Let me tell you a story. It’s a story about a midnight adventure and the lessons learned when things don’t quite go as planned.
In November 2019, just before the world went into lockdown, I was invited to Stockholm to train therapists for a few days. We decided to turn it into a little family trip, so my husband and our two daughters joined me after my second day of teaching. I booked us a charming little bungalow I found on Airbnb—a tiny cabin right on the water’s edge, away from the city centre but accessible by taxi—or so I thought.
My family’s flight was landing late at night, so after a long day, I headed to our bungalow alone to settle in. The Uber driver dropped me off at what looked like a small residential street, with only a few houses around and a dead end ahead. Confused, I double-checked the address and asked the driver if he was sure, but he said it was the only road matching the address. So, there I was, standing in heels, with my laptop bag on one shoulder, pulling my trolley behind me, staring down a road that ended in a cliff.
I spotted a local father with his child leaving one of the houses and approached him to ask for directions. He looked puzzled, then kindly called his friend from the house he had just left. After some back-and-forth, they pieced together that I needed to head to a parallel road. But here’s the twist: the parallel road led only to the entrance of a forest. According to them, the bungalow was about 500 meters (!) down a trail within the forest.
Imagine this: me, alone, in a foreign country, carrying a laptop bag in one hand, pulling a suitcase with the other, and venturing down a dark, silent forest trail, led only by the faint glow of my phone flashlight. I asked if they were sure, but they nodded, and seeing their young children clinging to their legs, I figured they were trustworthy. So, with my heart pounding, I made my way down the dark road to find the forest entrance.
There was no lighting, just an open path leading into the trees. I took a deep breath, gathered my nerves, and turned on my phone flashlight, praying the battery would last. With my laptop bag in my left hand and my suitcase and phone (using the flashlight) in my right, I stepped onto the gravel, seeing only a few steps ahead at a time.
Every crackling leaf and distant sound had my nerves on edge. I kept thinking, Is this safe? What if I get attacked here? What animals even live in Sweden? Will my phone battery make it? What was I thinking, entering a forest at night?
To keep myself calm, I used every tool I’ve ever taught as a therapist: breathing, grounding, self-talk, focusing on one step at a time—metaphorically and literally, as I could only see two steps ahead in the dark. After what felt like an eternity, I saw a faint light and finally reached the little bungalow by the water’s edge. The keys were exactly where the instructions said they would be, and I slipped inside, relieved and amazed I’d made it.
First things first—I plugged in my phone to charge, then texted my husband:
1) it was a nightmare to find the place,
2) make sure you have a full battery, and
3) gave him the forest entrance location with clear instructions to follow the path.
But if you think my adventure ended there, oh, you’d be wrong.
Around midnight, my husband and daughters reached the forest entrance, and I could see their location on “Find My” on my phone. He called, sounding both puzzled and doubtful, asking if I was sure this was the way. I reassured him, telling him to turn on his flashlight, grab the girls’ hands, and follow the path. He held the younger’s hand and a trolley in his right hand and the other trolley and the phone in the other. We kept the calls short to save battery, but we stayed connected, exchanging little reassurances, nervous laughter, and small complaints in the background about how long it felt to walk on this pitch-dark trail.
But then, things took an unexpected turn.
Time seemed to stretch as they kept walking. Eventually, my husband called again, frustration and worry edging into his voice. He said it felt like they’d been walking way more than 500 meters; they were deep in the forest, and I could hear our girls in the background, tired. I looked again at the “Find My” map, and my heart dropped—they were deep in the forest, nowhere near the bungalow. I asked him how he’d gotten there, but he said, “I followed the path as you said.” By now, his “Find My” map had also refreshed itself, and he could see how far he was from the bungalow.
I decided to go outside with the brighter flashlight from the bungalow, waving it as high as I could, hoping he’d spot it from the top of the hill he was on. Finally, he did, and he started to “cut through” the forest to reach me, holding the girls’ hands and trolleys as they scrambled down the hillside, with a few bumps and scratches met with tired complaints followed by relieved laughter. Finally, after what felt like hours, I saw a little light bobbing through the trees, coming closer, and the girls’ amused laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation.
By the time we reached the cabin, it was nearly 1 AM, and we were buzzing with adrenaline, sharing our versions of the wild night’s journey.
It was only the next day, in daylight, that I discovered the source of the confusion: At the forest entrance, the trail split in two directions we hadn’t seen in the dark. I’d held my light on the right and unknowingly followed the right path. My husband, holding his light on the left, had naturally taken the left path. We both thought we were following the same instructions, but our perspectives (and very limited vision) had led us in two completely different directions.
So here’s the lesson in it all:
Even if two people follow the same instructions, their paths—and outcomes—might look completely different.
Your path may feel so clear to you that you’re blind to the other possibilities someone else might face.
And perhaps most importantly, always double-check directions when heading somewhere new—especially at night!
When things go wrong, they often become the best stories. What seemed like a nightmare turned into an unforgettable experience, one that brought our family closer. Life’s challenges, when looked at through a different lens, can become stories worth sharing and laughing about later.
In the end, this midnight adventure turned a near-disaster into a memory we’ll never forget. And if nothing else, it makes for a great story to tell.
Comments