I was clearing out the trunk of my car the other day when I came across a dusty, forgotten pile of road maps. A wave of nostalgia washed over me. I’m just old enough to remember a time when these folded pieces of paper were the key to every journey, a time before a navigation system was tucked into every smartphone.
Torn Pages and Wrong Turns
In that stack were several atlases, the kind of spiral-bound map books that covered the entire country. Certain pages, the ones for routes I travelled often, were worn, faded, and soft to the touch. Inevitably, they would tear out from the binding and get lost somewhere between the car seats. It was an unwritten rule of travel that the very page you desperately needed was always the one that had gone missing.
When the Journey Was the Destination
And yet, perhaps because of these imperfections, travelling felt like a grander adventure back then. Even a short, spontaneous trip was a leap into the unknown. Today, with a phone in my pocket that always knows the right way, that sense of discovery has faded. The GPS doesn’t just show you the path; its voice is an unrelenting companion, pushing you forward. "Drive now," "Arrive at your destination." There seems to be nothing left in between. What ever happened to the old wisdom that "the journey is the destination"?
The Lost Connection of Asking for Directions
We no longer have to work up the courage to pull over and ask a stranger for help. But in gaining that convenience, what have we lost? How many potential social contacts, how many pleasant conversations have vanished because we now prefer to follow a digital voice? The simple act of asking for directions was a moment of human connection, often leading to a shared smile or a helpful tip about a local cafe.
A Fading Sense of Direction
I also miss the quiet moments of the journey. Pulling over at a rest stop or just on the shoulder of a country road. Pouring a coffee from a thermos while spreading a large map across my lap to get my bearings. I’m certain that this fundamental skill—the ability to orient oneself in the world—has been lost by many. To put it bluntly, if you took away their smartphones, most people would probably get lost in their own neighborhoods, let alone on a long-distance tour.
More Than Just Paper
If the internet went out today, those old road maps would be useless to the majority. To them, the complex web of lines and symbols would look like little more than a "knitting pattern." That’s why a touch of melancholy always finds me when I see that old, unused stack of maps in my trunk. I can’t bring myself to throw them away. They are more than just paper; they are souvenirs from a time when every drive held the promise of a small adventure.
