If you think my moral compass is bad, you should try driving with me.

If you’re familiar with my writing, you know that I’m prone to sharp turns, U-ey’s and taking the unbeaten path to get where I’m going. I’m even worse behind the wheel. If there were a Bad Sense of Direction Hall of Fame, I’d be nominated as a charter member. Unfortunately, I’d never be inducted, since I’d get lost on the way to the ceremony.

Yesterday I went to a day-after party to celebrate the marriage of my friends Marty and Karen. Marty joked that it wouldn’t be like the nuclear holocaust movie “The Day After.” I had no fear that the couple’s day would be a smashing success, but to be honest, I was more than a little afraid it would be a disaster for me.

The party presented a lot of unknowns. Though we’d hit it off fantastically, I’d only met the bride twice. I wasn’t even sure she’d remember me. I considered the groom one of my closest friends, yet I hadn’t seen him in at least a year. I hoped he knew how much I still cherished our friendship. Even though I’d spent many a crazy night with Marty’s hometown friends, I was terrified that after more than seven years, we’d sit around talking awkwardly about the weather. It’s unfortunate that we lose touch with our past to make room for our present.

“We’re going to have to get rid of a lot of past to make room for this present.”

The most frightening prospect of all was that the party was in the deep, mysterious catacombs of suburban Massachusetts. For someone who can’t get from his house to his mailbox without difficulty, navigating the greater Boston area is like taking the SATs.

For those who’ve never driven in Massachusetts, here’s the driving scene breakdown. Let’s stop right there – the breakdown lane. On second thought, let’s not stop there because this is a state that allows people to legally drive in the breakdown lane. Think it’s a coincidence that Route 128 features a section known as Dead Man’s Curve?

What’s scarier than death? How about a street layout that looks like the hair in your drain got into a fight with the wires behind your entertainment center? To learn how it all got started, here’s some stuff I fabricated completely a brief history of the Massachusetts road system.

In April 1775, Paul Revere crossed the Charles River before embarking on his famous Midnight Ride from Charlestown to Lexington, plus an attempt to continue on to Concord. Legend tells of lanterns that were lit (“one if by land, two if by sea”) to signal British attack strategy. If you look at the zigzagging map of the Midnight Ride, it’s obvious two things were definitely lit – Revere and his horse.

“Hold my mane back, I think I’m gonna hurl…”

However, Revere became such a hero that the Publick Workes department dispatched men in tri-corner construction helmets to preserve his memory by paving over the path. Once the tar was dry, they slapped on some dotted white lines and it was up to another famous Bostonian to name these roads. Who? The obvious choice was Benjamin Franklin, but alas, he spent the summer of 1775 fashioning the first iPod out of wooden teeth and catgut. So they enlisted Samuel Adams.

Unfortunately, Adams was extremely busy with his career as the first multi-sport professional athlete (Brewer and Patriot), and he was still a little hung over from all the Summer Ale he drank with Revere. As a result, all 10,000 roads were named some derivation of Boylston, Commonwealth or Chestnut, with clarifiers like “Street” or “Avenue” selected at random from Ye Olde Pinge Ponge Ball Machine^TM. For good measure, they made them all one-way streets.

“Hic…that should do it. Since we’re going by sea, give me two more ales.”

With all one-way streets, how does one turn? Enter…The Rotary. And when you do, enter at 80 miles per hour, because these roundabouts are patrolled 24/7 by Massachusetts natives who whirl around like Shriners at a parade, steering with one hand and flipping you off with the other. In all fairness, you can’t blame Revere and Adams for the rotaries. However drunk they were, no human is that devious. Massachusetts rotaries were created by the same aliens that made the crop circles.

Let’s get back to my trip. Rather than just confusing myself, I had help. The online map site I used is not legally responsible for getting me lost (check the disclaimer), but it certainly had a great sense of humor. I was instructed to follow the first road off the highway for 0.1 miles, instead of the actual 10 miles. Fortunately, I had my backup plan in place, which was to call my friend Noah at the party on his cell phone. Unfortunately, he’s about as good with his new cell as I am with a map, so my calls were piling up as his pocket vibrated, unnoticed.

I was becoming increasingly agitated and paranoid. Maybe Noah’s cell wasn’t on vibrate. Maybe he was playing my voicemails on speakerphone as my old acquaintances gathered to mock me in a circle at the house! A circle like these God-forsaken rotaries, forever spinning, spinning, sending me back around, as if warning me not to go to the party at all. I may have been dizzy, but I swear I saw a Minotaur in my rearview mirror.

That’s when I spotted [cue angels singing] the sign – a blinking green light. I didn’t even know there was such a thing, and at first I thought it was some sick navigational joke. Lo and behold, the correct path off the last roundabout magically appeared and the final five directions fell into place easily, as if a friendly tour guide had pointed the way.

My worries about the party were for naught.

Four-naught.

I laughed with Noah and his wife Robbin as we checked the voicemail messages. After Sean and Rob shared a tale about hiking Mount Kiliminjaro, Route 9 didn’t seem so perilous. Some of my best conversations ended up being about the weather after all, if only because Matt writes about it for a living now. Past and present met as all the old faces lit up like that blinking green light. I even glimpsed the future, in the eyes of Brendan’s baby, and on the pages of the new couple’s guest book.

These names may not mean anything to you, but each one was special to me somewhere along the desultory path I’ve taken. I can’t tell you how many times I felt lost in life, only to be guided home by Marty. As the night wound down, my college compadre came to the rescue one more time, breaking out the world’s biggest map of Boston and scrawling some directions on a piece of paper for me. Comforted, I didn’t even have to look at them once.

Some people are satisfied with one-way streets. I guess I just need to turn back a lot. Sometimes I’m accused of living in the past because of it. As a new member of the “Rotary Club,” I see it a different way. We all pursue our own unique futures, taking a different exit off that circle of life. Once in while, it’s good to loop back for a few laps with old friends. They will make sure you find your way home.