When was the last time you were truly lost?
One balmy evening recently, I took my son for a picnic in Cherokee Park, a verdant, sprawling, 400-acre urban park here in Louisville. It’s a great place to spend a few hours, but invariably—even after years going there—I find myself disoriented when it’s time to leave. The roads in and out of the park are a winding tangle of twists and curves, a Bermuda Triangle that always leaves my internal compass spinning wildly. I’ve never successfully made it out without having to turn around at least once. As I navigated one turn for the second time, driving with one hand and glancing at my phone in the other, my son chimed in from the backseat with a question about something he’d seen, and I misstated our predicament.
“Hey, Daddy, I—”
“Hang on a second, buddy, I’m lost.”
“… oh no! WE’RE LOST!?”
“Well, no… we’re not *lost*.”
I quickly explained to him that we were not lost, not in the traditional sense—I simply had to pull over for a minute and look at my phone to figure out what road we were on an…