Sometimes my intended destination has been.

Between my sense of direction and the amount of travel I've done, I used to think it was a miracle I managed to find my way back home all the time. Then I realized I actually live in London and I'm so confused I've bought three houses on ... um, not only the wrong land mass, but the wrong kind of land mass.

I once took antidepressants. Wellbutrin, to be specific. I completely lost my sense of direction. I couldn't pull into a gas station and remember which way I was going when I finished refueling. It actually improved my ability to find my way, because I had to consciously remember landmarks and read maps for every single trip. My shrink informed me that there was no way an antidepressant can do that. Wellbutrin is great stuff, by the way. If I ever go back to better living through chemistry, I'll ask for it by name.