Among my family and friends, I’ve earned the dubious distinction of Most Likely to Get Lost.  I started on this wayward path early on, most notably on my first job out of college—counseling juvenile delinquents (many violent) at a state mental institution.  My boss asked me to attend a mini-wilderness survival course with a few of these kids.  I say “mini” because we were in southeastern Connecticut, an area remarkably devoid of actual wilderness. 

So, as participants, I chose the four patients who I thought might be least likely to kill me while on a field trip.  Then, I sat in on the weekly class, but didn’t pay close attention, figuring nobody would be crazy enough to leave me alone in the woods with these kids. But no, on orienteering day, the teens and I were dropped off in the woods, our task being to find a spot less than a mile away.  The van driver handed me a map, a compass, then zoomed off. 

            Within about ten seconds, we were hopelessly lost.  I looked for moss.  Moss grows on the north side of trees.  Or, was it the south side?  Then, I got the little compass thing-y to line up with “N” but that didn’t help me much because I couldn’t determine if our destination was “N” of us.  Today, of course, I would whip out my G.P.S. or at least my cell phone.  Back then, we used smoke signals to communicate.  But starting a fire was not an option, since a couple of my compatriots possessed arsonist tendencies.

A while later, as the sun sank to the horizon, stomachs started growling and mouths started grumbling.  Moreover, the grumbling took on a life-threatening tone (my life being the one threatened).  This was Connecticut, however, a very tiny state, so eventually we heard traffic sounds and climbed onto a major road where we attempted to hitchhike.  No one stopped for our ragtag group, but someone did phone the police.  Did I mention that I kept that job less than a year?

            Flash forward, to a couple of summers ago, when Carol and I planned to pick up our friend Jenny at the Norfolk airport, then head to the beach.  As we approached the city, we realized neither of us knew the location of the airport.

Yes, most people would just follow those airport icons, but I had a better idea.  I suggested looking skyward for a plane and then steering toward its path.  Of course, this technique is rife with flaws; one being that the plane might actually be heading out to another airport, like one in Bolivia or Belarus.  Eventually, we did find the airport but by a more conventional method, by asking directions.

However, unconventional methods of finding your way can work.  This fall, my husband and I visited our son, Eric, in New York City.  After touring the Met, I decided I needed a little nap.  I didn’t want Eric’s girlfriend to know about my directional dopey-ness, so I faked full knowledge of how to get back to the hotel on my own.  In fact, I did remember the name of the hotel, La Quinta, that it was on 32^nd or 34^th street, and also that the words Korean Way were on a banner near the hotel.  Well, when I popped up from the subway station, nothing looked familiar.  Asking directions to La Quinta netted no helpful results.  I’d rather have been lost forever than call a contemptuous family member, so when I saw some Korean tourists, I decided to follow them.  How did I know they were Korean?  A lucky guess.  And sure enough, I trailed them to Korean Way, straight back to La Quinta.

Being lost also, in my case, also includes losing items, mainly my car in parking lots.  One time, I bought a fake, six-foot potted palm at an arts and crafts store.  A large, somewhat grumpy (who could blame him) clerk was told he had to carry it to my car.  Of course, I had no idea where I’d left the car.  We looked like our own personal parade, me, marching up and down the parking aisles with feigned confidence and him, stumbling behind, trying to see past the dang palm leaves.  Eventually, I spotted the car all the way over at the Harris Teeter end of the lot where I’d been shopping.

            Tolkien once said, “All who wander are not lost.” That might be true, except for me.  If you see me wandering, I am lost.