It’s a good thing the latest predicted apocalyptic date has already passed, because otherwise, I would be freaking out right now.
I’ve never been good at directions. Call it hereditary because my mother is just as bad. Call it gender-based because many women are bad. Call it obliviousness because I don’t pay attention to my surroundings. You’d probably be right in all cases. Regardless of the cause, I can’t find my way across town if I’m not in a numbered grid area. I can’t tell you how to drive to the house I lived in for 18 years. I can’t leave a store and turn the right way.
Yesterday, though, not only did I recognize where I was, but I actually told the driver where to go. And–this is the most important part–I was correct! I directed my friend back to the freeway from a side street in Cleveland, purely from knowing how we’d arrived.
If you were looking for world-ending signs, I’d say there’s none clearer than that.
But, since the crazies have now shut up about humanity’s destruction (for the moment, anyway), I guess we just have to chalk it up to enormous personal growth. I’m fine with that.