The RV in front of me had the word coddiwomple plastered across the back in curly black letters like it was proud of itself. At first, I thought it might be somebody’s last name. “Oh, the Coddiwomples. They probably have matching sweatshirts and a golden doodle named Biscuit.” But then I squinted and muttered, “That can’t be real.”
So naturally, I Googled it at the next stoplight. (Yes, I’m that person. My search history includes things like “Do ducks have teeth?” and “Do squirrels have belly buttons?” It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.)
And here it was:
Coddiwomple (v.): to travel with purpose toward a vague or unknown destination.
Photo by Mark König on Unsplash
I sat there staring at my phone and thought, Oh. That’s me. That’s my whole life in one weird little word.
Because honestly, I’m not the only one. Most of us are coddiwompling whether we admit it or not. The funny thing is, I’ve been doing this my whole life. When I was a kid growing up in the country, my dad had a little driving game. We’d be cruising through endless fields of corn and beans, and when we hit an intersection, instead of just turning, he’d look at me and ask: “Which way do we go to get home?”
Sometimes I got it right. Sometimes I didn’t, and we’d add a good fifteen minutes to the ride. But the point wasn’t getting there faster—it was noticing. Learning how the roads connected. Paying attention to barns and water towers and the way the sun slid across the sky.
What I didn’t realize then was that Dad wasn’t just teaching me directions. He was teaching me how to trust myself when I didn’t know. How to pick a direction and see where it led. How to recognize landmarks that whispered, You’re on the right track.
That’s coddiwompling.
Even now, when my brain feels too full, I’ll get in the car and just drive. Sometimes through the city, sometimes into the country. I’ll turn down roads without thinking too much about it, and then I’ll test myself: can I find my way home without a map? Sometimes I nail it. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I end up circling cul-de-sacs until I’m laughing at myself because clearly this was not the shortcut I imagined but every single time, it’s worth it.
The wandering clears my head. It makes me notice things—a mural on a wall, a little fruit stand, a barn that’s falling in but still standing, stubborn as ever. And it reminds me that even if I take the wrong turn, I can still get home. It might take longer. It might not be pretty. But I’ll get there.
And isn’t that what life feels like most of the time?
We don’t get the map. We just get the next intersection. Sometimes we choose well. Sometimes we don’t. Sometimes we mutter a few choice words and have to backtrack. But movement still matters. Paying attention still matters. The long way can still be the right way.
When I first saw that RV with its curly black letters, I thought it was mocking me. Like, Ha! Look at you, wandering aimlessly. But the more I sat with it, the more I realized it was kind of a blessing in disguise. A benediction, even because coddiwomple doesn’t mean wandering without purpose. It means moving forward even when you don’t know the destination. It means direction matters more than certainty. It means you don’t have to have the whole plan, you just need to get in the car.
Tolkien said it best: “Not all who wander are lost.” Coddiwompling feels like the lived-out version of that—movement with a hint of faith, trusting that the road will teach you something even if you don’t know where it ends.
You might not think of the word “sacred” when you’re stuck in traffic or trying to find your way out of a neighborhood with seventeen cul-de-sacs, but there’s something holy about it. It’s brave to wake up and say, I don’t know exactly where this is going, but I believe in the journey. It’s brave to start. To move. To trust that even when the road feels long and the map is fuzzy, you’ll still get where you’re supposed to be.
So if you’re in a season right now where everything feels unclear, if the road ahead looks foggy and the signs aren’t obvious, let me tell you:
You’re not lost.
You’re just coddiwompling.
And that’s more than enough.
It might take longer than you thought. You might hit a few dead ends. You might roll your eyes at yourself when you realize, Yep, should’ve gone left instead of right. But you’ll still get there.
Because you’ve been practicing this your whole life.
Because you already know how to find the landmarks.
Because sometimes the long way home is exactly the way you were meant to take.
And when you do? I’ll be on my own road, cheering you on, even as the GPS reminds me that the best journeys don’t always follow the fastest route.
So let’s coddiwomple together, friend. Through foggy roads, missed exits, and all the unexpected scenery in between. We may not know exactly where we’re headed, but I promise—we’ll find our way home.
Rachel L. Richard is a small-town farm girl turned suburbanite, a delightfully irreverent optimist, Mrs & Mama, floppy dog ear scratcher, lifelong learner, channel surfer, wanderer, believer, occasional creative, out-of-practice musician, cupcake addict, book devourer, and lover of all people.
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