Getting Lost
Last night I went to the So You Think You Can Dance concert at the Tacoma Dome. (Yes, I'm a huge fan.) The concert was amazing, but what sticks in my mind was the trip there. It was raining like crazy, so hard you couldn't see the freeway lanes, let alone make out any signs. Of course, being the terrible navigator that I am, I got lost. One minute I knew exactly where I was going, the next I was wandering back roads in the dark, wondering if I'd ever get there.
I'm not new to being lost. In high school, my friends made jokes about "Helen's scenic route." I'm forever taking the wrong turn or the wrong freeway exit and ending up God knows where. I always thought it was because I had a terrible sense of direction. But looking back on last night's experience, I wonder if there's more to it than that.
See, I kind of like getting lost. Sure, there's frustration and self-flagellation and sometimes even a bit of panic involved. But there's also a bit of a thrill. Last night, as I wandered the dark streets of downtown Tacoma, I felt more alive than I have in weeks. My senses were on high gear as I looked for any glimpse of a sign that might lead me to where I wanted to go. I was aware of my surroundings in a way that I seldom am as I drive my well-worn routes through Seattle.
And I realized that this sensation of being lost but kind of loving it is part of what I'm drawn to about writing. When I start the first draft of a novel, I have some sense of where I want to end up, but I'm not exactly sure how I'll get there. The most exciting moments come when I find myself veering off course. Just like during my drive to the Tacoma dome, my senses are alive and I'm hyper aware of the details of the corner I've written myself into. Yes, there's a bit of panic that I worry that I may not be able to get myself back on course. But there's also a rush of adrenaline that comes with navigating the unknown.
Yes, I made it to the concert -- albeit fifteen minutes late. But I hardly minded missing the opening number. I was still high on the rush of getting lost. I can't wait to get back to the page so I can get lost again.
I'm not new to being lost. In high school, my friends made jokes about "Helen's scenic route." I'm forever taking the wrong turn or the wrong freeway exit and ending up God knows where. I always thought it was because I had a terrible sense of direction. But looking back on last night's experience, I wonder if there's more to it than that.
See, I kind of like getting lost. Sure, there's frustration and self-flagellation and sometimes even a bit of panic involved. But there's also a bit of a thrill. Last night, as I wandered the dark streets of downtown Tacoma, I felt more alive than I have in weeks. My senses were on high gear as I looked for any glimpse of a sign that might lead me to where I wanted to go. I was aware of my surroundings in a way that I seldom am as I drive my well-worn routes through Seattle.
And I realized that this sensation of being lost but kind of loving it is part of what I'm drawn to about writing. When I start the first draft of a novel, I have some sense of where I want to end up, but I'm not exactly sure how I'll get there. The most exciting moments come when I find myself veering off course. Just like during my drive to the Tacoma dome, my senses are alive and I'm hyper aware of the details of the corner I've written myself into. Yes, there's a bit of panic that I worry that I may not be able to get myself back on course. But there's also a rush of adrenaline that comes with navigating the unknown.
Yes, I made it to the concert -- albeit fifteen minutes late. But I hardly minded missing the opening number. I was still high on the rush of getting lost. I can't wait to get back to the page so I can get lost again.