Don’t Ask Me for Directions — I’m Lost Too

It’s a crazy, mixed up world out there. I’m still trying to find my own way.

In a recent trip to Portland, Maine, where my husband and I were casual visitors, seeing the sights but having no real knowledge of the town, an elderly gentleman approached us and asked if we could direct him to the Military Museum. This location was not on our list of stops for the day so, of course, we apologetically expressed our own lack of knowledge and sent him on his own clueless path.

I don’t like to turn away wandering travelers — I feel like they might think I don’t want to be bothered with them and their plight — but, the truth is, my sense of direction borders on the brink of being like Diogenes, the ancient Greek, forever wandering the earth with a lamp, in search of an honest man. In my case, I wander the earth (without a lamp) in search of the next signpost that might lend a hint as to where I want to go.

It’s a pretty safe bet that, whenever I walk into a building and enter an office door on the left, I will exit that office and turn to the left again, not returning to my point of origin but, instead, walking in the opposite direction. I could not provide proper directions for the gas station two blocks away without giving a jumble of haphazard explanations and descriptions that do little or nothing to clarify where a person should go. As far as the GPS system in my car, well, let’s just say, if extensive directions from somewhere out in the solar system are needed, my husband is holding the steering wheel.

I am often the butt of jokes from friends and family alike who see my lack of internal navigational skills as something of a defect in my make-up. To a certain extent, I see it that way too. If left to my own devices, without the benefit of a lifelong companion to provide more expert guidance in navigation, there are many adventures I would never have experienced for fear of never returning from my destination (if I was fortunate enough to arrive there at all).

Having a clueless sense of direction is a handicap in the sense that it creates an unwarranted fear, almost a psychological impairment. I never really thought of it in those terms before — and I probably won’t think about it that way again. We all cope with the world in our own special ways. I’m sure each person, upon digging deep enough, will land on some sort of wacky personal characteristic (possibly labeled a “flaw”) that impacts daily life. (Hopefully) We all learn the best coping mechanisms we can to make the most of our time on the planet.

I don’t have a clue how to go about changing this dizzy aspect of my brain. By most measures, I am intelligent enough to exist quit well on this planet — And for that, I am grateful. Just don’t ask me how to get to the Military Museum in Portland, Maine.

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