In the 14 days I’ve been in Houston I’ve probably gotten lost about twenty-eight times (if not more). I consider it a rarity if I haven’t gotten lost at least twice in one day. Normally this would frustrate me. I hate being lost. I hate not knowing where I am or being in an unfamiliar part of town.
Having lived in Dallas my whole life, I rarely got truly lost; I could always find a reference point (a major highway, a recognizable restaurant) to help guide me back to where I was supposed to go. Now I’m in a new city with new roads and new landmarks to learn. I’ve driven to the wrong location several times because there are multiple streets with the same names. I’ve made a ridiculous amount of U-turns. I’ve pulled into many a parking lot to re-configure the GPS on my iPhone only to discover I’m right where I was supposed to be all along.
Strangely enough, I’ve come to welcome the feeling of being lost. It’s through these times that I have been able to explore my new home, stumbling across random one-way streets and discovering hidden retail strips. It’s forced me to explore, not out of luxury, but out of necessity. It has made me embrace the fact that I’m not in Dallas anymore and the hundreds of new opportunities that allows me.
And it has helped me understand that everyone needs to get lost every once in a while, because if we are never lost, how can we know when we’re found?