Finding Calm in Being Lost
The last time I was properly lost, I was standing at a petrol station somewhere north of Chiang Rai, Thailand, with a dead phone, a warm bottle of water, and a dog that clearly ran the place. My bus had left without me. I had four hours to wait, nothing to do, and no way to tell anyone about it.
Surprisingly, it was the calmest I had been in about eighteen months.
Sometimes you find yourself in the middle of nowhere, and sometimes, in the middle of nowhere, you find yourself.
This phrase, which has become popular enough to be engraved on bracelets and hung in kitchens, resonates deeply. Despite extensive searching, its origin remains anonymous, circulating since at least 2014. Yet, it holds more truth than many crafted sayings sold in markets.
Nowhere Is Mostly an Absence of Audience
What does it really mean to be “in the middle of nowhere”? It has little to do with geography or distance and much more with social context. Nowhere is any situation where nobody knows your job title or your story.
In urban environments, people around you carry preconceived versions of who you are—the neighbor who remembers you as “the loud one,” or an old colleague who still identifies you by a role you left years ago. Without realizing it, you perform this version of yourself because it’s easier than constantly correcting others.
Take away that audience, and something curious happens. Initially, you feel a bit useless since no one needs anything from you. But soon, the external noise fades, and you begin to hear your own opinions—often less polished but far more honest than what you usually express.
This process is straightforward and psychological, not mystical.
The Year My Diary Went Blank
During the COVID-19 pandemic, I lost my business—restaurants I had run for years. The deal to sell was made over a phone call while I sat alone on a plastic chair in a dark dining room. It was the least bad option available at the time.
Before, my days were organized by suppliers, staff schedules, and the seven o’clock rush hour. Suddenly, that structure vanished. One Tuesday morning, I woke with an empty calendar and no clue what a Tuesday was supposed to mean anymore.
I wish I could say this shift was peaceful. Instead, I reorganized the same cupboard twice, developed strong opinions about a neighbor’s parking habits, and called people I hadn’t spoken to in years—only to hear the hesitation in their voices wondering what I wanted.
The useful part came after about three months when I had exhausted all tidying projects. Without a business to focus on, I had to discover what else I might do with my days if no one was paying me. The answer was writing—an inconvenient truth, as it pays considerably less than flipping burgers.
You Can Get Lost for the Price of a Bus Ticket
Getting lost doesn’t require selling a business or flying to Patagonia. Nowhere can come in small doses, often free of charge.
Try visiting a district in your own city that you have no reason to frequent. Choose somewhere dull—hardware shops, a wet market, places where no one is selling to tourists with suitcases. I do this in Bangkok about once a month. I never regret it, although I often regret my shoes.
Visit a place where your phone can’t help you—not turned off, but outmatched. Streets aren’t mapped, and the language spoken is foreign to you.
Be a beginner at something new in public. Attend a class where you’re the worst person in the room. The discomfort lasts about twenty minutes before fading into something close to fun.
If you travel, leave one day completely unplanned. No bookings, no lists, no reservations requiring you to rush. Many people schedule trips so tightly they never stray far from their usual routines, just in a warmer climate.
What Actually Turns Up
Manage your expectations: you won’t return from a petrol station with a life-altering revelation.
What you’ll likely bring back is a shorter list. A few things you thought you cared about turn out to belong to others. A couple of things you’ve never shared become all you think about when there’s nothing else to distract you. On paper, this sounds minor. At thirty-eight, still working a job chosen at twenty-two to impress people who stopped watching years ago, it feels monumental.
There is a trap, however. Some use the middle of nowhere as a hiding place, repeatedly returning to escape the same unresolved issues at home. The scenery can only do the work of a conversation you avoid. Distance is excellent for gaining clarity but has never once solved a problem for me.
As for the dog at the petrol station? It took no interest in any of this. It sat under the ice cabinet, moved twice in four hours, and seemed to understand Wednesdays in a way I’m still catching up on.
Source: Here
