Megan, you're not alone

This is a re-post from one of my earlier blogs, in honor of Megan. See, you are most definitely not alone. :)

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I'll just come on out and admit it; my sense of direction is about the same as a 4-year old girl in a school relay race who has just completed the portion of the relay in which she places her head on a bat and spins around about a dozen times. It's really that bad. If you need proof, call my mother. When I was in high school, and I was going someplace new, she would write out directions for me. This, in itself, was no big deal. The embarrassing part is that she would also have to write me directions BACK HOME from the place. I would get so anxious about getting lost that I couldn't think straight enough to backwards navigate. Clearly, my driving career was off to a shaky start.

I'd like to say I'm better now than I was in high school. Really, I think I am. For example, when we just moved, I was able to drive to school WITHOUT directions after only doing it twice before! And, I mean, there were something like six turns involved. Whoa. However, there is this one recurring incident that makes me feel like the same directionless fool I was in high school. It happens roughly once a month, but it's not limited to this number. I'll actually give you a specific story, complete with all the gory and humiliating details:

Over the summer, my friend, Sharon, had left her car at an auto shop, and she needed someone to drop her off, so she could pick it up. She asked when a group of us were together, and I knew I was free that day, so, with a twinge of foreboding, I volunteered. Two days later, I picked Sharon up at her house, and she directed me turn-by-turn to the shop. Really, I paid attention as closely as I could-- trying to memorize the street names, directions we turned and any key landmarks we passed. All this while making conversation.

Probably about 25 stressful minutes later, Sharon hopped out of the car, thanked me and started to jog into the shop. Quickly I asked, "Do you need me to stay?" while silently I willed her to say yes. Apparently, I don't possess The Secret. Thus, I rolled up my window as the shop door closed behind her, took a deep breath and prayed that I would find my way home.

As I drove, my eyes widened to the size of plates, searching frantically for roads that looked familiar. I flipped off my music--too distracting-- and gripped my steering wheel with a death hold. I progressed down the road, knowing that I had to turn right at some point. I passed one road that looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't be sure, and it didn't have a sign. I stayed the course. But as I kept driving, none of the street names were ringing a bell. This, I think, is when the hyperventilating began. I tried to drag in slow, laborious breaths. I tried to calm myself down, prodding myself on, You can always turn around, Green. You can always turn around. No Big DEAL. That didn't help at all. Once I had been going for roughly five minutes into the Arlington Heights wilderness, I did the inevitable: I called my husband. The conversation went roughly the same as all the other conversations that took place between us in times like this.
"Michael!" I sobbed (because, naturally, I was sobbing now-- huge gut-wrenching, eye-blinding, voice-stopping sobs). "I'm lost and I don't know where I am and I'm never going to get home and I just don't know WHERE I AM and I should never have volunteered to drive Sharon IknewsomethinglikethiswasgoingtohappenI'msuchanidiotI'mSOLOST!!"

It went on from there, but you get the picture.

After I ran out of breath, Mike broke in. "Okay, babe, it's okay," he said with irritating calmness. After all, it was very apparent that things were NOT okay, and I was going to die somewhere out in this foreign land. However, he continued, "Just tell me where you are."

"I DON'T KNOW! I'm driving and there aren't any signs...and I'm not coming up to any roads...I don't know where I am!" I gulped out the usual refrain.

Still, in that clear and measured voice, he directed me, "Okay, just keep driving, and let me know the next road you see. I have a map in front of me, and I'll help you get back."

This time I answered with silence. Which, I'm sure a nice brief respite for Michael, until it became too silent, and he asked, "Heather, you okay? Keep talking to me." But I was all out of words. I mumbled something inarticulate but mostly felt my head swimming with anxiety and disappointment. After all, what kind of a person gets lost in the town she's lived in for over 12 years!? Finally, I saw a street sign and mumbled it over the phone. Michael took it from there.
About 25 minutes later, I slung myself up my front steps and collapsed on the couch. Michael called a couple minutes after to see if I was alright. I sighed and softly said, "Yeah." Then, after a brief pause, I whispered, "Thank you."

"No problem, babe. I'm just glad you're okay. I'm glad you called me."

Gosh. If that isn't love, I don't know what is.