Almost as soon as we stepped into the park at Flamingo Land yesterday, Dad and I were lost. I was pushing the wheelchair and he was holding the map, but the map didn’t seem to bare much relationship to what we saw in front of us. So we muddled along, which is what a lot of people do when they are lost.

All around us there were other people who were either lost, trying not to look lost or not lost. These three states of lostness are common in any group of people. The not lost ones are confident and feel at home. The trying not to look lost ones are doing just that. Feeling judged already, trying not to look lost is about keeping up appearances with the not lost. The lost are usually obvious: they the look at the map a lot, they enquire, they pause a lot.

Once we found the rhinos we were OK. We stayed there watching these large lumbering mammals for a bit. Although we had not been looking for them we were glad to find them. If anyone asked where we were we now knew we were ‘at the rhinos’. We admired them for quite a while in a calm and companionable way. We had moved on from being lost to being not lost. Now we just had the rest of the day to negotiate.

Today was Sunday, and with that in mind I set off on a walk around Marsh in Huddersfield. I couldn’t be lost there because I live there and have done for eight years. But I rarely go off my usual routes and most of Marsh is a mystery to me. I was making for the Co-op in a roundabout way. I decided to try to make it last and followed up any likely looking side roads or paths. The back streets of Marsh are a maze of ginnels which are a particularly Yorkshire way of helping a person in any of the three states of lostness  negotiate their way around an area. They are small passageways between houses. Some lead somewhere, some don’t. In Marsh there’s plenty of both. Two and a half miles later, a tour of the Co-op and a certain amount of time divided up between the three states of lostness and I was home again.

There was a moment when my exploring had taken me through a small wooded patch to a drop down onto the main Halifax road from a height of about four feet. Even I call tell this was proper lost. Unless you are proper lost it’s not wise to take such a leap. I retraced my steps and sure enough another path appeared that lead me out onto the same road by a safer route. See, I wasn’t lost after all.

The three states of lostness are about identity. What has been happening to me for the last two years has been about identity. When I work with the children and young people, they are often exploring their identity. It’s not all about ‘who am I?’ Sometimes it’s about ‘am I lost?’

On the Cleveland Way this summer, I was rarely lost (once on a housing estate in Skelton, but soon found again by someone who recognised my lostness and helped me to repair it). It was a well marked route, even if remote, and marked by bold, brazen signposts. There were signposts in Flamingo Land, orange ones, and sometimes they helped. Marsh is a familiar place, but it’s still possible to find yourself four foot above a busy road wondering if you are lost.

So, am I lost then?. Sometimes and it is a common state. This week young people came back to Chaplaincy to talk about matters of life and all sorts of lostness. I didn’t offer them a map or show them a ginnel. I listened and said I’d be there again if they wanted to come back. In any of the three states of lostness, companionship is usually all you can offer.