I get lost all the time.  Sometimes it’s scary, sometimes it’s stressful, but mostly I don’t mind.  It gives me a chance to get home the long way, to see some places I would otherwise miss – and most importantly, it lets me get found.

Last week, I took the baby for a walk in the pram.  There are great walking paths here, that follow the green zones and the storm drains instead of the roads.  I was attempting to walk in a big loop through our neighbourhood, past the shops, around the high school, into a big park and home again.  Somehow I made it past the high school and never got to the park.  The catch with these beautiful paths is that away from the roads there’s no signs to tell you where you are…

I called Ryan.  I told him where I thought I was, and he gave me instructions that made no sense.  The baby started to cry.  It started to rain.  I got grumpy.  I told Ryan I’d figure it out myself and hung up.  I started back tracking, walking into the wind and rain with a howling baby.  I was in a foul mood.

Five minutes later, I’d cut across country to the road so I could look for a street sign.  A car cruised past, slowed down and honked.  I was ready to give the hoon a piece of my mind…

it was Ryan.

We were rescued.

Being rescued is a wonderful feeling, especially being rescued unexpectedly.  And you can’t get found unless you get lost.

ps  It turns out that Ryan’s instructions didn’t make sense because I wasn’t where I told him I was.  When I get lost, I do it properly.


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