The Glens of Antrim

Today I took David to the airport so he could fly to Sheffield to visit his sister for the weekend. Then I took my friend Julie’s son to Queen’s for Q-Con. Ronnie is staying with me for the weekend so he can join 3,000 other young people at a techie nerd-fest (Julie’s phrase). After Ronnie set up google maps on my phone, I headed north to Glenariff Forest Park to hike one of the seven glens of Antrim. This is the top of the glen, with the Irish sea in the distance:

Even with google maps I got lost on the way (I don’t think it handles roundabouts very well). And I had a hard time reading the map of the glen trails, of which there are several that criss cross each other. And I got lost coming home, getting on the M2 going in the wrong direction. The sign telling me what to do was far enough ahead of the two exit ramps that I forgot which ramp to take by the time I got to it (my thoughts may have been wandering a bit).
I am a fan of hokey metaphors so here’s how my glens trip is like my job search. I get lost a lot. I go down dead ends. I lose confidence in my skills (map reading or the ability to do the 25 things listed on the job description). I feel lost most of the time. AND I soldier on. I’d rather be out in the world a bit lost and unnerved than playing it safe. The amount of time I spend at home alone (as opposed to going hiking or flying to Budapest for the weekend, say) has weakened my self confidence. I really must keep pushing myself to do new things so that I’ll believe it when I tell Mr/Ms. Interviewer: "Oh yes, I can do those 25 things, no sweat."
One of several waterfalls on the hike:

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