For the first time in a long time, I had plans on a Saturday night: a wedding at an upscale venue, downtown. I invested in a new pair of shoes. Real, grown-up shoes, the kind some professional women wear every day (but which, thankfully, aren’t required in a church office). I polished my wear-to-a-wedding jewelry. I shaved and plucked and moisturized. I pulled a nice purse out of its box, high up in my closet. I put on perfume and poured myself into a dress that requires me to suck in and sit up straight. Then I got in my car and went.

When I got there I found the garage for the venue was closed. Drivers around me got annoyed as I paused to take in my surroundings, so I circled the block. Other garages seemed intended for other events. Crap. Did I bring cash to pay for parking? Street parking was non-existent. I circled the block again. I looked for other wedding guests, to see where they were walking from, but saw no one. Once more around the block. At this point I was completely overwhelmed, in addition to being late, so I got back on the interstate and drove the 30 minutes home.

I put my new shoes, old purse, and pretty Leah back in their boxes, then worked hard not to beat myself up. I bring lots of skills to the table, but navigation isn’t one of them. My ex-husband was my wingman and navigator, gifted with a sixth sense for negotiating new terrain. I held the map when we traveled, but handed it over willingly and never had to give it a second thought.

I am whole just as I am. I am fine as a single person. I am able to navigate the must-do parts of life on my own. But last night was a reminder of how different life is without a partner whose qualities complement mine, allowing me to experience things I would otherwise miss. Today that leaves me a little sad.