Who’s Lost Now?
I recently devised an opportunity to assist a lost driver hauling a truckload of golf carts near the Sacramento Zoo in Land Park.
The zoo sits in the corner of the city’s largest park, a peaceful place I sometimes find myself roaming after a boot camp class at a nearby gym, allowing my open car windows to cool me down with chill morning air. That sunny day I soaked up the beauty surrounding me, eyeing the fitness walkers and lush greenery that always brightened my mood.
I watched for a bit as the driver inched his load—backwards—down a narrow dead-end road leading to the back gate of the zoo. The golf course was across the street, I thought; odd that he was heading to the zoo. I swung my car in his direction, certain he’d misread the directions to the golf course. I followed him at five m.p.h. down the narrow street, planning to intercept him and point him in the right direction.
To save his day.
I trailed him, car nose to tractor nose. Wow, did I want a chance to steer him straight. Honking seemed too aggressive, so when the road widened, I pulled up alongside his truck cab. “Excuse me sir,” I shouted up to him. It took a moment for him to notice me and stop. “The golf course is across the street,” I gave him my best smile. “This road dead-ends into the back of the zoo.”
“I’m delivering these to the zoo.” His kind voice, bare head, and ruddy cheeks softened his look of puzzlement. “These were donated. They use them on the zoo grounds to get around.”
“Oh.” Pause. “I thought you were lost,” I stammered, my cheeks warming.
“Thanks, though.” He offered a generous wink. The truck started rolling.
He didn’t need my help. I’d inserted myself when I hadn’t been asked. I made his needs or (so I thought) my needs, put my old codependency habits on full display.
“Sure, have a nice day,” I offered—wincing at my nervous squeaky pitch—and he continued his task. I turned my car around, rolled my eyes with a smile and headed for home.
I didn’t receive the kudos from him I expected at the outset of my mission. Instead, he taught me a simple lesson in humility—I’m not everyone’s savior—and another reminder that I don’t need to try to fix everything for everyone. When I managed other people’s lives in the past, I enabled them, lost myself and they lost responsibility for their own lives.
As I cruised home below the speed limit, I contemplated the incident. I’m not that broken girl anymore, so I laughed at myself and acknowledged that although I’ve grown a ton in codependency recovery, I’m still clearly a work in progress.