How do I get there again?

A friend posted on social media about her love of maps, and it got me thinking.

I also love maps. I always have. When I was younger I had a globe that I adored. It was my favorite piece of decor. There is just something magical about a map—the possibility of travel and adventure right in front of you. I love, love them.

In perfect irony, somewhere in the space between loving/studying maps and following the planned route, I get lost. Apparently, maps don’t love me back. I’m pretty sure no one is as directionally challenged as I am.

Thankfully, I married Brian. He, quite opposite from me, always seems to know where he’s going. Can that be innate? From my viewpoint, it must be. Because he is so good with directions and maps, I often defer to him instead of fighting my own inadequacies. He’s a good match for me.

By far, the hardest directions for me to follow are on the ski slope. This week Brian had a conference in Park City, and I tagged along to ski with him in his free time during the day. Of course, I love looking at the maps. It’s so fun to see all the possible runs we can take to ski down. Every ride up the lift would be spent planning our path.

What could go wrong?

There is a slight problem when I ski with Brian. Although I am the faster skier, he actually follows the directions we just agreed upon—and I don’t.

“Let’s take Another World to Ripsaw, then go on Rhapsody down to the Tombstone lift, ok?”

Yes! It was a great plan and I was 100% on board. I even repeated the path out loud two more times, to make sure we were both on the same page. We got off the lift and started down. As expected, I saw the sign for Another World with a left arrow, and I turned to the left. So far, so good. But then, only about 15 feet away was a new sign that said Silver Spur.

Wait…

I panicked a little, but remembered that Another World had pointed this direction, so I kept skiing.

The sun was shining and there was no wind. It was a perfect bluebird ski day. I was flying. Smooth and rhythmic, I made my way down the mountain. Where was Ripsaw? I never saw any signs I was supposed to see. I kept going.

Something felt off.'

I had gone the wrong way. I just knew it. I stopped on the side of the run and waited. Had Brian even followed me? I pulled out my phone to see if maybe he had called or texted me.

Then I saw him, skiing down and…laughing?

Yep.

He was laughing.

“What happened?” he asked.

Feeling pretty foolish, I admitted to going the wrong way.

“You think?? We said Another World to Ripsaw, then Rhapsody down to the Tombstone lift. I watched you ski straight past everything and take Silver Spur instead!”

There was no anger in his voice. He laughed, and I laughed. We skied down the new, unintentional pathway.

For the next couple of days, we both giggled when we were anywhere near the Tombstone lift. Even with such clear directions, I still couldn’t follow the plan. I think we will chuckle about this for a long time. I may be directionally challenged, but I scored big time in the husband department. He never berates me about this particular weakness. I know it’s frustrating, but he rolls with it.

What’s the lesson here?

Well, I could certainly practice following directions, for one thing. I’m sure I could pay better attention, too…which would probably mean that I need to slow down. But I think the biggest takeaway is that everyone should get a Brian. Not him exactly—but a partner like him. He’s my biggest cheerleader, and even laughs when I do those dumb things over and over again. At the very least, I think he believes me now when I say I didn’t mean to take us down that black diamond run almost 30 years ago! (read about that adventure here)

Seriously. Get yourself a Brian.❤️