Through the Firefly Forest: L is for Lost
What should you do when you wander off trail?
This post is part of my Through the Firefly Forest: The Enchanted Journey series, where I explore enchantment, creativity, and finding your path.
Also, I’d like to invite you to my Online Writing Retreat on Saturday the 12th of July. It’s a chance to create space for your writing and connect with other writers, so why not come along?
No one likes being lost, yet it’s an essential part of any journey of worth.
If you should reach the end of a significant journey without ever getting lost, then perhaps you did not go far enough or deep enough on the trail. Maybe you are not at the end of your adventure, but at a false ending. Perhaps you have to continue on until you have the experience of being lost, as this can be just as important a route marker as any sign or milestone.
If Dorothy hadn’t got lost in Oz after running away from the farm, she would never have appreciated the simple beauty of home. If Bilbo Baggins hadn’t got lost with the dwarves in Mirkwood Forest, he would never have learned just how courageous he could be. Hansel and Gretel gained greater awareness of the world’s dangers after losing their way in the forest, as they realised that tempting facades like gingerbread cottages can be a trap.
Astuteness and shrewdness. Courage and resourcefulness. Gratitude and appreciation. These are all gifts we can gain from being lost.
Of course, there are many ways to be lost, including physically, emotionally, relationally, creatively and spiritually. But the question to always ask is, “How did I end up going astray in the first place?”
Maybe it was simple disorientation. Maybe it was hubris or an error of judgement. Maybe you were pushed, tempted or charmed off your path as a way to trap you, harm you, or prevent you from reaching your destination. Perhaps you followed the trickster light of a Will o’ the Wisp, or were fooled by the plaintive wails of a shellycoat hiding in the river, who fastened onto your kindness to lure you off track.
Yet getting lost might also be a serendipitous form of course correction. Perhaps a benign hand led you astray as a way of showing you that you were on the wrong path all along — or on the right path at the wrong time. Or on the right path but with your heart in the wrong place.
The question is, what kind of lost are you?
Yet it’s difficult to consider this question in the panic, frustration and fear of being in the wrong place. After all, you may be in danger. Are you walking into the realm of wild beasts, forest tricksters, or a dark and tempting fairy lair? This is why it’s important to stay awake and alert when lost. You need to have your wits about you.
It’s also natural to feel a sense of foolishness after finding yourself off course. How did you manage to get so far away from the trail? How did you lose sight of your route? Why do all these trees suddenly look the same — surely you passed this crooked old oak before? Are you just going around in circles?
All you know is that you’re wasting your time. You had a plan, a schedule, a quest, and now here you are in a darkened thicket, your arms torn by thorns, your ankles smarting with nettle stings. If only you hadn’t got lost, you would be where you were supposed to be right now. You would be so much further forward.
Being lost can feel like an injustice. You did everything right: packed a map, planned your route carefully, stuck diligently to the path (or so you thought). Yet here you are, roaming around in a dense, dark part of the forest, with no idea how to get back on track. Here you are, unrooted and unrouted. And perhaps, spellbound by the scent of some sweet purple forest flower with amnesiac qualities, you have even forgotten where you were going.
When you are lost, it’s easy to become fixated on where you are supposed to be while ignoring where you are. It’s easy to stomp red-faced past that pretty, trickling stream without pausing to drink from it. To glare at that peaceful bluebell glade without stopping to rest in it. To ignore the strange beauty of that sudden cluster of fireflies. All of these lovely things escape your attention in your panic or anger at being off course. Because when you’re frustrated at being in the wrong place, you reject every gift and pleasure that place offers.
Yet if you roam around in confusion for long enough, eventually, something strange might happen. Whether through exhaustion, renewed stoicism or a restored sense of humour, you might stumble into a state of surrender. Suddenly, you haven’t the energy or will to fight being off track any longer, to rage or rail against it. Instead, you accept that you are lost.
And that’s when you start to realise that being lost isn’t simply a mistake or a blow from fate, but a destination in itself. And what’s more, a destination that deserves to be explored, for who knows when you will ever find your way back to this part of the forest again? This place where the blackbird song is strangely haunting, where moss has a strange blueish hue and the berries are the reddest you’ve ever seen. You realise that this place of lostness has its own special wonder. Why not rest awhile and reflect?
Because reflecting on why you ended up lost may bring a form of self-insight much deeper than you would have received on the straight path. This is why God has a special place in his heart for the lost, both the straying sheep and the prodigals. When they come back, they come back changed.
And when you surrender to lostness in humility — when you take responsibility for your situation, when you accept your present state instead of wrestling against it, when you let yourself appreciate the unfamiliar place you find yourself in — you might find yourself resuming your walk with a whistle. And then, something strange might happen: you might find that you stumble upon the main trail without even trying.
It’s just there, off to the side a little, as if you were mere inches away from it all along. Perhaps in your panic, anger and fear, you just didn’t see it. In other words, you might find that the simple act of accepting your current circumstances causes them to melt away. When you were busy battling them, you couldn’t see that the path was much nearer than you thought. This is when you realise that your lostness was an illusion.
Or you might find that your journey back to the main trail is long, challenging and hard, but in your suffering, your love for that absent path grows and grows. When you find it, nothing will cause you to drift from it ever again.
Or you may even find that you want to abandon the old path and the old plan, move deeper into uncharted territory, mark out new routes. After all, your original path is well-trammelled by other travellers, so why not embark on a new one that’s yours and yours alone? Perhaps this new path will lead to a different destination, one you can’t even imagine yet. This place of lostness has its own special promise, it’s where you were meant to be all along. In other words, you are not lost at all. Yet you would never have realised this if you hadn’t gone astray.
This is why lostness is an essential part of any journey or adventure. Because without becoming lost, you can’t experience the gentle steering of some hidden hand longing to guide and teach you. And you can’t experience the sweetness of surrender, or the surge of joy and relief at finding your way back again. And you won’t get a chance to change course, to take the route that is truly meant for you instead of the one you were stubbornly set on.
If you go on a journey and don’t get lost — if your path is straight and true every step of the way — then perhaps you didn’t travel long enough, or far enough, or deep enough.
Because lost is a place with grace hidden at its heart. It invites us into a waltz with uncertainty. It teaches us humility and acceptance. And sometimes, it points us to a new and truer route that was waiting for us all along.
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Create space for your writing and connect with other writers at my Online Writing Retreat on Saturday the 12th of July.
Thank you for putting 'being lost' in a variety of constructive lights.
I'm a wanderer.