On Being Lost

Yesterday's writing warm-up was to describe what it is like to be lost or on finding something that was lost. I was happy with the results enough to share them. I am realising I need to get over my fears of sharing my fiction:

There is a certain insecurity driving in a strange city. Anxiety builds with each passing car, each turn, and each kilometer. Doubts and second-guessing are my copilots.

Is this the right way? Did I miss my turn? What street am I on? What street am I looking for? Was that my turn?

The questions breed more fear as the impatient cars are forced to follow me. Morning commuters do not lend ease to driving unknown roads. The traffic speeds by with confidence while I creep along attempting to find poorly marked street signs.

It isn’t until I am in the middle of the intersection, past the point of turning, that I realize the road I need to be on was this right turn. My printed directions are now useless as the street I need fades in the rear view mirror.

The panic tears can not be stopped. Breathing has become difficult as the realization of doom floods over me. There is no map or helpful recalculating GPS. There is nowhere to turn around and no way I will make my meeting. I am lost and only able to continue forward the wrong way.