Taking Time To Stop And Smell The Street Signs

When I was job-hunting, I gathered enough details to make up an essay about getting lost. Back then, it used to be such an adventure for me - getting lost. It was as if I was exploring unchartered territory. I wasn't irritated easily. I thought it was funny everytime I circle around a block and still not find the tallest building there. I was even secretly proud of the fact that while some people have a lousy sense of direction, I had none at all.

Maybe it's part of this annoying thing called growing up, but I'm not all that amused about getting lost anymore. Especially not in a place where I've stayed for the better part of 5 years. I get irritated at the slightest delay and have become pragmatic about being late: if they forgive me, great. If they toss me out, it's not meant to be.

I didn't even notice that change of attitude until I came across my unfinished and unedited essay about the art of getting lost. And it sort of saddened me that I was growing older, but not growing up. I don't want to be the kind of adult kids shun away from. I don't want to be surly and boring and... so stereotypically adult.

After reading that article, I wanted to be the person who wrote that essay. I wanted to be the person who still thinks that getting lost is an art. Because that person had a sense of humor. That person had fun. That person had a life.

I know that I cannot stave off growing older. It's a fact. It's the growing up thing that I'm having a little trouble with. I know that it entails taking responsibility... actually, that's all I can remember about growing up. I'm sure there are others, but I know it doesn't mean losing one's sense of humor or being a year-round Scrooge.

Now, if only I can discover the art of getting to a place on time...