Blue Dot

I might be a follower. At least in the physical sense.

I have discovered this self awareness: the extent to which I’m directionally challenged. I always assumed I was, but it didn’t really matter because I always had my marital compass nearby.

I was even known to call him. “Um, I’m here. Get me home.”

So when I am left to my own devices, faced with a Choose Your Own Adventure, I sort of wander in a perpetual rectangle.

Today, I set out to explore my city, to broaden my horizons, to applaud my independence, to find my way in the big city. I pictured sidewalk cafes and bookstores and lovely findings of the most charming variety.

Yeah, no dice. I’m pretty much following the blue dot on Google maps in that perpetual rectangle I mentioned.

I had lunch at Subway, and now I’m sitting, writing and reading at Starbucks. Well done, T. Way to branch out.

Google Maps says the bookstore I want is roughly 48 minutes by foot. And my parking spot is roughly 28 minutes the other way. But I intuitively turn the opposite way than the blue dot wants me to go, so really, it’s just best for me to sit here in this Starbucks and settle myself. Corner tables have no wrong direction.

I like a journey, not a destination. And it’s a darn good thing, since today seems to have none.

Except I did find a new Starbucks. And I found my way downtown. And I spotted the Cherry Blossom Festival, and – let me say, since it’s 144 degrees outside today – those little Japanese women know what they’re doing as they carry shade under their parasols everywhere they go.

It’s a tricky thing to delight in a day to myself and to simultaneously long for someone to show me where to be.

I’m trying to let that be a sentence and not a metaphor.