Lost Love

The other day, as I turned onto a narrow road hoping to avoid a particularly congested area of town, I realized that I do not mind getting lost. In fact, I kind of love it. There are two exceptions to this: 1) if I am late and 2) if it is in a dangerous area at night. Other than those two exceptions, I enjoy being lost.

I like the adventure of not knowing for sure if I will end up where I intend on going. I like learning new ways to get somewhere and I like getting to see things that I might normally bypass all together. I also really enjoy jamming out to some music with my windows rolled down.
This realization got me thinking about how I have sort of been lost the past couple of years. Most of my friends took the roads that they knew would get them exactly where they wanted to be. They took jobs to earn an income, went to medical school to become a doctor, got married to become a wife and mother, etc. I, on the other hand, did not. And like the sadly cliched poet, I, I took the road less travelled by.
So, I’ve been wandering on roads called Camp and Unemployment and Singleness for the past two years, trying to figure out if these roads will ever lead me to my goal, which has gotten a bit more hazy as the years have passed. Despite all the bad things that have come with taking this route, I’ve actually enjoyed it. Maybe it’s that I like being mysterious and enjoy the adventure of not knowing what in the world I’m doing. I have also learned some great things, about who I am, about who God is. And I’ve enjoyed lots of windows-rolled-down-top-of-my-lungs-singing moments along the way.
I think this is why lately I have been hesitant to be tied down. I don’t want to take the normal route, despite the fact that it is easier and leads me straight to where I’ve always wanted to go. Maybe I’m just not sure that is still my final destination.