The beauty of being lost

Sometimes the path begins where all others disappear.

The other day, I had two encounters with young people who were feeling lost—directionless. Different stories, yet the feelings were similar. Both times, in our conversation, I told them about a time when I felt that way.

When I returned from the US to Germany, I had left behind a life that had taken 25 years to build. The image that continuously accompanied me was this: I am in a forest and I am lost.
You might think that would be a frightening image, but I wanted to be there. I wanted to be lost. I didn’t want there to be any paths around me.

That was hard, because the paths are always there — the ones shaped by family, education, society, relationships, desires… and we need them. But I didn’t want them right then. I knew I was ready for a new path, and I needed time for it to form itself. I trusted that it would come — not forced, but naturally.

It was far from an easy time. I felt insecure, lonely, afraid. Yet beneath all of this, there was an open space — and I needed to find my way to it.
So I began to meditate more, to walk in nature, to write, to share and listen to others’ stories. I discovered teachers whose words resonated deeply. I read their books and, more often, listened to their talks. I learned so much while walking through the woods and fields.

Looking back, I am grateful for that time — that I was in a place and season of life that allowed me to pause and search. It was a time of confusion and falling apart, but also of self-discovery and depth.
I learned a new language that fit something that was quietly emerging. I didn’t go to the East, didn’t stay in a Buddhist temple (something I had always imagined I “should” do), didn’t wander the world. Instead, I found solitude in the little apartment I had rented — and wandered inside myself.

Eventually — you can guess it — a shift happened. Very slowly.
A shift that led to transformation, and then to a small clearing in the woods, where I could just make out the blur of a path.

I was patient (most of the time). What became most apparent to me was a renewed energy, determination, a newfound confidence and trust. The path required practical decisions, but it had a heart.
And so I began — with a smile and an open heart — to walk. One step, then another. My boots were sturdy, and I was okay with changing direction, turning right or left, or standing still a little longer.

This is just one chapter in my story, and it feels good to revisit it.
As my thoughts return to these two individuals — and to all those who find themselves feeling lost — I say: YES!
Have the courage to listen to what your truest self is trying to tell you.
Allow yourself to enter this period of transition — not as a mistake or failure, but as an opening.

May you find peace in your own forest, and trust the quiet wisdom that guides you home.

I would love to hear from you.
Have you ever found yourself in a similar place?
What did you discover there?
I would love it if you shared your story.