Lost

Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves.     
—Henry David Thoreau

I have been lost.

I WEAR IT LIKE A BADGE.

Being lost is the easy part. Facing the truth that you’re lost…that’s where it gets tough.

It’s hard to make sense of the sensation, the realization. And then there’s the task of finding your way home.

How did I get here? Is this where I’m supposed to be? Where am I going, exactly? If I don’t like it here, can I change direction? How much will all this cost? Is it going to hurt? Am I enough? Do they have nachos here?

—

When I was a little girl there were woods behind our house. I loved those woods. I explored my familiar paths, never getting quite too far from home. I had a memorized set of steps, dotted with touchstones, that led to a clearing shrouded by tall pine trees, a carpet of needles spotted with fallen limbs where I could sit and look up—it was the first place I felt the hope of expanse.

One day I ventured beyond my normal stomping ground and came upon a van in a clearing. Two young nomadic lovers had taken up residence in this secluded, little green nook. I still wonder how they got back there. Tapestries hung from the trees and the van windows were all open and it was summertime and I thought maybe they had gotten lost and how lucky they must be to have have all those tapestries to hang and dance behind because they clearly had forgotten their clothes. What a sweet little lost mind.

—

When I was 24 I spent a summer in Italy and my favorite thing to do was to get lost and look at my map only in desperate circumstances. (Pre- iPhone and Google Maps, duh.)

I intentionally (and by the grace of God, safely) got lost like it was a game. I found the loveliest nooks and crannies, meeting friends everywhere I went. My entire life opened up that summer. I learned so much about humanity.

When you are lost, and your eyes are joyfully wide open and you greet a place and its people with curiosity, even strangers that speak another language, they will help you find your way. It is the human way.

—

When I was 35 I went to a trailhead and ran into the woods one afternoon at dusk. I needed to pick up my two young sons and I had so many calls to return and so many decisions to make and my inbox was full and my marriage was failing and we were out of cat food and I just needed to get in the company of the trees…I needed to get lost.

And lost I got.

So lost that I feared I would never get out. The panic increased the moment my phone died seconds after I’d pulled up Google Maps like a good little lost girl only to see that I was a tiny pin in the middle of thousands of acres. I sobbed like a baby. And then I found my breath. I found water and followed its path. That led me back to where I needed to be. I picked up my boys and I tended to the calls and made the decisions and life went on and I kept breathing. The water always flows. Peace like a river, I found my way home.

—

I’m 43 and I’ve gotten myself lost for bit. I had to step away and wonder. I needed wander.

I cannot yet put into words where this journey has landed me. My best attempt so far, today, right now, is this…

I feel aligned, life feels easeful, there is no fighting, there is no bargaining, there is no guilt, there is no void of hope. I feel joy. Daily. That is what home is. Joy is exactly where I want to find myself.

—

Getting lost has a way of bringing you home again. As long as we tend the fire that illuminates our path forward, we will move in the direction we’re meant to go. Life delights in that way. I believe it is all much more basic than we make it out to be.

If you feel lost, let me assure you that this could very well be the very best place to be.

x,
lk

Photo: Sun setting over the Charleston peninsula from Pitt Street Bridge, Mount Pleasant, also #nofilter