Some people seem to be born with a kind of inner navigation chip. Just like homing pigeons. They always seem to know where they’re going and can find their way back and forth with ease. New directions never daunt them. Plop these savvy adventurers in the middle of a freeway grid and they simply navigate seamlessly around and through it and get where they’re going to without nary a ruffled feather.
I’m not one of those birds. In fact, you can easily say I’m a total chicken when it comes to facing one of my worst fears: Getting Lost. The problem is I have zero sense of direction. North, south, east, west? Gimme a break. I only do “left” and “right” and landmarks. Heaven forbid that a store is shut down or a familiar gas station is now a parking lot. I’m lost. Compounded with my other fear of navigating insane freeways that merge and submerge and zig and zag traffic at high speeds enough to make my already silver-ish hair go grey—well you get the picture. I hate driving OUT THERE. Yes, I originated in Los Angeles and somehow survived the madness of maneuvering through La-La Land and that “are-you-kidding-me?” log-jam of four-wheel madness. I did it then. But I was younger and stupider to the ways of the world. That world was all I knew. But time and life-changes (living in the safe cocoon of Pacific Grove on the Monterey Peninsula) and new perspectives began to impact my reality and I succumbed to my present driving fears.
I would only drive highways. I’d arrive at my destination on time but no one knew that I’d started out oh, maybe an hour or two ahead of whenever I was supposed to be where I was expected. No one was the wiser—except my close friends and family who always prodded me with the question, “Cara, you’re being a wimp. Why don’t you get yourself a GPS?” It seemed like one more technical gadget that I would have to deal with that was smarter than me and I’d be even more lost than ever. So it was that I did this circuitous driving dance in the Sacramento area and more recently in San Diego, where Pete and I recently moved.
Then my dear, 93-year-old father took pity on me as I faced a whole new world of strange freeways and directions beckoning the most beautiful places I was too afraid to discover on my own. I couldn’t always depend on Pete or anyone else to get me everywhere I needed to go (a habit I was getting too used to doing and seriously hated.) His job is super demanding and I’m on my own a great deal of the time. I knew that Fate or Karma or whatever had plopped me wayyyy out of my comfort zone. And I didn’t, for the life of me, know how to find my way back home. WTF!!!!!
What Dad did was gift me with a GPS. It arrived in an innocent-looking small box that belied the magic it contained. I seriously had no idea of how that little gadget would impact my life. After my daughter-in-law, Fabiane, showed me how it worked and drove me as we followed the mellifluous GPS voice—that of a patient and gentle woman without an attitude—I began to feel my traffic terror slowly subside. The little toy-like car on the GPS map replicating my own car made me feel like I was part of a benign video game rather than actually maneuvering in the middle of the San Diego testosterone-driven roar of zooming cars. Fabiane wisely advised me to not let the speeding cars intimidate me. And for me to not keep checking my rear-view mirror. “Just stay in the slow lane and let them pass you!”
At the end of that first virgin GPS run—in the dark on a strange freeway far from my home—I waved goodbye to my little family who was heading back to L.A. after a day in Lego Land. They all made me promise to call them when I got home. And now I was truly on my own. “Okay, GPS Fabulous Lady, Angel of The Road, Great Goddess of Manuevering: PULEEEZE DON’T GET ME LOST!!!!”
And you know what? I didn’t get lost. My GPS showed up big time and never once made me feel stupid or scared, but rather made sure I stayed in the lane I was meant to stay in and to make sure I got the point she repeated it at a gentle, but repetitive cadence that was ever so comforting. “Stay in the left lane. You will want to stay in the left lane…” She would alert me that at so many miles I would be making an exit, preparing me in time for what I should expect next. And while she was saying what she was saying, the little map was mirroring every nuance, every turn, every lane change. I could see and hear where I was heading. I wasn’t bewildered. I wasn’t terrified. I was driving back home.
In time I began to think of my GPS as a Guardian Angel. The thing is it’s designed to de-stupidize you. Seriously. Miss an exit like I did? She never once called me a jerk or an a-hole. Just calmly said, “Recalculating…” and she guided me right back to where I needed to go.
I began to think out loud as I followed her navigational expertise, “This is AMAZING. I can’t fail. I can’t get lost.” Because no matter how stymied I was by my directional challenges and driving skills or lack thereof, my GPS Guardian Angel seemingly ignored my ignoramus-ness and kindly recalculated me back on track. All stupid mistakes were magically transformed into destinations that ultimately offered solutions to get me to where I wanted to go. I could space out all over the damned place and she would still, ever-so-serenely recalculate me homeward. This was a miracle.
It got me to mulling over the thought that maybe we’re over-complicating everything in our lives. I mean, what if we just trusted that no matter how far off-base we are in our thinking or doing, there is a Higher Power there to guide us back to ourselves, to a better place, to a safer haven—if we simply trusted that this is so? We wouldn’t have to beat ourselves up because no matter what we did, our paths were always readjusted, recalculated. All roads would not only lead to Rome, but to Home. You aetheists might by now have pushed the “delete” button, but bare me out with this. Think how comforting it is to believe that there really is a Benevolent Being above and deep within each of our souls—(G-d or Jesus or Mohammad or Buddha or Abraham or Moses or The Great Spirit) that is always there to protect our travels and to never undermine our attempts to help us find our way. This Universal Life Force is non-judgmental, wise, accepting, and will instantly recalculate our missteps no matter how far we fall or fail—or happen to take what we consider to be the wrong exit. I know, that’s a lot of heavy-duty thinking prompted by a little GPS.
But for me who has white-knuckled so much of my life there is something profoundly reassuring to believe that I’m not alone in this madness. And though I’m not a Christian, I love the concept of Carrie Underwood’s hit song, “Jesus Take the Wheel.” At least while I’m attempting to drive my way through and around the San Diego freeway maze.
So I’ve named my GPS Angel—“Francis Gabriella”—after St. Francis, Patron Saint of Animals; and Archangel Gabriel, known for a whole passel of great things including to help communicators overcome fear, procrastination, and being able to navigate safely. His name means “Strength of God”. When I’m at the wheel I need all the angelic strength behind me the heavens can provide. And so does everyone who’s on the road with me…