Directionally Challenged

When I was younger and sitting in the backseat of my parents' car, they would sometimes quiz me on what road we were on. I assume they simply wanted their child to grow up aware of the world around her, being the good parents they were. For example, if we were driving to the supermarket, they would ask, "Kathy, where are we right now?" And I would say:

My parents were awfully distraught, much to my confusion. 

Nonetheless, I was not alarmed. I assumed that it was all a part of growing up. Just as I couldn't imagine being able to drive on my own, but knew I would be able to someday, my younger self simply rationalized that a good directional sense would come with time. After all, how else did everyone else seem to know where they were going without a map? Thus, I patiently waited for the knowledge of roads and intersections to dawn on me one morning, when I was mature enough to handle it. 

10 years later, as I was in the middle of getting hopelessly lost in a neighborhood five minutes from my house, I considered the very possible reality that this sense would never come to me. Perhaps I missed some kind of learning milestone, but to this day, I am quite directionally challenged.

I think the problem is that I have the brain of a bird. To me, every place is connected to another in the most efficient path-- a straight line. In this sense, I always have a very clear idea of where I want to go.

However, once I deviate at all from my brain's interpreted route, my intuition goes haywire. I seem to be simply unable to accept the reality that is regulated transportation. 


This condition of mine has caused me to be late to numerous functions, or become lost in the most public of places. Once, my brother and I were walking our cat in our apartment building, and somehow, we managed to get so lost that we wound up in a completely different building without ever going outside. I think by the time we finally got home, even my cat was displeased with me. 

Either that, or you simply shouldn't take cats out for walks.

Another time, I almost encountered a social crisis due to becoming lost in one of my beloved hangouts: Barnes & Noble. 

I was about 10 years old when I realized in the middle of reading a book that I needed to go to the bathroom. By this time in my life, I had already realized how poor my directional sense was, and knew that I would get lost trying to find the restroom. Thus, I decided to tough it out and simply keep on reading until we went home.

But it's strange, the urge to go to the bathroom. For the first fifteen minutes, the need is completely controllable. And then suddenly, out of nowhere, it's pee or die. This was the situation I soon found myself in, when I finally shelved my book and realized that I needed to find a bathroom-- fast.

My first mistake was that I insisted on maintaining a sense of pride. Even in my obvious peril, I made every effort to walk slowly and calmly, as to not give notice to my inner suffering. I also neglected to ask a store associate for directions-- partly out of dignity, but also because I knew I'd probably just get lost after asking anyway.

Thus, combined with my slow walking and disdain for seeking help, the situation was becoming dire. At some point, I hastily wondered if anyone had ever peed their pants in a Barnes & Noble before, but decided that was a scenario I'd rather avoid thinking about. Thankfully, by chance, I crossed paths with a store associate. No longer concerned about my pride, I asked in my most polite tone to inquire where the restroom was, please.

She was a nice lady who seemed to be happy to help. But I had doomed myself. By waiting for so long to ask her, I was now in so much distress that I couldn't clearly process what she was telling me. All I recognized was that she said it was "really close," and that she had vaguely pointed in the northeastern direction. With only this information at hand, I tried my best to make a map of a possible route to safety.

But as soon as I hit the first bookshelf, the usual thing happened, and my plans were compromised. 

With nowhere left to turn to, I walked around aimlessly in hopes that I would stumble upon the bathroom by chance. I crossed rows of books. I made it back to checkout. I eventually found the self-help section, which told me nothing about how to help myself when I was about to publicly pee my pants. And with each wrong turn, I became more resigned to my eminent humiliation.

Now I wish I could give you all the ending you're hoping for, but that wouldn't be the truth. Eventually, I did find the bathroom. It was actually just a turn and across from the children's section, where I started. I guess the one thing I learned from this experience was that, indeed, the best things in life, such as public restrooms and the ability to pee, are free.

But our shortcomings don't make us. Think of any faults you may have, and I'm sure you'll see that my awkward sense of direction is really not a serious problem as it seems. I simply need some more help than usual in this area.

So please: if you ever see me walking around, looking lost, or the same car driving back and forth on a random street, do not simply be entertained by my struggle. Please pull me over, and help me get to where I'm trying to go.