“I’m sorry, Trudy, I’m not a very good topographer,” she says so innocently, her signature smile framed perfectly by her manicured, dusty blonde hair, lighting up her bright, happy face, with a slight lift to her alto voice. It tells me how happy she is in this moment. It’s a simple statement coming from my guide for the day. Hmmm, is this the time to tell her that when I read maps, in my head I am always going north and that I was relying on her to be my navigator!?
It’s all too true. Back in the day, my brother, while driving my sister and me to see old family friends, handed me the map and told me to navigate. I warned him of my predisposition to always be going north, and he didn’t believe me until, sure enough, he had to turn the car around. Shock, bewilderment–but no longer disbelief–filled his eyes when he snatched the map from my hands. The word got around because I was never asked to read a map again in my family.
But here I am once again reading a map. A panic begins to settle inside of me, that feeling of being put on the spot unprepared. But there she stands, smiling so innocently with childlike wonder in her eyes, looking for more discoveries to be found on our walk…