Getting Lost

You are only lost if you have somewhere else that you want to be.

I am the master of getting lost when I only have the simplest of places to travel. Give me an address in a street in a country I have never been to, and I will drive right on up to the destination with no problems.

Send me to the donut shop that is less than a mile away, and I might make it home by lunchtime.

With stale donuts.

I write about how, when I was living in England, my buddy and I would roam along the winding Thames River for miles. We took solace in the fact that, if we kept walking long enough, we could never get lost, because Oxford would certainly loom as we got nearer home.

I got lost once in the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford. I ended up in the rare book collection area after spending hours looking at impressionistic masterpieces. My other favorite museum exhibits were the jewel-encrusted medieval crucifixes and the dark Renaissance offerings.

A steward had to help me locate my school pouch (with my money for a bus back home), and off I went.

After a butter and watercress finger sandwich, I headed back to the safety of home.

I got lost in a Mexican jungle when (I was told), I wandered off into the darkness of the nearby jungle from a Mexican tourist resort. The resort was having a Taste of the Tequilas of Mexico event replete with Sammy Hagar singing his hit Mas Tequila.

Honestly, all I remember was being awaken by waves that were lapping at my face and body where I lay sleeping (passed out) on an old wooden dock about a hundred feet from shore.

The legend has grown over the years, but my very best recollection of my drinking that night was legendary. I will use critical thinking and I still come out with twenty shots.

But I did grab a couple taquitos from the tray a waitress was balancing on her head.

So, I don’t remember going into the jungle, but as I lay sleeping (no matter how many times you say sleeping, I am going to correct it to passed out), I remember having a dream about meeting a talking iguana in the jungle.

Twenty shots.

As I stumbled back down the rickety dock towards the last flickering tiki torches and the emerald infinity pool, I entered the opening through the indoor pool access. I walked down the hall, almost up to the ornately-flowered front desk.

Then it hit me.

My hotel did not have tiki torches.

Or an infinity pool.

Lost.

See how easy that was?

Sometimes you will meet the coolest people or see the coolest things when you get lost. Just don’t ruin it by being all down on yourself for it, or because it compromises some bullshit schedule you want to keep.

Keep this.

Stay well.