The Missed Turn (and Why My GPS Is Better at Change Than I Am)
- Aurora Center for Psychology and Wellbeing
- Jun 3
- 3 min read
I was driving somewhere familiar when I missed a turn. Not dramatically.
I didn't end up in another state. I wasn't suddenly heading toward Canada. I simply missed the exit I was supposed to take and added a few extra minutes to my trip.
Objectively, it was a very small problem.
Subjectively, my brain reacted as if I had just compromised a carefully coordinated international operation.
"Oh no." Followed almost immediately by: "Now I'm late."
And then: "Why wasn't I paying attention?"
It's impressive how quickly the mind can turn a minor inconvenience into a personal failure.
Meanwhile, my GPS remained remarkably calm. No judgment. No disappointment.
No passive-aggressive sigh. Just: "Recalculating."
I remember thinking that if GPS systems were designed by humans, many of them would sound very different.
"You missed the turn." Pause. "Again." Longer pause. "Interesting choice."
Fortunately, GPS systems are much wiser than that. They don't spend time debating whose fault it was. They don't insist on returning to the missed exit to prove a point.
They simply assess the new reality and figure out what comes next.
The Difference Between an Event and a Story
Missing the turn wasn't the problem. The problem (if there was one at all) was the story that immediately attached itself to the event.
Because events happen. Stories happen too.
But they are not the same thing.
The event was: "I missed the exit."
The story was: "I wasn't paying attention." "This always happens." "I'm terrible with directions."
The mind is extraordinarily efficient at creating meaning, often before we have even noticed it's happening.
And usually, the first story it offers isn't particularly generous.
The Magic of Recalculating
One of the concepts I often talk about in therapy is cognitive reappraisal. The name sounds technical, but the idea is simple.
It means looking at the same situation from a different perspective. Not denying reality.
Not pretending everything is wonderful. Just widening the frame enough to allow another interpretation.
In this case: "I missed the exit." could become: "I missed the exit because I was thinking about six other things."
Or: "This is mildly annoying, but not actually a crisis."
Or even: "Apparently today's adventure includes seeing a part of town I wasn't planning to visit."
The situation remains unchanged.
The experience of it changes.
Why Adapting to Change Feels Hard
What struck me later was how often we treat life transitions differently than GPS systems do. Many of us think adapting to change should feel natural, but in reality it often requires letting go of the route we expected to take.
A relationship ends. A job changes. A plan falls apart. Something doesn't go the way we expected.
And instead of recalculating, we often spend a lot of time standing emotionally on the side of the road staring at the missed exit.
We replay it. Analyze it. Argue with it. Wonder what would have happened if we had turned sooner, later, differently, better.
Meanwhile, life has already moved forward. The road is still there.
The destination may even still be reachable. But we're busy negotiating with a version of events that no longer exists.
What If We Recalculated?
This doesn't mean we shouldn't learn from mistakes. Sometimes we absolutely should.
But there is a difference between learning and lingering.
GPS systems don't ignore missed turns. They simply don't become emotionally attached to them. They adapt. They update. They move on.
There is something surprisingly compassionate about that.
No judgment. No shame. No dramatic conclusions about character.
Just: "Okay. This is where we are now."
A Slightly Different Question
When something doesn't go according to plan, many of us ask: "How did this happen?" Which can be useful.
But sometimes a better question is: "Given where I am now, what's next?"
One question keeps us facing backward. The other helps us move forward.
By the time I reached my destination, I had almost forgotten about the missed turn.
The GPS certainly had. It had recalculated, adjusted, and continued on its way without the slightest concern for what could have been.
I have been thinking ever since that there may be wisdom in that.
Not in getting lost.
But in how we respond when we do.
Because change often looks less like finding the perfect road and more like discovering that there are many ways to arrive.
And sometimes the healthiest thing we can do is stop arguing with the missed turn and start recalculating.
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