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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.

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I can relate to your experience from my earlier life experiences.  It really makes the case for self determination doesn't it?  Gaining tools and skills, and even experiences that improve our future?  

Perhaps ten years or so ago we traveled by car to Virginia for my nieces wedding.  On our way home we decided to head to a different city to see if I could reconnect with an old Air Force chum.  We didn't take out old GPS relying at that time on the GPS on my phone.  Paper maps, my standby from decades ago weren't with me.  When cell signals dropped along the way back I realized I didn't have even an old national atlas with me.  

We pulled into a gas station to buy a paper map and alas, they had stopped selling those (or back in the day when they would simply give you a map).  We had to wing it by the suns location and the general direction.  We just continued to drive kinda sorta in that direction.  Ultimately cell service returned and we were able to find out way.  But that bit of panic that set in initially made it clear to me that I was always going to take a national road atlas with me; even if it were a couple years old.  I also started making sure my old portable GPS was charged, updated and along with me in case phone service left us.  

In 2023 we took a road trip out west and those tools both came in handy on the drive.  

My point is, learning from our experiences is important.  When we feel that bit of panic set it, making an active choice to learn from that; asking ourselves what would have helped us in that situation?  

Aloneness.  I am 25 years into what will end with one of us dying means most likely one of us is going to live without the other.  Preparing for that without fear is the only way forward.  It doesn't mean we need to emotionally disengage.  It simply means giving thought on our first steps on life without a living partner alongside us.  

True, this take a lot of the surprise element out of it; so if you truly love surprises and that "now what?" reaction - indeed learning from our mistakes is going to fuck that up.  

 

 "life now is just one person—me"

That happens in every relationship, one way or another.  There are variables, of course, i.e. how long the relationship lasts, how successful it is/was, etc, etc.  It seems the success of the rest of our lives depends on how much we need that ineffable sense of "connection" that's available when we interact on a number of levels with our peers.  Or, don't.  

I was fortunate, in that I had just over 30 years with my "other half", and for that I'm grateful.  But whether it's a series of relationships, or just one for a number of years, or none at all for the truly resilient guys, the resulting sense of balance, sense of well-being, accomplishment remains. All we need to do is figure out how to access it.  

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@PozBearWI 

Your storytelling is so captivating—I truly enjoyed reading about your adventures and the journey to reconnect with your Air Force friend. It’s a reminder of how unpredictable and exciting road trips can be, even when things go a bit off track. I rely so heavily on technology these days that if my maps or GPS stopped working, I know I’d freak out too! It’s smart that you’ve prepared with those extra tools; having a backup like a road atlas seems like a really practical way to avoid that “what now?” panic moment.

I have to admit, reading about your thoughts on aloneness and the reality of losing a partner hit me deeply. It’s hard to think about life without someone you’ve built so much with, and I think, for a lot of us, there’s an instinct to tuck that thought away, as if ignoring it might somehow stop it from happening. But your perspective—that preparation doesn’t mean emotional disengagement—is such a powerful way to look at it. It’s a reminder to cherish the time we have while also being realistic about the challenges life might bring.

Thank you for sharing your insights. They’ve given me a lot to think about, not just about being prepared but also about how we approach those inevitable moments of transition in life.

@hntnhole
Thank you for sharing your perspective—it’s a profound reflection on relationships and the connection we seek throughout life. I find it comforting, in a way, to think that no matter the length or type of relationship we experience, there’s always a sense of balance or fulfillment to strive for afterward. It’s true, figuring out how to access that sense of well-being feels like the real challenge, but I believe it’s part of the journey we all have to navigate in our own time.

Your 30 years with your other half is such a beautiful testament to love and connection. I hope I can carry forward the lessons from my relationships with the same sense of gratitude and growth.

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