There are some things about myself that I lovingly accept but don't necessarily adore. Case in point (this time): I get lost when driving. Lots.
Lately, I'm expanding my wings in terms of how far I'm willing to travel.
First, let me be real clear in that when I say I accept me for me, that's God's honest truth. It used to be that if I got lost, I'd get anxious, grumpy and break out in a sweat.
This can only go on for so long. At 36-years-old, I've finally figured out that it's so much more fun to factor in "getting lost time," and offer up healthy, hearty laughter when the inevitable happens.
A few weeks ago, my destination was Moses Lake. I honestly wondered, "How hard can it be?"
The problem is that I tried to go the back way towards Vernita Bridge. And I figured mapquest directions were too complicated and, heck, I'd been there before.
I thought I'd just wing it.
I was sure I'd find it and I did. Three and a half hours later, after wandering to Vantage, going through the small town of Mesa and three other lengthy wrong turns.
In my defense, my friend had said, "Go through Mattawa." I called him and said, "I've gone through town and I can't find any signs that say Moses Lake is this or thatta-way." He had the nerve to get exasperated and say, "I didn't mean literally go through town! I meant pass right by it!"
Then, when I found myself completely lost in some Moses Lake neighborhood, it wasn't my fault when a nice man told me to cross a bridge that was actually an overpass. (I kept driving until the road ended and my mantra was, "I just know that man said bridge.")
By the time I arrived at my impatient friend's, I smiled sweetly and said, "I get lost. It's my gift."
When I tell this story, I always end it with, "What I really wanted to gain from that experience was a t-shirt that says: I got lost five times on the way to Moses Lake meandering a good two hours out of my way and all I got was this lousy t-shirt?"
I must be unique. There is no such t-shirt.