lost in the woods (or somewhere similar)

“Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?’
‘That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,’ said the Cat.
‘I don’t much care where -‘ said Alice.
‘Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,’ said the Cat.
‘- so long as I get SOMEWHERE,’ Alice added as an explanation.
‘Oh, you’re sure to do that,’ said the Cat, ‘if you only walk long enough.”

I suppose I’m writing this because I feel a little lost. I tell myself that maybe—just maybe—the magical combination of brutal honesty and pretty words will create a map that I can follow.

I’ve been lost before. I remember it being very dark, and very cold. I remember feeling like I’d never find my way home. And even though I desperately wanted to get out, I don’t think I wanted anyone to find me.

If someone found me here, I thought, they wouldn’t love me anymore.

I’ll go ahead and spoil the ending for you: that was a lie. A disgusting lie that—sadly enough—we all tend to believe every now and again.

I’m not in that cold place anymore. I’m not entirely sure where I am, actually. I just know I want a map or a GPS or something, which is nonsense, because I have never been good at following directions. Or giving them. Or  remembering where things are.

Oh, you live on the west side of that street downtown that’s adjacent to that other street ? I’ll nod and pretend like I actually know what that means.

Why would I think that life, with all its winding roads, would be any different?

Another spoiler: it’s not. I have no idea where I am going. Sure, I can go down this road, and see where it goes…

but I can’t know for sure.

I once heard that if you get lost, you should stay where you are.

And so, afraid of ending up in that dark place once more, I decided to stay. There have been times when I say I will leave. There have been times when I ask someone if they could find me. There have been times where I take a few steps onto the next road, but I always come back because I would much rather bask in the sun.

This is my fatal flaw: I am afraid of change. I do not embrace it, like the adventurer I claim to be. I cling to what I know. I wish on stars instead of casting my own spells.

I want to know that I am capable.

I want to know that I am loved.

I want to know that everything will be okay.

It’s not so bad here, I say. Just a while longer.

I’m not wrong—after all, I’m perfectly happy here.

But there are so many other things to see.

I’m looking at the next road. The sunlight is streaming through the tops of the trees.

And I think, It might be beautiful over there. 

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