I was so sure of myself. Thought I knew it all, every turn, every road to be taken.

And then I ended up wondering where it had all gone wrong, wondering if I would find my way back.

Yep...I was lost.

On Tuesday, I headed to Eminence to conduct a series of interviews for a story I'm working on for the May issue.

Now, being someone who grew up around roads named things like "800 West" and "350 South," I was quite certain I knew where I was going - no weird street signs with eight intersecting roads was going to fool me. I knew Eminence was a small town just a little north of Martinsville. I just knew it.

Naturally, I printed out some Mapquest directions, you know, just in case I had to look at them.

But I was completely convinced I wouldn't need to even glance at the map.

I'm the same guy who drove 13 straight hours to Florida in college without even looking at the map; I am my father's son, as well, and to dear old dad, a map is nothing more than an extra napkin in the glove compartment.

Yet all my directional skills couldn't prevent me from the pride swallowing siege of calling up my man Dave McConnell and begging for help.

"Hey," The Mind answered.

"Help, dude," I said humbly. "I'm lost."

The words felt like I'd swallowed razor blades - they cut me to the core. My dad would be embarrassed (if I ever told him, which I won't).

Of course, Dave was a class act, got better directions, called me back and I arrived at my destination.

And after the interviews were over, one of the people I'd been talking to kindly gave me directions to the I-70, which was only five miles away the entire time.

Needless to say, I didn't come back the way I came.