a likely story

Today I took a voluntary stroll into a conniption.  It was timely as I'm putting together a manscript about our need to be connected, the heart of friendship within unexpected places. I described the destination to my best friend, who set out describing the journey with contours and expectations. I never notice hills and details until I'm there, I explained. The conversation resembled one of Winnie-the-Pooh and his friend Piglet. We understood our own perspectives but the truth was I have a terrible history of being lost with maps. 'I need landmarks' I kept saying. It didn't make sense to the friend who knew me better than anyone.

 So during the the journey I watched for landmarks to take me home, like breadcrumbs. I started to understand why I was writing the story I had started; every page you walk is a strange place until you mark it. Until you write your name and feelings about it, it will be foreign. If you find your own map, you scale your own pictures, the horrible book of lions and squares, loses it's power to suffocate you. And if you breathe, you smile and you're home.