The inventor of the compass got lost constantly.
Not occasionally.
Professionally.
Entire afternoons disappeared this way.
One Tuesday he became lost while walking toward his own house.
The house was visible the entire time.
This did not help.
After several years of accidental exploration, he decided something had to change.
He began studying maps.
The maps got lost too.
He studied the stars.
The stars appeared unwilling to participate.
Eventually, while repairing a shirt, he dropped a sewing needle into a bowl of water.
The needle drifted slowly in one direction.
He stared at it.
The needle stared back.
Several minutes passed.
History was quietly rearranging itself.
The inventor immediately announced that he had discovered a revolutionary navigation device.
This was technically true.
It was also technically an accident.
The first compass was small.
Simple.
Easy to carry.
Most importantly, it had a better sense of direction than its owner.
Word spread quickly.
Travelers loved it.
Explorers praised it.
Sailors trusted it.
The inventor continued getting lost.
Not because the compass failed.
Because he frequently forgot where he had put it.
Still, he considered the project a success.
Over time, the little needle helped people cross oceans, find distant lands, and avoid walking in circles for three consecutive days.
Which, according to the inventor, was already a remarkable improvement.
After all, every great adventure begins with getting lost.
The smart ones simply bring a needle the second time.
Livora Gracely 
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