Throughout my life, I've kinda always
known that I have very little sense of direction. As a child I could
almost get away with it, telling people that I was just distracted or deep in
thought and that's how I wound up lost...never really volunteering the fact
that my deep thoughts were always about where in the world I was and how in the
world I got there. As I've grown older I hear my friends and peers talk
about their traumatic childhood experiences, many of them being most
impressive. Although these conversations can be quite intriguing and
reflective of each individual...I secretly dread these moments of dialogue
because as the time draws closer for me to share my childhood traumas...well,
let's just say that mine are difficult to be the runners-up.
For example, it is rather embarrassing to
follow a story of broken bones and blood with, "When I was seven years
old, I was at church one time." *dramatic pause* "I was
in the big sacrament meeting at the beginning of church...and you'll never
guess what happened. I had to use the bathroom. Right in the middle
of the meeting!" *person listening obviously extremely confused*
"Well that meant that I had to leave the meeting, BY MYSELF,
hopefully pick the shortest route to the bathroom in the circular
building...and then somehow return myself to the door from whence I had just
exited." By this point in my story, I have pretty much lost my
listener to some distraction or to another speaker. I can't say I blame
them though. The panic induced by needing to use the bathroom during
church can understandably be difficult to explain. I mean, how can one
fully understand the trepidation felt at having to count doors as you walk away
from your exit, hoping to ensure your safe return to that specific door so that
you don’t end up walking through one of the fifty other doors to the chapel,
never knowing from where you’ll appear.
But the trauma didn't end with bathroom
runs at church. It continued, multiplied in fact at school, in the
grocery store and at my friends' house. For being the trusted student in
class, what normally would have been an award to any other student was a
punishment for me. "Ashley, will you please take the class roll to
the office?" *cue Ashley's horror stricken face* "You
want me to what?"
I honestly lost track of how many
times my hand became entangled in the odd geometric shapes of the shopping cart
at the grocery store, so fearful was I to let go even for a moment, knowing
that if I lost my grip on my mother's shopping cart, I'd be doomed to wander
forever among the endless aisles of food. I recall vividly the cage of
butterflies being set loose in my stomach whenever my best neighborhood friend
would ask me to retrieve something from her bedroom, which she usually asked me
to do while we were playing in the backyard. I'm pretty sure I always took
an unplanned detour to her brother's room in the process.
At the beginning of my sixth grade year I really wondered if my parents had yet discovered their daughter’s struggle with
direction. However, by the end of my sixth grade year, I didn’t exactly
wonder about it anymore. I knew. Participating in the yearly
science competition for my charter school had always been the highlight of the
year. I would study and prepare and experiment for hours and hours for
each of my events to ensure I’d be a force to reckon with at the
competition. However, when my mother decided to STRONGLY ENCOURAGE me to
sign up for one particular event, things kinda changed. The event was
entitled ROAD SCHOLAR. Yeah…do you guys kinda see the issue here? I
think my mom had more than a few subtle hints at my lack of abilities when I’d
end up my fictional road trip on the total opposite side of the state map I was
supposed to be on.
With each year, ‘though my sense of
direction did not exactly improve, I was nevertheless able to find new
strategies and ways to circumvent this struggle of mine and even became
accustomed to having some type of adventure every time I was set out somewhere I
didn’t know how to get to. However, an entirely new set of problems arose
at the age of sixteen. Dealing with the mixture of dying to drive and
drive fast...versus the full awareness that I didn't know how to get anywhere
was a rather difficult experience for me.
Driving Instructor: "Ashley…keep your speed down and
turn at the second left."
Me: "I’m sorry but, do you mean the second stop SIGN
left? Or the second stop LIGHT left? Or just the second left in
general?"
Driving Instructor: "Just...never mind, I'll
point."
At the age of nineteen there came a time
when I was forced to make my first flight to Utah alone. Excited for the
opportunity to be awesomely independent, I figured this trip would be a piece
of cake. After all, all I had to do was find the plane, get on the plane,
and let the pilot do the driving for once. How hard could this be?
Oh how little I knew... By the time I was finally on my flight I
had made great friends with three security personnel. But I mean, how could
we not be friends after having gone through the security routine three times? Although
it appeared that I had not improved much in the way of directions...I did
discover that I had a knack for finding the entrance and, immediately
following, the exits to the airport. Luckily I believe my pride and
stubborn nature saved me a fourth trip through security, as finally one of the
guys running the security scanner asked if he could help me locate my gate. I promptly
told him that I had everything under control and that I just couldn't bear to
leave my new-found friends without saying goodbye one more time.
I am now 21 years old, a senior at BYU and
I am proud to say that, although my sense of direction still greatly, greatly
lacks...my awareness of when I make a mistake has grown much stronger. :)
Just two weeks ago, as I worked for the moving company down in San Diego,
I was assigned to drive the moving van to the Marine Corps Air Station. Being once again faced
with security, I patiently awaited the approval of my driver's license.
As I got the approving wave to drive on in, I felt an immense sense of
accomplishment. I, Ashley Marie Peterson, had just driven the giant van to this
base and proceeded, unobtrusively, through security. I was on top of the
world. I literally felt like doing a victory dance, which I attempted to
do even as I continued driving. This
victory was, as you’d expect, short-lived. About five minutes later, as my
internal compass (which is somewhere deep, deep down inside of me), sent out a
warning signal that something just wasn’t right, I glanced at my brother and
with an amused tone expressed, “So, uh…I think we just exited the base.” *Wesley starts chuckling* “Seriously?” “Yup.” Promptly making a U-turn, we once again found ourselves at
security.
The title of this post may be a bit
confusing. After all, how fun can getting lost be? :) But honestly, it has
indeed become fun for me as well as taught me a lot about life in
general. Oftentimes, we really don’t know how we’re going to get where we
want to be. We have our destination in mind, be it the school office, a
plane, a marine base, marriage, a mission, a specific job, an education…but we don’t quite know
how we’re going to get there or what may happen along the way. And that’s
where the fun comes in. The journey is an adventure, full of twists and
turns that you could never have expected. You meet people, make
friends…and most importantly, you get to know yourself. You get to learn
how to deal with the unexpected and how to enjoy the random moments. It can
definitely be scary and definitely be hard. But the more we come to love
and learn in this crazy, unpredictable life, the happier, I believe, we will be
and all the more rewarding it will be when we reach our destination.
