By Madelyn Tullos, Online Editor-in-Chief
10 and two feels foreign. I’m strapped in against my will. I’m surrounded by buttons I’m supposed to understand. I do not. I glance affectionately at the passenger seat. I miss it. My seat holds too much responsibility. It’s almost crippling. As the number on the speedometer climbs, so does my heart rate. The air conditioner blasts, doing its best to dry my sweaty palms.
When will this nightmare end?
“In 500 feet, your destination is on your right.”
One would think this statement would provide relief. While it is reassuring, it’s more of a consolation prize. Unfortunately in most scenarios, I have reached my destination minutes past my original estimated time of arrival. I made it there in one piece but not without several missed turns, one questionable U-turn, and many tears shed. It’s no wonder I’ve never taken up NASCAR. Ironically enough, however, Disney’s “Cars” has always been a fan favorite of mine. I can even relate to Lightning McQueen on a deep and personal level. He fell asleep and somehow got lost in Radiator Springs. I, too, frequent getting lost on the road. The key difference is that his detour brought him a best friend, a mentor and a happy ending. Mine, on the other hand, brings me anxiety, frustration and a reputation for being a terrible navigator.
It doesn’t seem to matter how prepared I am. The route can be pulled up, the destination clearly pinned and the path highlighted in bright blue. Nine times out of 10 I still find a way to miss a turn. I hesitate or second-guess, sometimes both. I miscalculate 300 feet for 30 and find myself on Oak St. instead of Pine. I take exit 121 instead of 112 and start to question if I need to be diagnosed with dyslexia. I must mention my IQ is not microscopic and yet my skill level seems to insinuate otherwise.
This unfortunate cycle has gone on for quite some time. I started leaving extra early as a precaution for myself finding my own accidental detour. I have come to the conclusion that the problem has never actually been the directions. It’s me. More specifically, I just wasn’t listening. But somewhere along the way, I realized something.
Turn on the audio.
It seemed almost too simple. All this time I had been staring at a screen, trying to interpret what the line was telling me to do. I would look down for what felt like a brief moment and look back up and realize I’d already missed my turn. Meanwhile, a clear, steady voice was available to me, ready to guide me one direction at a time. You really underestimate how comforting the robotic voice is until it reminds you “stay in the left lane” and keeps you from frantically merging lanes when you realize the lane you’re in is for turning only. Clearly I speak from experience.
All I had to do was listen. So if I’ve learned one thing, it’s this: turn on the audio. Because clearly, I was never meant to rely on my own sense of direction. And at this point, the only race I’m qualified for is seeing how many wrong turns I can take before my GPS says, “recalculating” in a disappointed tone.
