Lost and Found

I remember when I first learned how to read a map in elementary school. I quickly figured out how to orient myself in relation to my house on North Chatsworth Street; our living room had a huge bay window where I could see the sun set over the woods in our backyard, so I knew that was west, which meant the front of my house was east. Armed with that knowledge, I could picture myself looking down at my house as if I were looking at a map.  All the elements of my child’s world became oriented by the directions of the compass—west of my backyard was Lake Josephine and the Dairy Queen, Emmett D. Williams Elementary School was just north of my house (only 2 blocks, but for some reason, I rode the bus) and my best friend’s house was five houses directly east of my front door on Lydia Drive. My church was farther away, to the south and east.  As I grew older and my world began to expand, my house remained at the center of my sense of direction, and learning to drive the many freeways of the Twin City metro area was relatively easy so long as I knew where I was in relation to my home.

When I left home for college in Utah Valley, the mountains became the anchor for my sense of direction, but I also still found it helpful to look at my city as if I were looking at a map, with me at the center. I’ve had many opportunities to travel in the last 30 years and learned that if I spent 5 minutes looking at a map and orienting myself mentally, I would always know where I needed to go. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of times I have been lost in the hundreds of new places I have travelled as an adult. When my husband and I travel together, we know that it usually works best if he drives and I navigate. I just sort of assumed that it was a gift of mine to always have a sense of direction and took it for granted that I could always count on that.

Lately, however, I have had a few experiences with a disturbing loss of my sense of direction. None of them were life-threatening or disastrous in any way, but they were none-the-less disconcerting. I travelled to Italy a few months ago with my husband and son and on our first day in Florence, I confidently led us on what I thought would be a 10-minute walk to the Duomo, only to end up 20 minutes later at the square in front of Santa Croce—in the complete opposite direction of our intended destination. We easily corrected our mistake, as Florence is not a large city, but I was a little shaken to find that I had been so wrong. And then last week, I was driving from St. George to Las Vegas to fly back to Colorado and was completely sure that I knew how to get back to the Rental Car return without my GPS navigation. I took the right exit off of the interstate, but after several blocks realized I was going in the opposite direction of where I needed to go. Again, not something terrible, but was for some reason very unsettling.

Upon reflection of these experiences, I realize that the disquieting part to me was the fact that I had counted on my sense of direction to always be there, and then, without warning, it failed me. Very much like the fact that my children, who have been my almost constant companions for the last 23 years (whether I wanted them to be or not), are not there anymore. Sure, they are just a text, phone call or email away, but it’s the lack of their physical presence that is disorienting. For my entire life, I have centered my sense of physical and emotional direction on my home, and now, though my home is in the same place, I must learn to re-orient myself. Which is hard, but definitely possible. So I will press forward, checking my maps a little more frequently and carefully, knowing that though I might wander off course occasionally, so long as I know the location of my home I will always find the way there.

Waiting for . . . what?

I feel like most of my life I have been waiting for something. When I was little I waited for exciting things—holidays (birthdays, Christmas, summer vacation) and first time experiences (being old enough to ride a bike, to stay home alone, or drive a car). And I waited for major life events to happen, like graduating from high school and college, getting a “real” job, getting married, and having children. Then when I had children, it started all over as I would wait for them to be born, wait for them to sleep through the night (I waited a reallllyyy long time for that!), roll over, eat solid foods, and take their first steps. I’d wait for them to be old enough for school, wait for them each day to come home from school, wait for summer vacations to visit relatives, wait for summer to finally be over so they could go BACK to school, wait for what seemed an eternity for the middle school years to finally be over, wait for them to make it through high school so they could get into the college of their choice.

Now that they are finally at the college of their choice (go Cougars!) and serving missions, far away from me, I find that I am waiting for time to pass so that I won’t miss them so much. Which has mostly worked. I’ve gotten used to the idea that the only one waiting for me when I come home each day is the dog (and he’s waiting very anxiously too). I’m getting used to buying less food and having more leftovers and doing less laundry. There are still times when I long to be with them, just to sit around and talk and laugh, to look them in the eye and tell them how wonderful they are.  They are my children, and I will always love and miss them when they are not near me.  I will wait patiently for the time when we can be together again.

But here I am in the present moment with a sense that I’m still waiting for something big to happen. When my kids were little, there were so many things that I felt like I didn’t really have time to do. My scrapbooking supplies have continued to grow, though the number of completed albums stopped completely a couple of years ago. I have made several quilts, but my fabric stash and planned future projects have multiplied alarmingly. I have always wanted to write the great American novel, but never felt like I had the energy or time required to do so. The pile of books by my bed has grown steadily larger in the last couple of years as I continue to put books there that I have intended to read but have only barely glanced at. So I guess I’m wondering, as I stand here on the verge of a new pattern of life, will things change? Will I finally have time for these things that I’ve been waiting to do? And of course the real question is what do I really even want to do now? 

I guess I will just have to wait and see….