March 09, 2013

Not all those who wander...

...except, you know, when they're lost. I got so fucking lost the other day, I thought I was going to have to call a search party. Except I don't have a cell phone. So then I thought I could stand on the roof of my car and just, sort of, mime for help. Not that I wasn't in civilization. I actually wound up in the multi-level maze of an endless parking garage. And the garage had only one exit—which was not the way I came in. (I know. I know. I didn't come in the exit, of course. But I mean, the exit was in the opposite direction totally from the entrance.) So, already lost, I wound up even more ass-backwards than when I'd stopped to get my bearings. And I sort of didn't care at that point.

First, I thought I was kind of lost.
Then I was upset I was more than kind of lost.
Then I just didn't give a fuck anymore that I was lost.

It was a little Zen. For me. Or maybe I'd reached the tipping point.

Finally, I was able to retrace my steps—wheels? Trails? Breadcrumbs? And then I figured out where I'd gone wrong. (Wouldn't it be nice if other parts of life were that easy?) I wasn't actually late for the meeting. I'd given myself time to get lost. (Look how well I know me.)

And here's the funny thing. The whole time, I repeated this quote to myself (like you do): Not all those who wander are lost. And I kept laughing. Because I was. I was so scrambled up, turned around, spin me three times and no peeking under the blindfold lost that I couldn't even tell you now where I'd ended up if I tried.

So I think someone needs to make a bracelet just for me that says: I'm lost. Please find me.

Or maybe, "Not all those who are lost are losers."

XXX,
Alison

1 comment:

Jo said...

Oh, I like that last one.

When I was pregnant I lost the car in the shopping centre car park. I was on the wrong level. For ages. And then I went in the wrong direction, so was on another wrong level. With heavy bags. And I was so very weary and confused. I was lost in my own pregnant lady cliché.