I was at Peet's this morning and someone asked me if the street out front was Saratoga. I realized that I had no idea. I have been in this Peet's hundreds of times. I have driven down that very street, right off the exit ramp, hundreds of times. But I have no idea what the street name is.
I was embarrassed at first, then I just felt strange. How can I inhabit space, but not know where that space is? I feel like it's important for me to know where I am, but this notion hasn't been enough to enforce the change. I kind of float around by GPS or habit or instinct. Until I've lived somewhere for years, I can't give directions to anyone. I'm so destination focused that the method I used to get there seems like a minor detail.
Obviously, this translates into all areas of my life. I fall into jobs. I fall into a relationship. I fell into a marriage. I fell into a divorce. Now I'm falling into my 40s and I have no idea how I got here or where to go next. By not being able to tell the stranger this morning whether or not we were on Saratoga, I was absolved of responsibility. When I said, "I know this sounds weird, but I have no idea," I realized two things. 1. It ended the conversation with someone, a plus since I don't like idle chatter first thing in the morning. 2. I did not have to be responsible for where I was or what I was doing. In a strange way, I felt like I didn't exist. It's pretty hard to exist when you have no idea of your coordinates.
