Yesterday I set out to wander the streets of Galway. Being in Ireland, I came prepared for rain with jacket on. Thick clouds lingered overhead all day, threatening to open at any moment. But, not a drop fell. In Ireland, there’s often several showers with intermittent sunny spells each day. Yet this summer has been different—unusually dry, unusually warm, as if even the skies had decided to be unusually kind.
Across from where I was staying on Eyre Square, there were colorful tents filled with crafts, paintings, custom jewelry, and—most dangerously for me—desserts. I stopped at several stalls and enjoyed conversations with local artisans before finding a few small treasures for my already bulging bags. Then, I spotted the biscotti cheesecake.
And I was hungry after the two hour train trip and besides there was no soft- serve ice cream in sight so of course , i felt obliged to try a slice. It was delicious. I reassured myself that I would likely walk several miles that day, and that the calories would simply disappear somewhere along the streets of Galway.
That evening, my fitness app informed me I had walked 5.4 miles. So no worries about weight gain!
Whether 5.4 miles fully cancels out biscotti cheesecake remains a question for future research which I probably will not do.
Music was everywhere in Galway, spilling out of doorways, and drifting through alleyways as well. I love Irish music, and as I wandered through the pedestrian streets, I kept stopping to listen, drawn in again and again. Two musicians were playing a lively jig or reel, their fiddles and bodhráns setting the air itself in motion, and suddenly the entire street seemed like a celebration you’ve accidentally been invited to—full of energy, warmth, and an irresistible, joyful pulse.
Later that evening, I passed several restaurants and pubs and found myself at An Púcán. The sight of it brought back fond memories. I had visited years ago with my Dad, and later returned with my brother Sean and my sister-in-law Nancy. Walking in felt like stepping into these happy moments.
A band was playing sixties and seventies music—my era—so my feet were already tapping.
Nearby, a bride-to-be and her friends were celebrating a hen party. The bandleader invited them onto the dance floor, and up they went.
I was sitting quietly nearby, still waiting to order, when one of the women looked over, beckoned, and invited me to join them.
Before I could think twice, I was on the dance floor.
There I was—a wandering “pilgrim”in Galway who had started the day in search of crafts, music, and perhaps a little cheesecake—now dancing with a bride-to-be and her friends at my first Irish hen party.
As we danced, I learned the wedding will be in October, and one of the women mentioned she had visited Florida. Small world indeed.
And what a delightful serendipity.
It struck me afterward that pilgrimage is not just about sacred sites, ancient churches, quiet prayer, or deep reflection. Sometimes the sacred journey includes a delicious slice of biscotti cheesecake, street musicians playing an Irish reel, a pub filled with family memories, or a stranger inviting you onto the dance floor.
Perhaps the Divine Presence does not only whisper, “Be still and know.”
Sometimes She says, “Get up and dance!”
So here is another lesson from my Irish pilgrimage:
Be open to the unexpected invitations that bring you joy.
We can become so focused on where we are going that we miss the grace unfolding right beside us in the most unexpected places. Serendipity invites us to loosen our grip on the itinerary and allow ourselves to be surprised by the people we meet along the way.
Joy often arrives without an appointment.
And sometimes the Spirit doesn’t wait for you to be ready—or even to finish ordering your drink.
She simply reaches out through a stranger and says:
“Come join the dance!”
And when that happens, my advice is simple:
Get up and dance.
The Spirit is alive—and She loves to dance with us!
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