Recently while driving to Night of the Stars the inhabitants of my Astro Van described me as lost. Now I've driven downtown before, but I don;t know the street names or general location of anything besides the Courthouse, Chukchansi Park and the Hospital. I find my way mostly by memory and area recognition. I knew exactly where I was, but not where I was going.
But here's where the conflict lies. I had to fight a basic carnal instinct of males everywhere. I asked for directions. I admit it, I failed my maile brethren everywhere. I confess it will be a long road of recovery but I am sure I will be able to pick my pride out of the dirt and dust it off.
I could have printed directions off of Google, Fresno Christian could have better advertised the locale of the event (we had trouble finding the dining place even though I knew where the Wilson theater is) or I could have driven with more knowledgeable companions. Being under the influence of testosterone pretty much removed all of these options.
Luckily I had my handy dandy cell phone. I called and I got, well, I got nothing. My admission of failure was met with little to no help. I don't blame my dad, but he's a lot like I am. He had to be there and see the streets, buildings and hobos.
Eventually I found it. I made the turn, looked over my shoulder and saw the glorious sun setting over a parking spot across from Wilson Theater. So next time you know exactly where you are but no idea where you are going, don't worry. Eventually the destination will be found.