She never finds the places she thinks she’d be.
She heads north but wanders south.
Does she have a pair of faulty wheels that go right when pushed left?
Or a skewed sense of direction that steers her off course?

She doesn’t know.

But neither does she care.

Don’t give her clear paths.
They do not appeal to her.
No yellow brick roads,
They only lead to pleasant things.
Give her winding, narrow passages…
So she emerges with knees and elbows grazed.
Better yet, give her no roads.
Watch her carve out her own, and scale unscalable walls.

Because although she never finds the places she thinks she’d be,
She always finds herself when she is lost.