10. You’re young and want an adventure that doesn’t involve ziplining or TikTok.
9. You’re older and would like to walk and think without anyone asking what’s for dinner.
8. You’ve hit a rough patch — divorce, illness, grief — and need a change of scenery.
7. You want to connect with the Divine, the Holy, or at least a really good sunrise.
6. You don’t believe in God but feel weirdly drawn to cathedrals.
5. You’ve tried therapy. Now you’re trying hiking.
4. You want to meet people who don’t mind blisters and big conversations.
3. You’d really prefer to be alone with your thoughts, your journal, and possibly a goat.
2. You’ve got itchy feet and a sturdy pair of shoes begging to be used.
You’re human. That’s reason enough.
In short, there are many reasons to go on a pilgrimage.
Chances are, you’ve already taken one or two without even calling it that. Maybe it was when you visited the town where you grew up and walked its streets with a full heart, seeing everything through the lens of memory. Or maybe it was a trip you took with a friend facing something big and scary—like a cancer diagnosis—where the laughter and sightseeing carried an invisible undertow. Every ice cream stop and every sunset felt a little more tender because of what wasn’t being said.
These kinds of trips are pilgrimages because they touch something deep in the heart and soul. There’s nothing wrong with a regular vacation—sometimes what we need most is a beach, a mystery novel, and a well-chilled gin and tonic. But other times, especially after losses or at life’s turning points—graduations, milestone birthdays, retirements—the road calls to us in a different way.
Even if we don’t think of ourselves as religious, even if we’re spiritual skeptics, something in us still leans toward wayfaring. I suspect it’s part of what first lured our ancestors down from the trees and out across the savannas, eventually pulling us into every corner of the earth.
The sacred tends to slip into our lives through the smallest of cracks. Your call to pilgrimage might come disguised as something unwelcome—a door slammed shut, a job that ends, a relationship that frays and falls apart. Or it might arrive quietly, in the offhand comment of a stranger at a bus stop, or in a headline you barely notice at the checkout counter.
You tell yourself it’s silly to listen to that inner tug. And yet, somehow, you find yourself packing a bag and walking out the door.
What places are calling your name?
What dream is waiting patiently for you to notice it?
What task has your soul quietly set aside, hoping you’ll circle back?
Listen closely to that small, persistent whisper within you. It knows the way.
Pilgrimage isn’t about perfection. You’ll forget to pray. You’ll get blisters. You might eat bad gas station food and wonder what you were thinking. But keep going.
Pay attention. Say thank you often. And trust that somewhere along the way—maybe when you’re lost, or tired, or just looking at the sky—you’ll catch a glimpse of something holy.
Coming home isn’t always easy. The journey may have changed you in ways that are hard to explain, especially to people who stayed behind. But that’s part of the calling, too. Pilgrims are meant to bring something back—to share what they’ve seen, what they’ve learned, even if it’s hard to put into words.
And maybe the biggest lesson is this: the road doesn’t really end. All of life is a kind of pilgrimage, a long walk toward the sacred, hidden in both the dazzling and the deeply ordinary.
Lori Erickson is one of America’s top travel writers specializing in spiritual journeys. She’s the author of books that include Holy Rover, Near the Exit, The Soul of the Family Tree, and Every Step Is Home. Her website Spiritual Travels features holy sites around the world.
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