Last night, I had a yummy dinner, plus a beer, with two friends.
I live on James Island, right outside of Charleston, SC. I'm the Managing Editor of a community magazine with a cool boss and colleagues. My mom loves me. My sister lives down the street.
Yet sometimes I feel lost.
The other day I was driving to a book club meeting in West Ashley when, by accident, I turned off into a neighborhood a little ways before the street where I meant to turn.
No need to turn around; this neighborhood probably leads back to the highway, I thought to myself.
But as I kept driving I realized I was getting lost. Twists and turns led me down narrow streets with cute houses, people working in their yards, gardens, and kids riding scooters.
I don't know where I am, but this is a nice place, I thought to myself. There are worse places to be lost.
Right now, in life, I have the vague sense of being lost sometimes. I question whether I should stay in Charleston long-term or move elsewhere. I question decisions regarding my personal life and my career. I question everything, pretty much.
But I'm lost in a pretty nice place -- my life. My life is full of good moments and reasons to be happy. It occurred to me, while I was driving around that neighborhood, I didn't have to be in any particular hurry to find the highway. I eventually found it after a pleasant drive.