As I'd feared, the Tigers came out and had to grapple with a team that should not have been their equal. However, I'm trying to limit the effect sports have on my sanity by learning when to walk away. Thus, when my tigers began sputtering in the first half, I made the decision to simply leave the house before my mood deteriorated like Mizzou's offensive line under heavy pressure.
Getting into the car, I really had no idea where I was headed; my only requirement was that there be no television within eyeshot of my location. I headed north on Highway 32 toward Buffalo with no real destination, wondering where my drive might take me. Shortly after leaving I hit one of my favorite spots just outside of town. A few miles north of Bolivar, the road starts downhill, gently bending to the right, as the view to the left opens up to a large pasture butted up against a small creek and backed by tall bluffs. Just a few days earlier, a friend and I had been driving past this spot, prompting him to ask if I'd ever taken the road that headed off behind this particular area. I hadn't, but decided that today I would.
Taking that turn, I had no idea what I'd find, but I was stunned by the beautiful scenery I witnessed as I drove. Large expanses of green pasture; rustic, nostalgia-inducing barns; panoramic views of the Ozark's rolling hills; all such sights were a relief to a soul saddled with frustration over a football game that would, in reality, be soon forgotten. Unfortunately, I did have an engagement that forced me to cut my explorations short, so just as I began to sense I was getting into unfamiliar territory, I turned around, heading off to fulfill a Saturday obligation.
Not an hour later, the urge hit me. I had been just on the edge of knowing exactly where I was at. I had reached a point of unfamiliarity, of discovery, and had whipped it around and returned to the places I knew well.
It was at that point that I got back in my car and headed out with one goal in mind: I would get lost, regardless of how long it took me to do so...and I succeeded.
I went back to the original point of crisis at which I'd earlier turned back, but this time I didn't retreat; instead, I took the first turn that my mind desired...and then another...and then another. Eventually, I was just driving with no assurance that I was even heading in a direction that might lead me home, but the winding paths, unfamiliar views, deep green fields, and varied hues of the turning leaves gave me little reason to care where my journey might lead.
After roughly 45 minutes of meandering through parts of Polk county I never knew existed, I encountered a familiar landmark and took that as my cue to resume the day's necessary activities (which did not include finishing the game I'd long since abandoned).
This journey may seem like nothing more than "Sunday driving" done on the wrong day, but for me, it was a much-needed reboot. I'm by nature a creature of habit and not generally comfortable with environments outside those with which I'm extremely familiar. This one solitary drive through the country reminded me that we must live purposefully, but sometimes our purpose must be to get a bit lost; to discover; to find new and inspiring experiences; to live like Abraham, who under a command from God sans specific details, simply headed out into the great unknown with the faith that God wouldn't send him into the wilderness for no reason.
In the familiar, we often find the usual fare. In the unfamiliar, we put ourselves in a position to find unexpected treasures. Today, I was pleased to find the latter.
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