The sun was warm and inviting as Ellie and I set out on our walk yesterday. We were at a different park than our norm. She had joined ‘the family’ at my sister’s for Mother’s Day brunch at their house in the south end of the city.

Jackie and her husband live on the edge of a large wilderness area, Fish Creek Park. Over 20 kilometres in length, Fish Creek Park is one of the largest urban parks in Canada. And it’s beautiful.

The Park follows the Bow River which serpentine’s along the valley bottom from east to west. Poplar and pine and birch trees line the shore. Ducks paddle in the river. Fisherman steer their boats or stand on the shore casting their lines.

When I left their house my brother-in-law had told me to ‘turn left’ at the bottom of the hill and just follow the trail. “It loops back to where you began.”

Right.

Except, I’m not very good at following directions. I turned left, but not until I took the bridge across a tributary of the river. Ellie and I walked along the paved path until eventually, we headed to the riverside to walk the dry grasses of winter turning green. She splashed in the river. I sat in the sun and smiled at her antics.

We kept walking and came to another bridge. “I must need to get to the other side to get back to my car,” I told myself. And Ellie and I crossed.

We walked for another half hour, the sun danced on the river”s surface, the heat soaked into my skin. Nothing seemed familiar. We were walking along a golf course that shouldn’t have been on my left.

We kept walking. Eventually, a young exuberant Doodle Retriever bounced towards us, eager to play with Ellie. After an hour and a half of walking, Ellie was tired. She didn’t want to play, she wanted to sleep. The Doodle kept persisting. Ellie growled. The owner who was seated on a lawn chair some distance away,called her dog. The Doodle ignored her.

I pulled on Ellie’s leash. She wanted to ignore the Doodle, but the Doodle was too young to get the message. Ellie growled more intensely. The owner called her dog. Nothing happened.

Finally, I dragged Ellie away, the Doodle looking after us with a confused look on his face. ‘I just wanted to play!’

I wanted to tell the owner to take better care of her dog. I wanted to give my piece of mind on the difference between sitting in your lawnchair versus getting up and taking action.

I breathed. No sense in expending my energy negatively. And negative thoughts about her were definitely going to ruin my peace of mind! Bless her. Forgive me.

We kept walking until eventually, we came to a fork in the path. I had to choose — the river path or the bridge crossing. I pondered my route. I was pretty sure the straight path along the river would take me back to where I thought my car was parked. But I wasn’t sure.

I asked for directions. “Oh no,” a friendly passerby told me. “If you’re parked at Sikomie, you need to take the bridge and follow the path in the opposite direction.”

How did I get so turned around?

It didn’t really matter, how it happened. What  mattered was I found my way. Two and a half hours after setting out for an hour-long walk, Ellie and I were back at the car, tired and content.

Sometimes in life we get turned around. Sometimes, we go in the wrong direction. Sometimes we sit by the river and let life pass us by. It doesn’t matter how far down the trail we’ve gone or how much time we spend sitting out. What matters most is that we get back on the path. And when unsure of where we’re going, what makes the difference between being lost and finding our way is asking for directions.

When lost, asking for directions makes a difference.