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  • Writer's pictureLeah Dawkins

Embracing the Weird that is Me

“How much further?” my son-in-law asks, calling me as I travel down the road to meet him. He is dropping his truck off for service and then taking me the rest of the way to the airport.

“It says five miles.”

“Great, I’ll be waiting outside.”

Five minutes later, “Tyler? I got turned around. Can I turn left at the base of the bridge? It looked like a one way, so I went the other direction.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Oops, sorry. I didn’t do it. Looks like another eight minutes.”

I call him back again, “Tyler, I am in a cow pasture. Where are you?”

This is nothing new. I am constantly lost when it comes to directions. Even with the handy blue line on the GPS I still end up in a cow pasture. Or a gas station. Or a small town nobody has ever heard of. This is the exploits of being me.

When I was younger, it used to make me so upset. Frustrated with myself and irritated with the constant pulling over, checking maps, finding a pay phone, asking for directions. Now, it doesn’t even cause me to pause. This is who I am, I have learned to live with it. And those around me have learned to adapt to my directionally challenged life.

“Sweetheart, keep the rope tight today. I don’t want to lose you,” my husband always tells me if I am following him anywhere. He ties an imaginary “love rope” on our bumpers, his way of keeping me close. He also calls me, and we talk the entire way. I appreciate his kindness and lack of eye-rolling. We both know I am bound to lose my way if he is not on constant alert.

The truth is, I now enjoy my adventures. I always leave with plenty of time to spare. More often than not, the little blue line gets me where I need to be in a timely fashion. But on those days it doesn’t, like today, I don’t get upset or irritated. I enjoy the journey I find myself on, taking in the small town off Exit 489 that had a super cute winery and quaint main street. Definitely a place to come back to, when my sweet son-in-law was not waiting at the Ford dealership for his wayward MIL.

Now that 50 has come and gone, I have decided to embrace my oddities. I don’t have a compass for a brain. That is quite alright. I don’t like to have a radio on when I am driving. I prefer the quiet. I like the seat heaters on and the heater blowing on my feet, an ice-cold Diet Pepsi in a Styrofoam cup in my hand. To me, there is nothing better than a car filled with gas and an open road in front of me. Who knows where I will end up?

Wherever it is, it is exactly where I want to be.


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