“NOT ALL WHO WANDER. . .”

J. R. R. Tolkien, English writer of Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit once wrote

“Not all who wander are lost.”  I know that he was speaking to me, literally and figuratively. 

In a literal sense I often find myself off the beaten path, willingly or not.  My friend Nan once gave me a Wonder Woman journal to coax me into writing directions down, which supposedly would make my life simpler.  Inside the book she teasingly wrote, “To my friend Lynda who has the sense of direction of an egg beater.”  I’m still trying to figure that one out, but it did prompt me to try a little harder, at least for a while. Now the Wonder Woman journal has disappeared, maybe through self-sabotage and I’m back creating unexpected adventures.  The difference now is that I can laugh at myself, excuse the extra miles on the gas gauge, and revel in the re-telling of different escapades. 

Years ago my friend Beth agreed to ride along to our family cabin in Wisconsin to drop some laundry off and visit with my mother and step-father before they headed off to Arizona for the winter.  I assured Beth that I had often driven the route and that it would take no more than two and a half hours each way.  She needed to get back for a real estate appointment in the evening, and against her better judgment, she trusted my assurances.  We had been friends for a long time, but this was a true test. As we came within fifty miles of the cabin I decided to try a little more scenic route; I was sure that I knew which country roads to take.  The trouble was, so many of those winding country roads looked the same.  I tried to disguise the fact that I was wandering and more than a little confused.  Beth said, “Lynda, it’s been three hours already.  How can you not know the road to your cabin?  You’ve been going there since you were about five years old.”  She had a point!  The four hour mark passed and we finally made it to the cabin.  We jumped out of the car and raced into the cabin to drop off the laundry baskets.  Beth said to my mom:  “Millie, I’m sorry we can’t stay.  Lynda got lost driving out here and it took more than four hours.  I’ve got to get back to the Cities for an appointment.”  There was no time for any additional explanation.  Beth wound up changing into her dress clothes as we were driving back.  There was no time for stops.   I kept repeating, “I still can’t understand how that happened.  I know the route and I wasn’t really lost.  I know I might wander sometimes. . .”  Beth’s only comment was, “And I still can’t believe that it took us four hours to get to the cabin that you’ve been going to all your life. You said it would only take two and a half hours.”

Next time will definitely be different. . .

I suppose the other area where I’ve really wandered (figuratively speaking) is in the job market. There were many times when I did feel lost; coming out of college and not finding a teaching job was the start. That was a huge disappointment, and yet looking back now, I realize that I wasn’t ready for a teaching career at 21.  I needed to learn more about myself.  The part-time jobs I took were not exactly awe-inspiring, but through each of them I learned a little bit more and could spend time with my young children.

Returning to college in the 90’s did wonders for my self-esteem and I realized how much I enjoyed being in an academic environment.  I was proud that in my mid-40’s I could get better grades than when I was 18 and I felt like indirectly I was being a positive role model for my kids.  Their school had a banner in the hallways espousing LEARNING FOR LIFE, and more than anything, I wanted them to stay curious about life.   I loved being on campus and back in Wisconsin again with students 25 years younger.  I had anticipated feeling overwhelmed about returning to school, and yet more than anything, it energized me.  Whenever I had doubts about whether the time and money invested were worth it, I thought of my dad and the pride he would have felt in seeing me stick with it, as he had so often done. Many of my friends had long established careers and could look forward to future pensions, but my reward—as I kept telling myself—was in the joy of different discoveries about myself and the richness of everyday living and contacts. 

Not long after I received my teaching degree, I did substitute teaching for several years, in various subjects and eventually worked in my own classroom with German students.  It was a challenging, but fun experience and I hope that a few of those students still remember the tasty German breakfasts we had and that learning a language is also about developing an understanding and respect of other cultures. 

After teaching, I had an opportunity to venture into the business world, working as a supervisor in the marketing division of a large food corporation.  A few years later our work was outsourced and I felt like I had come to a dead end. After the last shift ended I walked the hallways by myself for an hour, thinking about all the wonderful people I’d met and wondering if I’d ever see them again. In time I received different career offers, but I didn’t feel right about them.  I couldn’t make myself play the role of customer service representative, answering questions about recipes, defective products, or temperature requirements.  It just wasn’t me.  I turned down jobs that seemed “perfect” on paper and demanded a lot of responsibility.  My family members didn’t get it, and maybe I didn’t either, at least then. What was it about me that was proving stubborn?


Eventually I took a job reading and scoring student essays from around the country.  It was fun being with kids again, even if it was just reading their essays.  I loved the flavor and naturalness of their stories and I could hear their accents.  They made me laugh and cry, and at the same time, I had to be impartial.  It was a fun job, but one day that too ended, as work became scarce.  I felt like I was wandering again, and panicky.


And then a different kind of opportunity opened up.   I was sitting in my little apartment in a suburb called New Hope when I spotted an ad from a nanny agency.  A family needed child care for their two-month old.  I don’t know what possessed me to call, but I did. Maybe it was intuition, or plain desperation.  The job was mine if I wanted it, and I did.  Little Max was my healer when my mother died a short time later.  I no longer felt lost and uncertain.    I had certainly wandered far from where my life’s path began, but there was a newness and freshness about the next step of that journey.


I no longer dream of sitting in big fancy offices or working for large corporations and earning “big bucks.”  I’m content with where I am now, teaching and learning right along with my grandchildren.  Every day is a different kind of adventure, large and small, and although I wander plenty, I never feel lost anymore.  I just wish I could have met J.R.R. Tolkien to tell him he was right.