A few nights ago, my friend Michael and I got lost in New York City. It was late and we had drunk wine. Exhausted, we ended up at the Port Authority in an attempt to get across the Hudson River to our hotel in Newark. A ticket master directed us to a bus to Nowhere, New Jersey, which we fortunately did not take. The information booths were closed.
We rode up and down escalators, asked men in uniforms, tried following a sign that read “Bus to Newark,” only to end up outside the station where countless taxis breathed exhaust. Back inside, we buzzed around more, like bees who had lost the hive. My mind raced frantically.
Finally, I stepped away from Michael, stood with my back against a post and surrendered. I stopped thinking and asked for guidance, listening in a state of complete helplessness. When I opened my eyes, a woman wearing sneakers and the desperate air of a hustler strode by and said, “You’re going to Newark? Follow me!” I shrugged at Michael and we fell in line with her.
When we arrived outside, our guide motioned to a friend, and Michael stopped, realizing that we may be involved in a scam of some sort. Seeing us hesitate, our guide waved her friend away. While I held back, watching, Michael gingerly followed her around a corner and then signaled me to come. There stood a bus, in a blaze of lights, like some supernatural sleigh. We gave the woman some money and rode our way “home.”
What a blessing to be lost, to surrender, and be found.