We’ve all been there. You missed the exit. Not by much. Just enough to know you can’t make it without trading paint with the banged-up Honda Civic in your blind spot. The exit was clearly marked. The sign was enormous. You even thought, “I should probably get over now.” And then…you didn’t. Blink twice if this has ever happened to you.
There’s a brief silence. A moment of regret that settles in your chest. A twinge of self-loathing. Some cursing that results in spittle on the windshield. Then, from somewhere deep in the dash — beneath the faint hum of the air conditioner — a voice booms through the vehicle. “Recalculating…”
There’s no judgment, no yelling; it’s not shaming you for being a terrible driver and not paying closer attention—even though it should. It carries only the slightest tone of disappointment. Like a fussy waiter after you casually put a piece of ice into your Cabernet with your fork.
You immediately feel it. A small wave of embarrassment. You ignored clear instructions that a Golden Retriever could have followed. The simple truth is that you were distracted, but you can’t remember why.
We, on the other hand, continue to fret. We replay the moment like surveillance footage from a crime scene. Then we start to question the re-route, squinting at the map as if we somehow are smarter than the satellites orbiting the earth. We mentally begin to calculate the amount of “lost time” as if it will dramatically alter the course of your life.
Our funeral flashes before our eyes as the preacher laments those critically important four minutes we lost back in 2026. Inevitably we start to question whether we can “make it up” by stomping on the accelerator like Ricky Bobby in turn three: “I like to go fast.”
The GPS Theory of Life
We’ve grown accustomed to our Waze and GPS apps. As if you have your own private, traffic chopper hovering overhead as you travel. Continually seeing over your journey and updating you as to the latest road conditions and potential re-routes. Oddly enough, these systems are a great metaphor for how life works. Neither collapses in dramatic fashion. They often take traffic snarls and major mistakes and turn them into minor inconveniences. Recalculating….
See, life is a series of recalculations, not the execution of a perfect plan. We often know where we are trying to go but it’s rare that we know how to get there. But, we miss turns constantly. We convince ourselves to take jobs that don’t fit.
You ignored clear instructions that a Golden Retriever could have followed. The simple truth is that you were distracted, but you can’t remember why.
That’s the part we forget. That life’s missed turns aren’t missed at all. They’re simply input — data points quietly feeding the system. If you haven’t recalc’d your life a few times you probably haven’t taken enough risk…and you’re probably still sleeping on a futon in your mom’s basement. Part of being alive is trying, failing, recalculating, failing again and trying again. It’s what makes you feel alive.
After all, it’s not really failing. The GPS doesn’t go back to the starting point just because you missed the exit. It uses the forward progress towards the destination as input. Recalculation is evidence of movement, of progress.
Recalculation Is Mildly Humbling
But recalculation is often embarrassing. People in the “backseat” are judgmental. You should have chosen another route. You should have taken the surface streets like they suggested. Why is it that everyone seems to be an expert on navigation when they aren’t behind the wheel?
See, life is a series of recalculations, not the execution of a perfect plan. We often know where we are trying to go but it’s rare that we know how to get there.
We are often the harshest critic of life’s u-turns. You rarely drive anywhere in a straight line, unless you live in Kansas. Once you leave your home, traveling is just a series of small adjustments towards an intended destination.
Recalculation Is a Sign of Vitality
If you avoid wrong turns at all costs, you also avoid adventure. Detours introduce experiences you didn’t plan to have. A visit to a small-town diner where the waitress gives your kids a slice of pie for dessert because you bothered to ask how her day was going. Or to a mechanic who puts water in your radiator and refuses payment. Or to a funeral procession that seems to go on for miles, making you wonder how anyone could possibly have that many friends. Nobody ever recalls the six-minute stop at the QT. Or the corn-dog off the roller grill.
If you haven’t recalc’d your life a few times you probably haven’t taken enough risk…and you’re probably still sleeping on a futon in your mom’s basement.
Our missteps and detours often provide the best feedback. They expand our perspective — widen the windshield. The night in that small town hotel with vibrating bed turns out to be your kid’s favorite vacation. The relationship that didn’t last teaches you something you couldn’t have learned any other way. Yes, our most formative chapters often begin as wrong turns. Because the fastest route rarely produces the richest experience.
If you avoid wrong turns at all costs, you also avoid adventure.
But what happens when we no longer have to concentrate on the road? When our bandwidth is expanded and the steering becomes optional. Will our senses be enhanced? Will our sense of wonder be expanded? Will a Fully Self-Driving vehicle ever take you through that small town for pie, past the old city hall and the faded murals on the old bank building?
You rarely drive anywhere in a straight line, unless you live in Kansas.
Wonder in Plain Sight
When you stop obsessing over the missed turn, you start noticing the world. You see the fading sun reflecting off the buildings at an odd angle. The old couple holding hands at the bus stop. Will you even wonder why the oak trees are tied with yellow ribbons? Or why those trees cast long shadows as the sun sets? Or why every porch has an American flag waving in the breeze.
So the next time you have “a long way to go and a short time to get there”, maybe resist the urge to stomp on the gas or spiral into regret over a missed exit. Let the system adjust. Look out the window. Take note of the yellow ribbons. Notice the funeral procession that reminds you that life is both fragile and full. The detour might cost you four minutes. Or it might bring richness to an otherwise mundane life. And in the long run, stories beat shortcuts every single time.
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