Thank You for Being Lost
Yesterday I got lost in my own town for the third time in two weeks.
The first time, I got completely frustrated, the second time, a little bemused, and then yesterday, seven blocks from where I actually live, I finally just gave into the idea that maybe I am just losing it.
I have been all over the world, driven across this country a few times, explored unfamiliar territories, and even found my way out of wooded mazes and off the Chicago Loop.
But my small town—where I have lived for years—seems to have exhausted my sense of direction and capacity to remember landmarks.
I am wondering if we get an inner road map at birth and maybe it just wears out. Or maybe my internal Rand McNally domain is expiring.
This getting lost thing is causing me to reevaluate my place in the Universe.
I am no longer confident to put my ear to the railroad track and say “Big horses coming from the North.” They might run over my head.
I can not trust my internal GPS tracking system to get me to the bathroom, let alone to an appointment in a new building with a guy who’s name I forgot.
Aw Jeez, now I gotta start wearing one of those tags on my lapel that reads;
“If you find this woman wandering around please call 1-800- Nobody Knows She’s Missing.”
I might have to get one of those extendible leashes and attach it to my doorknob when I go to the store.
In the mean time, some of the good things about getting lost and being lost is;
Everything looks brand new
You feel anonymous and free
It’s like being on vacation, only cheaper
You can buy a new house that looks just like your old house and all your stuff is already moved into it.
And on a more philosophical note:
Being lost is a great way to find out where you really want to go.