For artistic rendition, the paper is written in the first person

One sunny morning, while enjoying a peaceful stroll in the park, I stumbled upon a heartwarming scene that stayed with me. A little boy, probably no older than three or four, paused in the middle of the path, his eyes sparkling with wonder as he took in his surroundings. But then, when he realised his mother wasn’t nearby, his tiny face transformed from curiosity to worry, and it genuinely tugged at my heartstrings. He didn’t cry out or scream; instead, he stood there, frozen in the moment, feeling overwhelmed. Thankfully, a kind fellow walker noticed him, gently took his hand, and led him toward the entrance, where his mother was waiting with open arms.

That child was lost. In that moment, I recognised something deeply familiar: the quiet panic, the desperate scanning for a reference point, and the feelings of vulnerability that come from disconnecting. It struck me that being lost isn’t just about where we are; it’s a condition of the soul. We can feel just as lost at thirty, fifty, or seventy as that child did in the park — only the surroundings change.

To be lost is to have once known a path.

Unlike confusion, which hints at a lack of clarity, or ignorance, suggesting we never knew, feeling lost touches on something deeper — it reminds us of a time when we truly belonged. We had our map, a destination, a role, a routine, and a rhythm that felt just right. Then, almost without notice or agreement, everything changed. The map no longer aligned with the territory we cherished. The rules shifted, and our familiar markers slowly faded away. Now, we find ourselves feeling a little adrift from the things that once brought us so much comfort.

I recently had the chance to help two teenagers who found themselves stranded. They weren’t lost in spirit — they knew exactly where they wanted to go! However, with transport at a standstill due to a football match and the sun starting to set, their clarity didn’t quite lighten their situation. The concern I noticed in their eyes reminded me how quickly confidence can waver when a clear path isn’t within reach.
Being lost, then, is not always about a lack of purpose. It is often about the collapse of means.

Today, I sense a shared feeling of quiet concern among my friends and colleagues. A talented HR professional is facing the reality that some roles have been automated or displaced. Meanwhile, a marketing expert feels that algorithmic demands and digital metrics are overshadowing her wonderful storytelling skills. These individuals were once shining stars, and now they’re on a journey through a time of uncertainty. It’s not because they’ve lost their essence, but rather because the world around them is evolving, much like a river gracefully carving a new path through land that was once vibrant.

When the world changes and seems to leave you behind, it can feel deeply personal. But remember, it’s not about you; it’s a systemic issue. The real challenge is to avoid seeing that dislocation as a personal failure. The risk comes from allowing those feelings to seep into who you are, softly whispering, “You are no longer needed.”

To feel lost is not weakness. It is the first sign of awakening.

It’s clear that something truly meaningful has shifted. There’s a lovely transformation taking place within us. While we might feel a little less connected to where we once belonged, this isn’t due to any shortcomings on our part; rather, it’s a sign that we’re growing and being gently encouraged to embrace that beautiful journey of growth.
But how do we respond?

Some individuals reach out to friends, mentors, and therapists. They allow themselves to be supported, much like that child in the park, and are guided towards safety. Others grit their teeth and endeavour to soldier on, determined to navigate alone. Both responses are human and valid, yet neither is easy.

At times, we might feel a bit lost. We may find ourselves flailing or even freezing in moments of struggle. In those tough times, it’s easy to put on a smile, nod along, and stay busy, all while deep down knowing that we’re wandering. It’s okay to acknowledge those feelings; you’re not alone in this journey.

If this sounds like you — if you feel a bit out of place in a job you once loved, or disconnected from a partner, or maybe uncertain about your purpose — please remember this: You are not alone, and it’s okay to feel like this sometimes. You’re simply in the forest between two clearings, which is a meaningful part of your journey.

And there is a way forward.

First, take a moment to name it. Speak it aloud or share it with someone you trust: “I feel lost.” Just by naming it, you’re giving it power. This simple act helps make the invisible visible.

Secondly, let’s take a moment to reorient ourselves. Consider this: Has my environment shifted? Have I experienced any changes myself? Do my skills, values, or aspirations still align with my current situation?

Third, why not consider crafting a small compass? It really doesn’t need to be an elaborate five-year plan. Often, it can be as straightforward as asking yourself: “What do I need this month?” “Who could I reach out to?” “What tiny step can I take to feel a bit more in tune?”
Consider your life stage. A 30-year-old may have the chance to explore new skills or change direction entirely. A 50-year-old might need to renegotiate expectations, prioritise financial stability, or reframe their legacy. Both situations are valid. Both require courage.

In Alice in Wonderland, when Alice finds herself unsure about which direction to take, the Cheshire Cat offers her the wise advice, “That depends a good deal on where you want to get to.” When she confesses that she doesn’t have a strong preference, he gently reassures her, “Then it doesn’t matter which way you go.”
It’s a funny line, but also a profound one.
To move forward, we must care. We must choose to care, even when we are unsure, scared, or the map no longer works.

And here’s the beautiful gift of being lost: it encourages us to reconnect with ourselves. With others. With the wonderful world around us. It fills us with humility, enriches our experiences, and gives us the chance to slow down just enough to reflect not only on “What’s next?” but also on “What truly matters?”

Ultimately, being lost is often more of an invitation to be present than just a problem to solve. It’s a wonderful opportunity to feel the ground beneath our feet, take a moment to look around, hold someone’s hand if they offer it, and simply breathe in the moment.

Sometimes, just sometimes, being lost can lead us to rediscover who we really are. It might not happen in the places we think it will, but instead, in the spaces where we genuinely feel we belong.