Why Bother To Notice When You Are Lost?

Why Bother To Notice When You Are Lost?

My husband knows that I am directionally challenged and how easily I get lost in new surroundings. He has experienced, more than once, waiting for me to return to him. Once, in a very large shopping mall, we parted in order to use the restrooms. When I came out, I went the wrong direction and wandered among throngs of strangers for quite a bit of time until I finally spotted my husband standing a floor above me, looking down into the pool of people for his lost wife. 

Another time, while on vacation, I went out for my usual one hour early morning run, found a quiet residential area and ran along its streets. I didn’t know there was only one entrance to this community and hopelessly looked for a way out. Finally, arriving back at our motel, my husband smiled and asked, “Did you get lost?”

Acknowledging that we have lost our way, at first, makes us feel ignorant, a little desperate and very much alone. Yet, before we can find our way back to where we started from, we have to admit that we are lost.

      Finding A Way Back

When we are truthful about lostness, our frame of mind shifts. We realize that we are no longer certain of what we thought we knew. The confidence we started with suddenly dissipates and for a time, fear descends upon us like a dark cloud. Not knowing where we are, and wondering how we will get back, may cause us to pause and assess whether or not we have what it takes to find our way back. 

My most embarrassing and lengthy lostness occurred during a family vacation with some of my grown siblings, their spouses and children. We were houseboat camping on a very large lake surrounded by a landscape of desert and sagebrush. Because the lake level was low, canyons and crevices were more exposed than usual, giving campers several opportunities for privacy in little hideaways. Though I love the water, I also need land under my feet and solitary space. So, each morning before the sun rose, I slung a small backpack over my shoulder and took off on a trek. Then, after sitting for a bit in the warm silence of the desert morning to watch the sun rise, I walked back to the boat. Except for the morning when I could not find the boat. 

Realizing that I had actually lost the houseboat, the initial feelings of ignorance, desperation, loneliness and fear engulfed me. Then, as my new reality settled in, I sat down and assessed my sources. I had a bottle of water, a granola bar, strength and resolve. Though it is debatable whether or not I should have stayed put and waited to be rescued, I chose otherwise. I spent the day hiking up and over rocks, and along the sandy heights above the lake.  I knew I would see the boat in the crevice we camped in if I got to the opposite side of the lake. At times I doubted my plan, yet, I pushed forward and before the sun set, I saw the boat. Wrapped in my husband’s embrace, I realized for the first time that those who wait for us experience similar emotions to those of us who are lost; helplessness, hopelessness, loneliness and fear. 

Why bother to notice when you are lost? It is worth noting that when we admit to our lostness, then we begin to think about how to get back to the one who waits a little desperately for us to return. 

 

Why Bother To Consider That You Have What it Takes?

Why Bother To Consider That You Have What it Takes?

I am a directionally challenged person. Though I know the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, I am still easily lost while driving in big cities, or jogging through subdivisions. Once, I even lost my way in a desert. 

We’d gone boat camping on Lake Powell. My oldest sister and her husband graciously hosted my family along with another sister and her sons. The weather was warm, the water blue and the stars at night brilliant. A gorgeous setting and good company.

Losing One’s Boat

Yet, being the restless girl that I am, each morning I’d leave the houseboat for land. Needing space to walk and solitude to think, I’d rise before anyone else stirred from their slumber, strap on a little day pack and take a walk in the desert that surrounded the lake.  

I’d always walk east, toward the soon to rise sun, sit on a rock and wait for the most glorious moment of the day; the sun rising. Then refreshed from a good dose of solitude and beauty, I’d turn around and head west, back to the boat. 

My plan worked well for three days straight until the morning when I couldn’t find the boat. I retraced my footprints back to the rock where I’d sat for the sunrise, and once again to where I thought I’d left the boat. But peering over the ledge toward the water, the large water vessel was missing.  I retraced my steps more than once chiding myself each time for having lost my way. 

Kneeling down in the sand with only rocks and sagebrush surrounding me, I cried in panic realizing I was lost. The boat was big, but I’d lost it. Eventually, I stood up and brushed away the sand from my knees and the tears from my eyes and opened my day pack. 

Inside of it I had a water bottle, a granola bar, a ball cap, a journal and a pen. With resolve, I told myself that I had what it would take to find my way back to the boat.  And so I began my journey. 

The water in Lake Powell that year was lower than usual and created more places in  deeper canyons for boats to camp in. Of course it would be harder for me to see the boat, I reasoned. I’d need to make my way to the opposite side from where I was in order to get a view of where the boat was. 

I crawled up and over boulders, through barbed wire fences making my way through the desert landscape. At one point, I stopped at an empty forest service building, refilled my water bottle and gazed at a large map of the lake on a wall giving me a bigger picture of where I was and where I needed to be. Then for several more hours, I walked alone until I found my way to the other side of the canyon and spotted the houseboat I’d left earlier that day. 

My family was somewhat miffed, and worried, but glad I’d made it back. I was somewhat embarrassed, and relieved that I’d found my way back.  

Why bother to consider that you already have what it takes to get where you need to go? Most likely it is worth it to take stock of yourself. You just may find that you already have what it takes to do the next thing. Go ahead, take the step.