Searching When You Feel Lost

I still haven't found what I"m looking for... have you?

Jan 31, 2024

person holding compass — Photo by Garrett Sears on Unsplash

The BBC reported this in 2021: “A missing man in Turkey accidentally joined his own search party for hours before realizing he was the person they were looking for, local media reports. Beyhan Mutlu had been drinking with friends on Tuesday when he wandered into a forest in Bursa province. He got lost.

When he failed to return, his wife and friends alerted local authorities and a search party was sent out. Mr Mutlu, 50, then stumbled across the search party and decided to join them, NTV reported. But when members of the search party began calling out his name, he replied: "I am here." (BBC News).

Imagine the scene. A search party goes out looking for a missing person. You hear about the missing man and join the search party. As they search party begins to call out the first name of the missing person, YOU realize that the missing person is you.

Goodness. Truth is stranger than fiction. Let me explain.

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Many of us can identify with his plight when we stop and think about it. I know I can. At this precise intersection of time, circumstances and on-going adjustments to “repositioning” my life, I have to admit a gnawing sense rising up within me from time to time. I can get lost. I can feel lost. It happened this morning.

I woke up feeling a bit lost this morning. On a cold, rainy January morning a few weeks ago, I booked a trip to escape the winter monsoons of our little mountain town. A foot of rain in the span of a few days, nearly killed me, or so I thought. I hadn’t seen sun in two weeks and in a moment of desperation, I found a Air BnB in sunny and warm, Key West Florida. It would be heaven, or so I thought. Read on.

I found cheap flights that would take us non-stop from depression to joy. I could see myself, holding my drink with the little, blue paper umbrella in it, with a slice of lime and pineapple. Perhaps, there was a cherry on the stem of the toothpick umbrella pick. I think I may have seen one. I saw myself sitting by the blue pool that the internet shows on the website. In my mind, I am wearing my favorite shorts and T-Shirt. I have a vivid imagination. I can also escape in many, many ways.

I booked it all, somehow justifying the expense; the time away and the travel to get me from here to there. I told my sons. I captured the image on my iphone and sent them a picture—perhaps to create envy in them—who knows? But, I put a caption: “Just booked us into this AirBNB. Wish you could join us.” I didn’t mean it though. I didn’t want anyone to join us. I conjured up a dream and tried to act it out on my own.

But, this morning, I work up feeling lost about it. Could we really afford the trip? When I added everything up, what I thought was going to be “a deal” wasn’t feeling like a deal. It was feeling like a big expense I sat quietly, in the wee dark hours of the morning, until Gwen got up. After her first cup of coffee, I shared my lostness. We processed why I had acted so impulsively. What did Key West represent? (By the way, sometimes, it’s good to be married to a spiritual director… sometimes, it is not. But it worked well—today. Keep reading….) We talked about it for a while and I ended up cancelling everything: the blue pool, the umbrella drink, the sun, the blue skies and my dream.

Then, I regained my equilibrium and my lostness subsided.

I felt found. I felt rescued. I felt like the lost man in Turkey was my brother.

For the past several years, I’ve been rather public about my transition in vocation and life. I have called it, “building my off-ramp” to dis-engage from a full life of speaking, writing, leading retreats, providing soul care and moving towards, what I am now calling a smaller life—a quieter life—a more contemplative life. Those posts are among my most read and most read posts of anything I’ve ever written. Read it here.

It’s complicated.

It’s complicated to transition; at least it is, for me. So much of my identity, worth and value has been assuaged in all of my doing. On the “off-ramp,” I’m intentionally doing less, making less money and here’s the truth as straightforward as I can put it. It’s a big adjustment. Most days, I feel my progress. But some days—like that cold, rainy day a couple of weeks ago, when it rained 12 inches in two days, I backslide.

In 2009, I wrote in my book, Soul Custody about vocation: “Vocational issues become central to our thinking about caring for our souls. No discussion about soul care that is legitimate can only speak of prayer, solitude, and Bible reading. Today, when there is so much discussion and people in vocational plight, we need to practice “vocation care.” As we care for our vocations, we in turn deeply care for the soul) p. 138.”

Here’s how I say it today: When we dis-engage from our work and vocational callings, we are unprepared to know how to dis-engage from our work: vocationally, relationally, emotionally, intellectually and spiritually. We also begin to “see” how all of our work has affected us, physically. The long hours; grind and pace of our work lives begin to reveal themselves in our bodies. Aches surface. Pain thresholds increase.

I’ve found myself apologizing to my body. It may sound strange to you. But, I do it. I just wasn’t good to this vessel who has carried me so faithfully in all my work and travels. I just wasn’t kind to myself. I pushed. I climbed. I exerted too much energy And, this sense of “lostness” rises up within the soul. I’m reclaiming so much now of my health. I care. Something has connected in me with my body. I feel in sync and all of this is very, very good and I’m making progress.

Several authors have tried to put words to this but I’ve found these somewhat shallow and empty, at least the ones I’ve read and considered. For me, my entire transition is complicated because, as I have written my story (The Lazarus Life), about my addiction to work—work is not just about retiring or stopping.

My addiction; my workaholism is a full fledged addiction that is celebrated and applauded—especially in the life of the church—which is the only world I’ve ever worked.

It’s unlike any other addiction I know of where shame, guilt and embarrassment are the shared feelings of a life of drugs, alcohol and sex offers. My addiction rewarded me and rewarded others around me. I got recognition. I provided jobs. I provided a place where people came. I provided means for others to help me, help others. I could justify it all---the true mark of any addict.

For me, role and soul were deeply enmeshed and intertwined. I could not tell where my role ended and my soul began. I never had a 9-5 workday in my life. I felt on call and available 24/7 as a pastor, retreat leader, hospitality provided, soul care provider and fundraiser—every year for 25 years. There’s a lot to recover from, you see.

De-Tox, for me, started with COVID, when on a certain day, it hit me like a ton of bricks, how utterly and completely exhausted I was. It took quarantine, isolation and a global lock-down to jar me into realizing what had really happened to me. (I did a podcast on this and you can hear it here).

My little mountain town, has offered me clarity and more de-tox and I am beginning to see the forest and the trees now. I suppose that’s a huge benefit since I am surrounded by Pisgah National Forest, here. I can see better now. I am finding my path. I know more and more where I ‘m headed and what I want. There’s a satisfaction that is rising up within me.

But, when it’s cold and raining cats and dogs; when the days are so short and there is no sunshine to soak in; when Vitamin D3, does not seem to “do the trick” as the doctor promised, I feel that lostness rise up with me. I want to escape. OK. I admit it. Don’t judge me.

Escapism is another off-ramp or sorts. So is travel, internet addiction, voyeurism, coveting, lusting, making myself look great; making myself look large; striving to voice my opinions when no one seems to be asking for my perspective---these and more-- are all the ghoulish temptations I feel when I’m honest. Can you relate? I think so.

But, I noticed myself yesterday when the sun came out. I moved to my outside world. I walked into our mountain town. I sat in adorondyck chairs facing the glowing sun. I watched long shadows of trees and white squirrels frolicking—or where they mating? I felt myself come back from my lostness.

I heard someone call my name. I heard someone call out, “Steve—this way.” “Steve—come this way” . The Trinitarian Search Party was out looking for me. Funny, how they do this for me. What’s so strange is this---this morning, after I cancelled the Key West trip, I felt a strange sense rise up with me. I paid attention to this feeling as you’re taught to do as a “good Ignatian” and I felt ground underneath my feet. I felt like I was back on the path again. I felt consolation, not desolation. I was on my way to a smaller and quieter life and I liked it.

In recovery, you learn to “catch yourself in the act” before you eat a cookie or drink that enticing drink. You catch yourself BEFORE you do it—before you stumble or fall head long into a dark abyss. You catch yourself by asking yourself, one key and all important question: What is it that I want? What do I REALLY want? In sitting with that key question, you begin to discern that you’re not wanting Key West at all. (That’s a very hard sentence for me to write). You’re wanting something deeper. Something more. Someone out there that you’ve been searching for all your life.

You notice. You become aware. You pay attention.

Maybe next time, I will catch myself in the act and avoid paying cancellation fees as well and just not book the trip.

Sometimes, though, the school of life can be expensive and for some of us, we are remedial learners and need to repeat certain grades and lessons. At least for me, I can say, “I am a life-long learner.” And, I can say, “I’m a messy person—with drippings of clay pinched off here and rough edges rubbed off there.”

The Potter is still at work in me. I’m still on the wheel.

Potter's Inn with Stephen W. Smith

Searching When You Feel Lost

I still haven't found what I"m looking for... have you?

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