In my defense, I was just the driver. Someone else was supposed to be navigating. And it was dark. Plus, we were all a little flustered after the kerfuffle at the car rental agency over our botched booking.
But we had finally wrangled a van, complete with the requisite car-seat for my infant nephew, and were all safely buckled in and en route from the airport into the city of Edmonton. At least that was the intention.
It’s a long drive from the Edmonton airport into town. I set out in what appeared to be the right direction, with my middle sister riding shotgun watching for directional signs. My youngest sister, her baby, and my mom sat in back. It seemed like we’d been on the road a long time when a sign loomed out of the darkness informing us we were en route to Lethbridge.
We were heading south instead of north.
As I pulled over to regroup, it dawned on both me and my navigator that we had a GPS function on our phones. I had never used my GPS, and wasn’t even sure if it was properly activated. We both attempted to call up our location. When my sister’s GPS sprang to life, I shoved my phone in my pocket and resumed driving under her new and improved guidance.
We made it to Edmonton in one piece, if somewhat frazzled. A few blocks from our hotel, we stopped to pick up a bottle of wine to celebrate our arrival. I waited in the van while my sister ran into the shop, and while I sat there I remembered my phone. I pulled it out to see if the GPS had ever kicked in. It had, in a manner of speaking.
The screen of my phone was one solid grey mass, in the middle of which was a single red dot labelled helpfully “You are here.”
We laughed at the time, but that image stuck with me, and I have often returned to it as a great metaphor for the times I find myself feeling lost or overwhelmed by a decision. Life can be very grey at times–grey as in dark and gloomy, or grey as in fraught with ambiguity. Sometimes both.
For a long time whenever I thought of that failure of a GPS image, I focused on the baffling expanse of grey. Lately, however, it strikes me that the red dot is really the point. On the one hand, knowing “you are here” is of limited value when there is no context to show where exactly “here” is. On the other hand, you are here– you are somewhere— notwithstanding your lack of information about the details. The emphasis, really, is on the “you” part of the equation. You are here, wherever here happens to be, because you are you. The GPS is always taking as its frame of reference the person holding the device. So even when you are utterly and completely lost, even when you are travelling in the wrong direction, you are the reference point.
When the map of my life seems to be a shapeless, directionless expanse of grey, I focus on the red dot. I am here. I know who I am. I know what I value and what I’m good at and what gets me out of bed in the morning. If I focus on that long enough, somehow the right road always appears.