahead like caffeinated gazelles (that’s Molly). Others stop often, savoring every village café. Some carry almost nothing; others look like they’re moving apartments.
That’s leadership too. There’s no single way to lead through uncertainty. Some people plan meticulously. Others improvise. Some gather consensus; others make the hard call and brace for the fallout. What matters is not the style—it’s that you keep moving.
When the pain hit, I didn’t feel strong. I felt unprepared, ridiculous, and briefly convinced I’d die in a Spanish vineyard (which, to be fair, wouldn’t be the worst obituary). But I kept walking, because stopping wouldn’t make the pain go away—it would just leave me further from where I needed to be.
And somewhere between the agony and the vino blanco, I remembered what got me through the first 59 years: my can-do spirit. Not the delusional “everything’s fine” variety most of us Gen Xers embrace, but the gritty kind that says, “This is awful, this isn’t what I planned, but I’m still going.”
That’s the real leadership muscle—adaptability under duress, with a side of gallows humor.
Marching into 60 (and the Next Meeting)
I made it to Santiago. Not the way I pictured it—certainly with more urological flair than anticipated—but I made it. The cathedral was magnificent. The sense of accomplishment was overwhelming. But the real treasure wasn’t reaching the end; it was realizing that strength doesn’t come from perfect preparation. It comes from persistence, flexibility, and a willingness to laugh (with your friend) when your big adventure turns into a medical documentary.
Leadership, like pilgrimage, is rarely about the path you planned. It’s about how you respond when the terrain changes.
As I turn 60, I’m not celebrating because my life has always gone according to plan. I’m celebrating because I’m reminded, I can handle life when things don’t go according to plan.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go refill my water bottle. You probably should, too.