A few years ago while I was driving through Portland for a meeting, I missed my exit from the freeway and swung off at the next one to turn around and get back on track.  Pulling up to the stop sign before the turn back onto the freeway, I noticed the street signs.  I was at a moment of weirdness between Division and Powell.

As I sat there idling in my orange rented Kia Soul I was enveloped in a nuance,  a subtle puzzle wanting to be a discovery, so intriguing that I pulled over and parked to ponder it.  And then it came to me.

Nearly 50 years ago, once a week my Dad would drive me into Portland for my flute lessons at Sherman Clay & Co. and after my lessons we would stop by his work place  between Division and Powell for coffee on the way home. Just a cool little memory triggered by a missed freeway exit, a something buried beneath all the years of stuff I needed to remember and the thousand miles away I ended up.

Be open to noticing the crossroads you come across, the Division and Powells. Sometimes they direct you back to where you came from before you journey back onto the freeway.