This weekend I got my “woodsy” on and went to a cabin up in the mountains. Cabins are great at making you realize how much you like your own house. For instance, I could go months without every thinking twice about how I have a toilet that flushes in my house.
No outhouses for this spinster.
But all in all the trip was refreshing. It gave me an excuse to wear my “going to cabins flannel button up that I got from the men’s section of H&M.” I always buy items like that thinking I will all of a sudden enjoy sleeping in the outdoors.
The outdoors are great for rocking some good trail running and even the occasional recreational sport such as roasting smores. Yes. Roasting smores is a sport which I am still a rookie at. It’s fine. But the outdoors is, as its name suggests, OUT DOORS. And when you venture to the outdoors that generally entails driving.
Driving. It seems simple enough right? Gas pedals, turning signals, directions…
Oh heavens no. Please no. The dreaded “d” word. The part of the cerebral cortex that Mother Nature failed to insert into the female cranium.
So there I am right? Driving down the canyon from my woodsy cabin experience. My lined sheet of paper clenched in my overly anxious right fist with elementary like pictures telling me which way to turn. These drawings were graciously drawn for me by one of my direction savvy friends at the cabin.
Direction savvy friend: “…and then after you follow all these directions you’ll just be at the freeway.”
Non-direction savvy me: “Oh. Okay.”
Direction savvy friend: “So you know how to get home from there?”
Me: “Oh yeah! Yeah for sure.”
My foolish pride and overly confident perception of my driving skills prohibited me from asking the simple questions that could have saved me.
Once I got to the crossroads to get on the freeway I saw two options. One would take me home and the other would take me to the most podunk town that is probably not even on Google maps.
Guess which one I took?
I drove THIRTY MILES in the complete opposite direction which I consequently had to backtrack and get on the right freeway, totaling a SIXTY MILE detour. (Yes I did have to pull over in Podunk town and the gas station attendant was very kind and didn’t treat me like the infant I was being.)
Directions are for the birds.
I have the same problem in the mall when they have those little red dots on the map of the mall that say, “You are here”.
Of course I’m here! I know I’m right here! I need to know which way Express is you fool!
And while I stand there yelling at the mall directory every other human is finding their way around this planet quite nicely.
Lost but looking lovely,