I was hiking to a mountain lake. Long story short, didn't tell anybody where I was going and needles falling into melting divots look a lot like footprints. It took me 20 minutes of carefully going back over my footsteps in fading light to realize I was off trail, 20 miles from the road, in shorts and a T-shirt, above the snowline, with 70lbs of cameras worth around 10 grand. But, of course, no space blanket, no firestarter, no emergency rations, none of that useful shit.

Had to hike 6 miles down a river to find a bridge, then 12 miles on a dirt road before I found pavement, then another 4 miles before anybody picked me up. Called in sick the next day, then went out to buy a GPS (REI failed to sell me one - talk about shitty salespeople). Got home and my legs were swollen 2" outside my socks like rotting sausages. Went to the ER with acute rhabdomyelosis. The attending said "it was a good thing it was you and not me because if I were in your spot I'd be dead."

TL;DR I feel ya.

There was another time my scirocco threw a wheel over an arroyo 'cuz I was driving like an asshole in Arizona; I was 25 miles from town and decided to overland the loop to save myself a couple hours. But I could see town the entire time, since it was night and there was a moon. I found a skull and spinal column from a deer halfway through that loop, bleached and awesome, like I was gonna be. I took it back and turned it into a lamp.

My life was probably saved those two times by my resolve to do something about my shitty sense of direction. I was partying with friends in Maine one summer at someone's house. Wasn't feelin' it (I was the only one without a girl). So I decided to walk back to the cabin we were staying at. I went 17 miles the wrong way (in sandals) and had to hitch back. Didn't want to do that ever again.