I Got Lost on a Road I've Driven Forty Times

I drove the same route through northern Spain four days in a row with a map. On the fifth day I left the phone in the hire car and tried to do it from memory. I couldn't. I missed the turn twice.

This bothered me more than it should have. I'd felt competent on the road all week. I'd narrated directions to a friend, pointed at landmarks, explained the way with confidence. I hadn't actually stored any of it.

The GPS had been doing the storage for me. I was navigating, but not in any way that left a mark. There was no need to remember — the device was going to correct me anyway.

I spent an hour that morning finding my way without it. I made wrong turns. I backtracked twice. By the time I arrived, I knew where I was in a way I hadn't all week. The landscape had moved from background to information.

This is a small thing. I know it's a small thing. But I keep returning to the question of what else I'm failing to absorb because something else is absorbing it for me.