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Essay: Finding Oak Street

It was a useless day.  Or, more accurately, it was a day on which I was feeling useless.  Questioning my value, my purpose.   No matter where I turned, nothing turned up.  No redeeming virtues, no significant contributions.  My life seemed like a series of wrong decisions and wasted effort. 

Maybe I should just give it up and paddle my canoe into the sunset, I thought.  Instead, I put on my coat and took a walk.  Nearing downtown, I saw groups of people, talking and laughing as if life were worth living.  I wondered how they did it.  As I crossed the street, two young women stopped me on the corner.  “Do you know where Oak Street is?” they asked.

“Yes, I do!” I said with an eagerness that might have puzzled them.  I didn’t know anything else today, but I knew where Oak Street was.  “Follow this curve until it becomes Front Street,” I said, “Turn left and go to Pine, then Wadsworth, then Oak.”

“Oh, thank you!” they said and set off down the block.

“Thank YOU,” I wanted to say but they wouldn’t understand.  They think I helped them when they felt lost.  But really, it was the other way around.