I Once Was Lost

I was driving with my daughters about a year ago, trying to find a new friend’s house. After several turns through an endless suburban neighborhood, I was beginning to doubt the veracity of my MapQuest directions when my eldest daughter piped up from the back, “Mom, are we lost again?”

“Lost?” I repeated. “Again?! Of course not, silly! We’re just…misplaced!”

She had reason to worry. When I sing “Amazing Grace,” I giggle a little at the words, “I once was lost...” If only that were the case! My parents were missionaries, and with a “Quit your griping or get left behind,” they hauled us all over the globe.

After vowing never to be so cruel toward my own children, I found myself married to a Navy officer. We have moved at least once every couple of years and had three daughters, so I’ve heard myself echoing my parents’ words. I’ve been to roughly 30 countries. Being lost comes with territory like that. Most of the times that I’ve found myself “directionally challenged” have been during my marriage. Matt, ironically, is an excellent pilot. However, his navigational skills on the ground are less than ideal. It’s a scene so common for us that we know our lines perfectly.

“Why didn’t you turn there?” I’ll ask, and he says, “Because you didn’t tell me!” To which I retort, “Well, am I the only one who can read here?” Then he snaps, “No, but you’re the only one looking at the map.” And so on. Even with the familiar scenario, there is nothing quite as stressful as being in territory that’s uncharted for us…like what happened a few years ago.

Going to the Czech Republic wasn’t part of the original plan, but something we decided at the rental car counter in Munich. To Matt’s chagrin, this sudden amendment to our itinerary meant downgrading our rental car from a Mercedes Benz to a Renault station wagon. Worse, though, was that while our map was quite thorough for Germany, it was missing a good portion of the Czech Republic. Our goal had been to drive from Prague to the picturesque town of Ceský Krumlov, near the Austrian border. Somehow, we got into a passionate discussion about—I’m not kidding—Social Security and missed the sign for our turn-off. It occurred to me that we’d been driving twice as long as I’d estimated. Almost simultaneously, I began to see signs for Bratislava, forbidden territory for the rental car.

I gasped and yelled out, “Pull off here! Quick! I think we missed our turn!” The exit led to a pretty country road, and we pulled onto the shoulder. Matt held up our map. “Okay, honey,” he said, “show me where you think we are.” I bit my lip and pointed to a place in the air about three inches past his right hand. In a moment of profound insight, he remarked, “That’s not good.”

We had no cell phones or wireless internet and wouldn’t have known who to contact anyway since we had no guidebook. Fortunately, we saw a sign on the road for a town that was on the map. “We’ll go to…uh…that place,” Matt said as he pointed, since neither of us could pronounce the name of the town, “and from there, we’ll be able to find our way.” We started down the road which was smoothly paved at first and divided with a double yellow line. Then the line disappeared… then the asphalt disappeared…and the dirt road curved and jostled us through forests so thick they blocked out almost all the afternoon sunlight. Right about the time we began to believe that we would never see our friends and families again, the road was suddenly paved again. After a few minutes, we were in the middle of that unpronounceable town on the map, and within an hour, just outside Ceský Krumlov.

For all the stress that comes with being lost, though, there is a sort of high when I’ve reached my destination. However, it’s more than a sense of accomplishment. These days, beauty is often clearly labeled, the directions for how to achieve it perfectly described. Signs point to the Hope Diamond and Mona Lisa, and we line up by the thousands to be there, see that. Magazines are filled with tips for how to make lips look fuller, eyes sexier, wrinkles gone, and millions of women study these pages more seriously than they have studied for any test. But what I often find when I’m lost is a secret beauty, one that not every passerby would notice. That day, it was the dark, cool silence of the forests we drove through and villagers’ expressions as they tilled their spring gardens. Other scenes that fill my memory are lush courtyards off of dirty alleys in Spain, a man contemplating the purchase of a grave marker in some dusty corner of New Mexico, a violin solo at a metro station in Lisbon when I accidentally missed my stop.

I recently caved and bought a navigation system, hoping to have one less argument with my husband. Sometimes, though, I press the power button off and trust my heart to guide me home, ready to glimpse some unexpected treasure en route.

Joy Nicholas is sometimes a writer but more often a short order cook for her beloved daughters. Right now, she is probably lost in some corner of southeast Virginia, hopefully not too far from home.

~Joy Nicholas