My husband can find his way no matter where he is and whether or not he’s been there before. Meanwhile I get turned around getting in and out of an unfamiliar shower.
Because he’s so good at it, he’s not very understanding. In fact, he says that I’m better at navigating than I give myself credit for but by downplaying my abilities, I create a self-fulfilling prophecy.
This debate came back to me when I went for an early morning hike with my sister. She’s a better navigator than I am but she’d never been where we were going so I couldn’t expect her to get us there. And she knew better than to count on me even though I had been. In my defense, it was only once. Still I thought, how hard could it be? Here’s how hard: I couldn’t find the county road that the trailhead takes off from.
Google Maps was no help. And if Google Almighty doesn’t know every county road on the planet, how can I be expected to?
I drove up and down the highway a few hundred times before we finally found it. What I lack in skill I make up for in persistence. And locating the county road gave me confidence. Maybe my husband was right. Maybe I could do this. It was a lovely feeling I enjoyed right up until I realized I couldn’t find the trailhead that took off from the county road—or at least it did the last time I was there.
Three times I pulled over thinking I’d seen it. Three times I was mistaken. My confidence disappeared like water down the drain. My husband was wrong and I was right. As usual.
We finally decided to seek help the old-fashioned way: We’d ask for directions. We took the county road back to the highway and drove to a diner. The proprietor knew what we were looking for and drew us a map. It took us on a different route than I’d been on the first time but that was okay since I couldn’t find that one anyway.
The map wasn’t great—especially for someone who can’t read maps. But we finally managed to find the trailhead. My confidence returned. Maybe my husband was right. Maybe I could do this.
Lucky for us, the trail was clearly marked—until it wasn’t. We hadn’t walked far when it started to fade and it soon disappeared altogether. I wasn’t born with an internal compass so I had no inkling of where to go next. Turns out my husband was wrong and I was right. Again.
We finally chose a direction using my sister’s map skills and my usual technique for navigating—following whomever I’m with.
Neither of us were feeling confident though so we were relieved when we saw four horseback riders coming our way. When we asked them if they could point us toward our goal they all talked at once and pointed in different directions. This was as helpful as you’d think it would be.
We decided to follow the advice of the most confident-sounding rider. And we didn’t walk much farther when there it was—the site we’d been seeking since we set out early that morning. Unfortunately we couldn’t stay long because it was starting to get dark.
Not really. But it was almost lunchtime, which is equally dire.
Was it worth it? It was pretty great. But I’m not going to encourage you to go there because you might ask me for directions.
Before we headed back, my sister took my photo and later while we were sitting at the diner she sent it to my husband. He recognized the location immediately and texted her back, “I told her she doesn’t give herself enough credit.” I’ll let him think that. Sometimes I get tired of being right.
Dorothy Rosby is the author of ’Tis the Season to Feel Inadequate; Holidays, Special Occasions and Other Times Our Celebrations Get Out of Hand and other books. Contact her at www.dorothyrosby.com/contact.