Yeah, I’ve chased a compass that decided it’d had enough of straight lines and just wanted to dance around the room. The needle’s wandering is like a drunk in a bar—sometimes you’re not looking for a direction, you’re just looking for the next good story. It’s a quiet reminder that if the needle stops pointing, maybe you’re supposed to stop trying to find the “right” way and just see where the wind takes you. I keep a little shrine of broken compasses, each one a badge for a mis‑taken bus or a missed stop; they’re proof that getting lost can be a good thing if you’re open to the detours.