I am directionally challenged. I’ve mentioned this before,  and I find it quite inconvenient. I really need one of those big red arrows over my head at all times that says, “You Are Here.” I can follow Google Map directions … most of the time. I can even figure out which way is north if I can actually see the sun.

But I can’t make it feel like north.

Judging directions by the sun or the stars is just information to me. You know, like two plus two equals four. Or one three-ounce brownie equals two pounds of weight gain. That kind of thing. Knowledge  just isn’t the same as knowing.

So, I discovered this most interesting thing about myself recently. Once I figure out where North is, I make a mental calculation, almost unconciosly. Instead of calibrating everything from North. I use that compass point to find West.

Because that is where my parents live.

West of town when I was growing up. West of my grown-up house the past thirty-six years. I can’t actually see their house, of course. But I picture it. The gravel road winding through the fields. The bridge below the house. The sunset every night over Hopewell hill.

I see the farm in my mind, and suddenly the world comes right. North becomes true, and I know exactly where I am.