Yesterday, I went for a walk. I was heading for my brother and sister-in-law’s house, and ended up nowhere near it. They live about 3.5km from me. I ended up in parts of my town that I had no idea even existed, and was so lost I am not sure I could find my way back if I had directions.
It is important to note that getting lost is nothing new for me. I am so directionally-challenged that my husband bought me a GPS for my car when TomToms were a thing. If you ask me for street names, I will maybe know 4 out of 8. But if you ask me how to get to most of them, it’s unlikely to end well. This doesn’t bother me, however. It used to, because I was convinced that some boogeyman was in the brush waiting to haul me off into the darkness (even at midday). But it’s doesn’t anymore. Mostly, while in my car, if I get lost, sooner or later the GPS on my phone will get me where I am going. There are only so many directions that a car can go.
But on foot? On foot getting lost is magical!! On foot I can go anywhere there isn’t a no trespassing sign. On foot, I am vividly aware of my surroundings and notice moss on the tops of trees, and sunlight through leaves. I can walk on grass and feel the sponginess of the earth. I can feel the hard, smoothness of the pavement. I can feel the small pressure points of the gravel. (Including the ones that conveniently scrunch their way into the crevices of my sneaker soles).
When I got lost yesterday, I found my dream home. My picture book log cabin, in a knell, surrounded by beautiful garden, old growth trees, and cornering up to the creek. My dream home not 15 minutes away. On foot.
So now? Now I need to keep getting lost, and finding the magical, wonderful, curious treasures. And I have to wish for this house to be ready for me when I am ready for it.