Getting Lost

I had to do a lot of driving yesterday - errands, visits, etc - and, as is often the case in northwest towns in the Spring,  there were - obstacles. Road construction, work on utility lines, people in a hurry to be out in the sun crowding the streets, which, in many places, were narrowed by construction to a

single lane.  As a refugee from southern California traffic, I did what I could to avoid the problems, ducking down side-streets, taking alternate routes that circled around a crowded area instead of going through it, or just turning off down an unfamiliar street that happened to go in (roughly) the right direction.  I did fine - getting home in only five minutes longer than it normally takes me.

I did not get lost. It’s not a large city, but it’s also not a small town - quite possible to lose yourself in streets winding through a hilly section, or dead-ending when you try to go in the direction you need.  Neither of those things happened to me.  I navigated around the construction and congestion, took frequently-used and never-used alternate routes, and was fine.

Oddly, this bothered me.

When I first moved here, the plethora of one-way streets, streets that end and then, inexplicably, take up again blocks (or even miles) later, the dead-ends, the constant construction areas - all of that had me regularly lost on my way to work or shopping.  

It’s been a long time since that happened, and there’s a part of me that to some small degree misses it.

It’s said that Charles Dickens used to go out for long walks around London with the specific intention of getting himself lost;  he sought out that feeling of having no idea where he was, or which way to go.  Because then, in the midst of that feeling, is when his most creative streaks would hit - his story ideas, his characters, or the perfect scene around  to build a story.

I don’t get lost often; when moving to a new city, which I’ve done often, I find my way around quickly, building a mental 3-dimensional image of the town or city in my head.  The times that I did get lost, I either found my own way back relatively quickly, or was comfortable seeking help from whoever was encountered.  I have never felt that lost-panicky feeling - even when once, as a child, lost in the

mountains in the snow.  If my feet are on the ground, I seem to be comfortable enough moving a step at a time in whatever direction.

Untethered.  The best word I can think of to describe the feeling.  If I am not tethered to a place or a course of action or much of anything, then where I am right now is where I need to be.  When I thought of it that way, I fully understood Dickens and his urge to get lost in London - to be untethered, not connected or committed or bound.  A state of mind in which you can latch onto whatever thought or character or idea - real or fictional - that presents itself.  

That’s something worth losing yourself for.  Go take a walk. Get lost.