On Directions
I am making my way down to South Melbourne Market today, heading to Chef Hat. I’m planning to buy some plates, the ones with raised circular edges. I’m following Apple Maps on my phone, and it’s leading me down a direction I don’t usually take, but I get to my destination nonetheless. It’s on the other side of the market, and I make a few turns here and there, searching for parking. I find a spot—30 minutes only. I turn off the engine, park, and step out.
I make my way toward the shop, confident I know the way, a podcast playing in my ears as I navigate through the crowd, until … I realize I’m on the opposite side of the market.
I know where I am—I’ve been here before—but I was so sure I’d made the right turn. And now? The world feels like it’s spinning. My sense of direction has completely vanished. Worst of all, I don’t know where my car is. I think I parked near some apartment buildings? I look at my watch. Only five minutes have passed.
I try to backtrack. I think I crossed two crossways, or was it one? Did I pass this coffee shop on my way here? I want to retrace my steps, but I can’t remember a thing. I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings at all. A flicker of panic rises in my chest, but I keep it hidden, making sure I don’t look lost to anyone watching. I’ve always been good with directions, so why does it feel like a part of my memory has been erased, no matter how hard I try to recall
I think about the fine I’ll get if I don’t move my car in time. I think about how, if my partner were here, this might not have happened—another set of eyes, another brain to remember. I catch myself breathing a little faster now as I wander from street to street. There are so many people. Too many.
Then, somewhere off in the distance, I spot it. My car. The little blue Jazz I’ve had for 14 years now, parked neatly by the curb outside someone’s house. Relief floods over me as I realize it’s only two minutes away from the shop. If only I’d paid more attention.
As I walk back to my car, it hits me: life now is just one person—me. It used to be my partner and me, doing everything together. There were advantages to that. It felt like we could accomplish anything together. Now? It’s just me, and I’m still learning to do things on my own. It feels jarring at times, disorienting, like today.
Traveling was another thing he helped me with. I was never confident to travel on my own; the thought terrified me. I always worried about being lost in another country where I didn’t know anyone or couldn’t speak the language. I still don’t think I have the courage to do it on my own, if ever. I bet the world would spin just like it did today if I found myself lost and alone.
But when I’m with someone, I can bounce ideas off them if we ever get into trouble. I’ll never feel truly alone, even when we’re lost. It’s something I’m realizing about myself today—I don’t fear being lost as much as I fear being lost alone.
I know I’ll have to come to terms with this feeling until I can stand on my own two feet again. It’s going to take time. I’ll probably stumble a few more times along the way, but life demands it. Life demands us to keep moving, to adapt, to keep going.
3 Comments
Recommended Comments
Create an account or sign in to comment
You need to be a member in order to leave a comment
Create an account
Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!
Register a new accountSign in
Already have an account? Sign in here.
Sign In Now