A few years ago, my daughter and I took a trip to Texas. We
relied heavily on a GPS to get us there and it steered us quite handily through
Scranton, PA, Nashville, TN and on across the Mississippi River. However, when
we entered the state of Texas, our GPS – let’s call her English Emily – started
to become a little confused. Texas has roads that started out as farm-to-market
roads, or FM routes. English Emily completely misunderstood and started telling
us to follow “Federated States of Micronesia” routes to get to our destination.
We had a good laugh, and wondered how English Emily could get it so wrong.
Right now, however, I can sympathize with English Emily. My
internal compass is broken. When I look at a map and see where I am, it all
makes sense. But when I try on my own to figure out how I’m situated, it’s a
muddle. And I never really had this problem, even when we lived in the Southern
Hemisphere. In Maine, I knew right where I was. I could tell by looking at the
lake which way the wind was blowing, and didn’t need to look at the sun to calculate
which way was north.
Part of the issue is a difference in communicating
directions. In Maine, you go right or left, up or down and even though
foreigners (from Massachusetts and such) get confused, we know that down means whichever
direction you took. If you say you went down to Bangor, it was understood that
you went west to get there. In fact, you go down
to get most anywhere in Maine. But I’m learning that Oklahomans are much more
precise.
I was at a basketball game, at half time. I heard some
people in front of us talking about how to get someplace. The gentleman told
his friend, you go right on such and such route. His wife shook her head and
said matter-of-factly, “South.” And it was all cleared up. The points of the
compass seem to be taught in kindergarten or even installed at birth, like a
genetic GPS. People at our church talk about sitting on the south or north side
of the sanctuary. Some acquaintances were talking about their lovely neighbor
to the north. A friend asked which side of Route 48 we live on, and I had to
stop and think, okay, is it right or left? Rather than appear stupid, I told her the name
of the street, and she immediately said, “Oh, east.” How did she know that?
We drove to see family in Texas at Thanksgiving, and we went
the complete opposite direction than I thought we would. “Oh,” I exclaimed.
“This is south?” My husband showed great forbearance and didn’t sigh. My son
tried to help. “Just look at the sun to figure out where you are.” For me there’s
a whole equation that has to be figured, like algebra – which is inscrutable –
before I know where I am. I start with the basics - the sun rises in the east,
the sun is on my left, it’s still before noon,
that means we’re going south. However, if there’s a cloud cover I’m lost.
I really don’t why I feel so off balance. Moving is very
stressful, and although I don’t feel particularly stressed I guess it’s taking
me awhile to get my bearings. Gradually my place here in the mid-west is coming
clear and my compass is swinging true. I doubt I’ll ever develop that innate
“knowing” that Oklahomans have. But, especially now at the end of the year,
when folks naturally stop, look back, look forward and set goals, I have a
plan. In the Bible, the Apostle Paul advised, “Press on toward the goal…” and
I’m going to press on. If you ask me in what direction that is, I can
unequivocally answer…ahead.
