When I was eight years old, I got the best Christmas present in the creation of all Christmas presents. It was a sleek green razor. It wasn’t one of those knock-off scooters that every other kid had. It was the real deal. It had the words “RAZOR” penned in white print with the black oval around it. It had green wheels and handlebars. Personally, I don’t even know why Razor sold scooters in other colors because we all know that the green one was the best.
Needless to say, that was the best Christmas of my life. I opened that box and life was complete. I didn’t need anything else. I didn’t need love. I didn’t need money. I didn’t need power. All I needed was that scooter, and I had it. I was the talk of the apartment complex. No one could compare to me. I was the coolest kid on the block, and I knew it. I could jump higher, scoot faster, and live better than anyone in the world. I knew who I was. I understood who I was supposed to be. Who I was destined to be. It was in that moment where I knew I was going to be a professional scooter rider. Is that a profession that existed? It didn’t matter because it was exactly what I was going to be.
One day as I was preparing for my future profession I went to practice my long scoot. I don’t know if my plan was to scoot marathons or what, but I decided I needed to take a trip on my scooter. So one brisk winter day in January, I ventured outside of my apartment complex. Outside of where I should have been. Outside of the parameters of the promise I made with my mother. I figured, “I have my razor scooter, who else do I need?”
So I ventured off. And kept venturing. And kept venturing. I ventured left and I ventured right and I ventured straight until I was in a new world (the neighborhood right next to mine). I was in this new world and I was utterly lost. Left to myself, I had no idea where I was. I had gone out and found that I wasn’t ready to go out. I wasn’t ready to be by myself. What I thought knew about myself was all a lie.
I thought I could be a professional “scootist” which isn’t really a thing. Or at least I hope it isn’t. I thought I could go off on my own. I thought I knew what I wanted. I thought I understood who I was destined to be. I had no idea.
I still have no idea.
I’m twenty-three and I still have no real idea who I’m destined to be. I’m at a point in my life right now where I feel exactly how I felt when I was lost a neighborhood away from my own at eight. When I was eight, I worked so hard to try and figure out where I was, so I could figure out where I needed to go. I’m twenty-three and I am trying to do the same thing. When I was eight, I was lost for maybe twenty minutes until my mom found me. I heard her screaming my name and I rushed to her voice because if I could find her, I could find where I needed to go.
I don’t know what brought this memory up today, but I’ve been reminded of two things about myself and probably about you. If you’re feeling lost right now, you’re in luck because you can be found.
The first is: someone is always looking for you. Maybe it’s not your mom. Maybe it’s your brother, your friend, your mentor, your significant other, your boss. Maybe it’s your grandfather. I don’t know, but someone is looking for you. When we get lost, we tend to isolate ourselves. We start thinking, “I’ll never find my way or I’ll never be found.” We start making it all about ourselves. It’s our responsibility to find ourselves. It’s our responsibility to find our way. If you’re the one that got yourself lost, do you really think that you can be the one to find yourself?
The second is: you’re not that far from where you need to be. In retrospect, I was only about three blocks from my home. I went to the left and to the right and thought that because I had taken all of these turns I was too far from home but really home was right around the corner. Please hear me, you’re not too far off to be found. No matter what you’ve done, what you’ve been through, or what you think you deserve; you deserve to be found.
When I was eight I was lost and looking to find my way home. I’m twenty three and I sometimes feel lost and need to find myself, but what I’m learning is that I can’t really find myself without others. I’m probably not that far off. Neither are you.
Sometimes finding yourself isn’t some trip to some remote country or drinking yourself into depression. Sometimes is just listening to the voices that are trying to find you.