Do you remember when you were little and you’d walk, holding hands, with your mom? Do you recall clutching that warm, secure hand and looking around at the world? Perhaps looking up at the clouds or buildings or trees and flowers and walking and walking without being mindful of where you placed your feet or where you were headed—just trusting that as long as you held her hand you were safe and headed in the right direction?
I remember those experiences. I remember the sense of safety and the calm assurance that I didn’t need to really pay attention to where I was going. As long as I clutched her hand I could swivel my head in any direction and let anything in the world catch my attention.
I feel the same way when strolling with my husband: I know without a doubt that I’m safe and guided.
Well, most of the time. Last weekend we were walking through a parking lot together. He raised the key fob and unlocked the car doors. He walked to the left of the car toward the driver’s seat, and I approached the car on the right, opened the door and sat.
But he didn’t get in the car. And then the console looked a bit odd. And then I looked out the window and saw my husband sitting in the car off to the left.
Yeah, I got into a stranger’s car at Walmart.
My family got a good laugh out of it. Of course I blamed my husband. After all, I trusted him to navigate me to the correct vehicle.
Have you ever been left unattended and got yourself into a pickle?