Thinking Out Loud, Volume CCCXCVI

I grew up on, in, and around Catahoula Lake. In those days, during the coldest winter months, its depth was only 2 to 3 feet, so, technically, a person could put on waders and walk completely across its entire five-mile width. Every winter, tens of thousands of ducks would flock to it, just in time for duck season, making it a duck hunter's paradise. That is the setting for this first story: One Saturday morning, a few of us boys headed down to the lake to do some duck hunting. We put on our waders and marched out into the icy water, looking for that just right spot where we just knew the ducks would be flying. Not long after we reached the place we were looking for, a dense fog settled in over the lake, making it difficult to distinguish even the faces of our friends who were no more than five feet away.  At first we thought we'd wait it out, but the fog just seemed to get thicker, so we decided that we were wasting our time and we headed for home. When we had been walking about fifteen minutes, an older man appeared right in front of us, almost as if he had just materialized in the fog right before our eyes. We exchanged greetings, and then the conversation went like this, with me as the spokesman for our group. Man: I don't think you're gonna get any ducks today. Me: I know.  That's why were heading out of here. Man: Where are you boys headed now? Me: We parked our trucks at that camp over by the sand ridge. Man (Naming the camp's owner):  Yeah, I know the one, but if that's where you're headed, you're going the wrong direction.  You need to go that way (pointing in a direction that would require us to make a 135 degree right turn). Me: Really? Wow!! Well, thank you for your help. He bade us a good day and disappeared into the fog. We then had a spirited debate as to whether we should follow his advice. Some argued that we were definitely going back exactly the way we came, and besides, none of us knew that man, so why should we trust him? Since I was the eldest member of the group, at the ripe old age of sixteen, it fell my lot to make the call.  I agreed that none of us knew him, but he apparently knew his way around and had no reason to want to lead us astray, and besides, it's easy to get turned around in the fog.  I decided that we would go the way he pointed, but I must tell you, it sure didn't feel right. About twenty minutes later, we started coming up on some landmarks that we recognized and we were able to regain our bearings. I'll never know who that man was, but I'm certainly glad we happened upon him that foggy morning, and I'm glad we changed our direction. Another early morning, many years later:  Angie and I were at Reagan International Airport, near Washington, DC, preparing to board a flight heading for home. The line to go through security was ridiculously long, but since we had no other choice, we made our way to the end of the line....to wait. After about thirty minutes, we had moved up to the point to where there were only about a hundred or so people ahead of us, with at least double that amount behind us.  We had already checked our bags, so all we had with us at the time were a book and a small carry-on for each of us. There we stood....just two inconspicuous faces in a sea of humanity.  I looked to my right just as a busy looking airport employee walked by, quickly scanning the long line of restless travelers. To this day, I have no idea what it was about Angie and me that caught that man's attention, but when he saw us, he stopped and walked back directly to us. He spoke first: "Sir, where are you folks headed?" "Monroe, Louisiana, by way of Atlanta." "Okay, you're in the wrong line." What I DID NOT want to do was have to give up my place in line and start all over at the end of another line. However, what I DID want to do was go home. So we stepped out of line and followed his instructions, thankfully to a shorter, faster-moving line....the line that would get us home. Those are not the only times in my life when I've had to make bold changes that, at the time, just did not feel right...times when I've had to allow logic to overrule my emotions. I hate to think what would've happened that foggy Saturday morning so many years ago had we not turned back, almost to the complete opposite direction we had been moving. If Angie and I had stubbornly refused to step out of our line in the airport that morning, we would not have made it home. A friend confided to me a while back that his life just wasn't taking him where he had planned to go. As one looking on as an observer, I could see where he was doing some things wrong, and I pointed them out to him, yet he refused to hear it, and continued what he had been doing, only with more intensity...and his story is still the same today.  That's like finding out you're on the wrong road, but instead of turning to the right road, you just pick up your speed on the wrong road, which only gets you to the wrong place quicker. Sometimes we stay on the wrong path for so long that it starts to feel like home, which only makes the needed change harder to do. This article is already longer than I wanted it to be, so I don't have room to tell you about some changes that I've had to make that even caused me to shed a few tears.  If the path you're traveling is not getting you where you need to go, chances are, you need to change paths...regardless of how hard it is to do.  Moving off the familiar road is never comfortable, but when you make the change, and you know it was the right one, you'll be so glad you did it. After all, what's more important to you, your destination or your path? Preston