The Importance of Getting Lost

That’s where the writer thing comes in. It might be just me, but I suspect it is many writers. You see, we work 24 hours a day. Yeah, I know. It sounds like “poor me,” but it’s true. For instance, some of my best ideas come when I’m sleeping. (Too bad I only remember about 1% of them when I wake up. I’m sure the lost ones were the best.) When I am awake, I am always thinking about my next article, or the book, or the shopping list I’ll make but then lose before I get to the store because I was busy thinking about the next article.

After many decades of this, it no longer panics me when I find myself in the Jeep, going down some country road and realizing I don’t have a clue where I am or how I got there. In fact, I usually feel good about it because, while I was busy getting lost, I found the perfect lead for my next article. That’s how it is in my life and how it was at the park that day. I was lost.

Then I saw it, off in the distance. A glimmer, a tiny flash of light. I listened and could barely hear it over the birdsong, a small bit of water moving over rock. I made my way toward it. A minute trickle sprung out of the side of the hill and fell a couple of levels down into a tiny pool—a miniature waterfall if you will. Waterfalls are one of those archetypes that we all react to in the same way—peace and serenity (thank you, Carl Jung). But the truly amazing thing about this was the color. I had not seen water this blue since the Palancar Reef in Cozumel, never in Texas. I was mesmerized.

One thing about water, it always seeks its own kind. Little streams want to meet bigger ones and they want to meet rivers, and eventually the sea. I had found my guide back to the Jeep. I just needed to follow the overflow from this pool and I’d eventually find the river. From there, it was just an upstream walk and I’d be back where we started. I checked the sun again—about midafternoon. I had at least an hour or two to just sit. As you can probably guess, I went no further.

For the next hour, I meandered around. Someone watching me from above might think my trail looked like a dog’s as he goes from place to place, checking out smells more interesting than his long-forgotten original intended destination. (Or, like my wife chasing shiny objects in a department store). I kept checking the sun to get a general direction, hoping to find my way to some recognizable spot. I found the sun okay, but it didn’t help.

I tried to find my way back to the river. Surely if I followed it upstream, it would lead back to the main falls and the trail back to the Jeep. I couldn’t find the river either. So, I did what comes naturally. I continued ambling aimlessly and thinking about how I could turn this adventure into an article. (If you are reading this, it must have worked.) And all the while, I got deeper into the woods and more lost.

I’m not sure how long I was there; I don’t remember much after sitting down. But I got to spend the perfect afternoon. The birds were incredible. Their songs and the back-up music of the waterfall blended together to perfectly accompany the brilliant azure and diamond of the water. Of course, I thought a lot about my brewing writing projects, but mostly I was studying the sounds and sights in this little cove. I know man has done some brilliant stuff with music and art, but the very best he has accomplished should be embarrassed to exist in the same universe as this spot. Art may seek perfection, it may even be the best work of man, but it will always be a poor substitute for true beauty. I knew my need for this understanding was why I came this way today— and why I had to get lost.

Getting lost is important and I think our lives would be better if we did it more often. When we are truly lost; when we no longer know what to do or which way to go, we have begun the journey we were intended to take—whether it be the journey for today, as this was, or the journey of our lives.