Before I Choose a Direction
There’s a moment that happens for me when I realize I’m lost, which happens often. It’s subtle at first, but I begin to notice a tightening in my chest. I quickly scan of my surroundings. And then — almost immediately — I feel the urge to do something. Pick a direction. Any direction. Just don’t stand still.
What I’ve learned about myself is this: I don’t like the feeling of not knowing where I am. So I rush, I move, and I convince myself that forward motion is better than none. In my case, it rarely is.
As someone who loves being outdoors, I know this intellectually. In the backcountry, moving without orientation is how you get turned around fast. The safest thing to do when you’re unsure isn’t to push forward — it’s to stop, breathe, and look carefully at where you are.
And yet… I forget this lesson all the time. Especially in January. There’s something about a new year that makes not knowing feel unacceptable. The world says we should already have clarity. Goals. Direction. A plan. When we don’t, it’s easy to mistake that discomfort in stillness for failure instead of what it actually is: information.
Disorientation is data. It’s a signal, not a flaw.
Loving a child with substance use disorder taught me this in a much deeper way. There were so many moments when I wanted certainty more than truth, movement more than understanding. I didn’t pause to orient — I reacted, and forced direction. Usually the wrong direction. The faster I moved, the further I drifted from what was actually needed.
Orientation takes humility. It asks us to admit we don’t yet know. It asks us to stay still long enough to feel what’s happening now, instead of imagining what should happen next. Orientation is wisdom.
So if you find yourself standing in the middle of January without a clear sense of direction, here is a gentle offer:
You don’t have to decide anything yet. You don’t have to move yet, and strong doesn’t have to be your starting point. You’re allowed to look around first. Sometimes the most important thing we can do is admit we’re lost — and give ourselves permission to pause until we feel oriented.
With care,
Lisa