The Beauty of the Map
by Pat Beurteaux
I have been described as having no sense of direction. This is one way of looking at it. Personally, I think it’s not that I have no sense of direction; rather that I have a good sense of indirection. If I come to an intersection, I am sure to turn the wrong way.
Now, I know almost immediately, at gut level, that this is probably so, but, ever the optimist, I give myself the benefit of the doubt and travel for some time until all doubt is erased and I retrace my steps — or an entire freeway — or an entire mega shopping mall — whatever.
Every time I do this, I picture the exasperated expression on my daughter's face. She appears to have an innate sense of perfect direction. I’m sure she has severe doubts about her parentage. How could she be related to this dolt? Who knows how the gene game works? I am descended from pioneer stock. Surely those folks had a good sense of where they were going. Mind you, they didn’t have traffic to confuse them.
On the plus side, I get to explore places I never would have known existed. Neighbourhoods of all kinds, shopping plazas (for turning around after stopping for a cup of tea and some pie — merely a courtesy since I have used their asphalt after all), towns, villages, country roads, deserted tracks, construction sites, national and provincial parks — you name it, I’ve found it.
The scenery is well worth the detour. And the people you meet! So many kindly souls who also have no idea about my intended destination but who battle through and provide totally incorrect directions that enrich the experience.
The theatre of direction-giving is not a lost art, I’m pleased to report. The balletic hand movements and the gentle turning of the body have retained essentially the same classical style throughout the years. It’s a kind of folk art, and I am so enthralled by the performance that I hardly ever remember the instructions anyway. I know by the look on their faces whether they are equally clueless. I can’t describe how I know. It’s a gift.
And this is why I have a fine collection of maps. Generally I keep them in my truck but they do get borrowed. There’s an element of the mystic in the fact that the one that’s missing is The One.
My sense of indirection has played a significant role in other parts of my life, too. But what I would have missed without it. (Not that a map wouldn’t have come in handy.)
Born and raised in a small Ontario town that became a large bedroom community post-war, Pat Beurteaux began her career as a primary school teacher, a career that permitted her to travel to Australia as a `working holidayer' in the mid-60s. At that time any British Commonwealth citizen could travel and work in any other Commonwealth country under certain conditions; a good deal of fun was had by all.
You may reach Pat by emailing zenimation@sympatico.ca
