On getting Lost and Other Matters

Went to ghoti and cjwatson's wedding - many congratulations, and a lovely ceremony in a Catholic church reminiscent of that I used to go to when I was young...

Went for a drink with the_alchemist later, in a very unreconstructed pub called the Haymakers on Chesterton High Street, which was dominated by a young lady of considerable density (both physical and, according to all the available signs, mentally) in a pink top, short denim skirt, white plastic belt, and legs that should have had "Steinway" written on them. I prudently decided that the gold silk tie and tan imitation-suede jacket might be a little conspicuous in such surroundings...

Whilst walking back toward town after this entertaining interlude, my fellow drinker described the route back to the bus station, adding "It should be easy enough - depends how good you are at getting lost".

This has since sent my brain a-whirring. It is natural to assume that a sense of direction is something one possesses, and getting lost is a sign of its absence. Perhaps its the other way round - maybe getting lost is a definite talent, and always being on the path you expect is its privative. After all, many of the most interesting and surprising things we find occur when we are lost, and the most interesting people we encounter give off the air of being perpetually lost (or, as of a chap called Dylan (!) I once met, that Earth is just somewhere he droppedinto on his way somewhere more interesting).
One of Garrison Keillor's Lake Wobegon characters complains bitterly that part of his crummy upbringing was being taught to always know excatly where he was, so that "even when the air is charged with magic, I review the route back to the hotel". Maybe he had a point - perhaps the ability to get life-enhancingly lost is an ability to be nurtuired and cherished.
Or perhaps I am just an apologist for my own disorganisation, as usual...