The adage is that men don't ask for directions. It's a guy thing, I guess, to either be confident in where you are going (even if you aren't sure), to pretend you know where you are going (even if you don't know), or not mind that you might be going the wrong way (so why ask for directions?). I don't mind asking for directions...mostly. And I find I mind it less and less as I get older. Who cares if I look like a lost ditzy blond? I just need to get where I'm going (and this is particularly important to me if I'm-GASP!--late...I HATE being late). (And don't get me started on gps devices.)
So, I'm not bad at asking for directions. and asking for directions is really just asking for help. However, while I don't mind asking for directions, I have, historically speaking, been really bad about asking for help--even if I'm hopelessly lost (and of course I mean that metaphorically). But lately I've been much better about asking for, and even receiving (I'm even worse at receiving sometimes), help. On the other hand, the trip that one might have without asking for help, er, directions, might present the opportunity for experiences in some interesting neighborhoods. Or a great new restaurant. As well as that frustrating dead end. No matter. If we get lost enough, we eventually have to ask for directions. And, fortunately for us, there's almost always someone who will point us in the right direction, help us find the right street.
If only we ask.
No comments:
Post a Comment