I give you permission to use a paper map
And how I tapped into parts of myself long lost in the technology grind
When was the last time you used a paper map to go anywhere? If you are a Gen X like me, you probably did a road trip with an AAA TripTik. Remember these flip books with the highlighted route that some nice worker organized for you across country? Well, believe it or not, they still exist and are fabulous if you want to get unplugged from technology like Google maps or Waze or Google earth.
When my boyfriend Rich and I decided to take off for a long weekend to Arizona, we wanted to use only a paper map. I felt all tingly as I ordered it from Amazon, half relieved you could still actually buy a paper map. When it arrived, we spread it open and laid on the bed accessing the state of Arizona. You cannot get this view on a lap top or on a phone app. To trace the routes with your fingers and utilize the mile markers helps you to see the scope of your intended journey. You shed the objectives to have an Air BNB to get to by a certain check in hour, and instead just contemplate how long it could take to get from point A (Los Angeles) to point B (Phoenix) on a Friday night.
Los Angeles traffic made a five hour drive to Pheonix 7 hours, and so we rolled into Arizona at 1:30 AM. Because we did no research on Arizona, we didn’t even know there wasn’t daylight savings, so we had lost an hour. We also didn’t know the town of Goodyear and the surrounding town was having an Air Show and all the hotels were sold out. The only remaining room was a ridiculous price at $379. “Head about two exits up,” the desk attendant told us. “You should find something cheaper because this is highway robbery.” We ended up at a Quality Inn, and while $279 was equally expensive, we were thrilled to have a quiet clean place to crash.
The next morning we met Blueth, a 60 something Black woman from Virginia who had moved to Arizona to be closer to her grandchildren. She was running the continental breakfast, and couldn’t be more excited to help us make the pour your own waffles.
“What’s your dream?” I asked her. “Like when you were 8 years old?” I was asking these questions to prove a point that we have these dreams as women at 8 that we don’t fulfill because we are told the path is too hard, or we get swallowed up in parenting, or making ends meet. “I want to open a bed and breakfast,” she said. Bingo, I thought, raising an eyebrow at Rich. “Well, you are getting closer working here in the breakfast room of a hotel,” I said.
We had known that the route to Dolly’s Steamboat nestled in the mountains would be a challenge due to two detours but we navigated side roads and the streets of Tempe with a combination of Rich’s fantastic map reading and my 80 mph driving (we had miscalculated time and were close to missing the boat.) A couple very slow mountain drivers almost did us in, as well as a few one lane bridges, but we made the steamboat journey. We witnessed close to 20 long horn sheep teaching their babies to leap the rocks on the side of the canyon in the bright sun of February. The day was spectacular.
When we left, we explored a side road to a town called Payson. We knew zero about Payson. It could have been a total dump but we were in discovery mode with no expectations. We marveled at the beauty of the topography on a drive where sometimes we were the only car on the road, observing as the soldier cactus that are so dominate in Phoenix areas give way to pine and fir trees. The elevation rose to 5000 and when we rolled into Payson, we were excited to find our next place. A Best Western was where we landed, for a lot less in price ($166) and we discovered through pamphlets left out in a kiosk at the local visitor center that the town had an incredible hiking trail system. That night, the cold temperature of 34 was refreshing as we walked to one of the local Mexican restaurants for potato tacos. We had seen a billboard for a local bowling alley and the desk attendant, who had lived there 30 years, pointed us in the direction of up the road. We bowled for $4.50 a person (hello Los Angeles at $50 an hour for bowling now!) and I even threw three strikes! Without checking phones, or reviews of the alley, we were in complete freedom to enjoy the bowling without time limit.
I could continue on about the logistics of our trip and our adventures, but what I want to focus on is the permission piece. As a society, we have been trained to be attached to our phones. The idea of misplacing or losing a phone feels perilous and we panic like we are being cut off from a dopamine hit (because we are). As Scott Shigeoka says in his book on Curiosity, we have “habit loops,” which are the pattern of cue, routine and reward (which is a dopamine hit.) When we are in the car driving (pattern), we might take out our phone to scroll (routine) and then we get the dopamine release (reward.) Take yourself out of that situation, and you get to have more curiosity.
When you render the phone obsolete, and use your common sense, asking questions of others and a map, you feel a youthful sense of self rush in. Your hits come from a deeper place within. On our road trip, we were observant of only what laid before us, and had deep conversations as the snow increased and the fir trees grew more towering about the relevance of the past, and its importance. The sense of cynicism when talking about some elements of our youth, and how does the past shape us today, if at all, was countered with a sense of sharing who we are with each other. In other words, a new level of intimacy was created that society only had back when we had to connect with people physically to know them, or call them on the phone or write a letter.
On our journey, we cascaded into a place where the idea of being with one person alone for four straight days with no technology distracting or using it to orchestrate returned me to the essence of relationship. I took a trip to Spain with my daughters in 2018 and used no phone, only a map, and I faced many moments of fear of my lack of ability to figure out places to eat or how to ask about a train route, but the situations always worked out and brought unexpected pleasures. A tapas place run by a family, a beach that had crashing waves and a small town. We have become so ordered and planned now on the information highway in our modern day, half the time we don’t even know how to wander and explore anymore.
I found myself feeling emotional about a situation with one of my daughters that had presented itself a few days before we left cropping up on the road trip. Instead of being reactive on text, or trying to immediately find a solution, I decided to table the discussion until the drive back. In the meanwhile, I was able to think about my part in the conflict, as well as mourn deep feelings of how I had not set an earlier boundary and now I was paying the price. My boyfriend Rich held beautiful space for me in the variety of feelings and expressions in this situation and also found room to explore where he had similar issues in his life. We were bonded and connected, and time did not race us to any particular solution or answer.
I give you permission to take off on the road with no connection to all that you think you are supposed to be giving attention to, and drive to the end game of just a sleep in a room or joy at a discovery. Be open to the nature around you, and how you live in that sense of self. See what you discover, and don’t be afraid.