This
is more of an event that shows something about who I am than an event that
actually shaped me. It shows how I love anything that breaks routine. On this particular day
three of us were trudging through the pouring rain in Washington
D.C. with only a vague idea where we were going
because our only directions had come from the index finger of a passer-by. After
several turns at odd angles we realized that no one really remembered which way
the index finger had pointed in the first place. My shoes were conveniently
doubling as sponges in some of the larger puddles, and the driving rain had rendered
our map a soggy mess of bleeding ink.
We
were out to find food, and we lacked money except about ten dollars apiece. Rumor
had it that there was cheap food in the basement food court of Union Station.
We had no idea how to get there.
As
a plot twist, there was significant construction just south of the National
Mall that resulted in yellow police tape blocking off entire streets. The
already confusing city of Washington D.C.
had become a maze for the day. This ensured that the helpful directions of
strangers all led directly to a dead end. By all accounts, this is a miserable
situation for us to find ourselves in: dripping wet, lost in an unfamiliar
city, hungry, and nearly broke.
It
is difficult to justify why I love situations like these or why I find them so
memorable. There is no great emotional drama that remains a part of me for the
rest of my life. There is no notable change in my character or
conviction that will help to define me for the rest of my life. Maybe it is
just that returning drenched and exhausted makes a better story than if all had
gone precisely as planned. Maybe it is also that the journey is more exciting
when the end is every bit as mysterious as the means. Maybe its that half of the journeys I take aren’t about knowing where I’m going, but about taking the time to know who I’m going with and learning to love being lost.
Just
shy of two hours of wandering found us at the main entrance of Union Station. But
getting there had stopped being the goal a long time ago. There is nothing life
altering about a trek in the rain through D.C., but it is one of my most
treasured memories from the summer of 2007. Comfort and routine are fine as far
as they go, but what is so spectacular about a life where everything just goes according to plan?
