A few years ago E wanted to buy something that cost $5.50. He opened his wallet and pulled out his money and then was disappointed and told me he couldn't buy it. When I asked why? his response was "I have no cents".
I responded by laughing hysterically. No truer words had ever been spoken.
He had plenty of money to make the purchase but didn't have any coins. He was old enough to know that he could get change but in that moment he was lacking cents and sense.
I think I have to take the blame for that child's occasional lack of logic. I have definitely had my moments.
One area that I'm regularly lacking sense is navigation. Once I have travelled somewhere I can typically find my way around, but plop me in uncharted territory and I'll flounder. This is especially true when trees are involved. The biggest reason that I don't like to hike alone is that I'm afraid I'll be that one who manages to get lost 250 feet from my car and I'll end up sleeping curled up in a ball in the forest losing my fingers to frost bite when all I really would have needed to do is turn around and walk to my car.
Yesterday, I didn't have enough time to hike on any of the trails I have used before so I ventured off to a new, short hike not far from the house. I arrived at the parking lot for the trail head and did the most responsible thing I could have ever done, I took a picture of the map of the trail system. I was immediately nervous because the "trail" around the lake was actually 20 different trails linked together. Armed with my photo of the area I headed out.
At each possible intersection I looked at my map and made the logical choice to head to the lake. After about 25 minutes of hiking with no hint of a lake anywhere, I started to get a feeling that I was not on track to make this lake loop. In the distance I saw a vision of what every hiker (who is directionally challenged) welcomes, the distinct silhouette of an informational sign.
Yes!! The magical words I needed "you are here" was just a few feet away.
Much to my surprise and serious disappointment, that sign was the least helpful "informational" sign in the world.
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| Both sides of the sign were equally helpful. |
I decided to press on, give up on the lake and just hike a few more minutes out before turning around and retracing my steps.
As I continued along the path a little bit of fear started to set in. Suddenly all the old tree trunks that had rotted out looked like bears, the absence of color in the distance was surely a wild animal lurking, the lack of typical forest sounds was haunting.
Nothing I was seeing was scary. It was the voids that incited fear.
There was no reason for me to fear a bear. Aren't they hibernating anyway? There was no reason to fear that I was lost, and yet my heart pounded.
So is life.
It is the unknown, the absence of color that somehow causes me stress and unnecessary sleepless nights. It is in the silence that strange, unsettling thoughts set in.
What stops the fear? Fill the void.
When I reached my turn-around point on my hike I pulled out my phone and turned on some music. I started looking at the things I COULD see: the fall colors, the tall trees, the sunshine breaking through the canopy. I followed the path that I knew would lead me home and ignored all the others that tempted to lead me astray.
I made it back to the car and vowed to return and find that elusive lake.
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