I'll Stare at Maps

I'll stare at maps for hours. It goes back to when I was a kid. I'd grab any map I could find and study it. Not that I was going anywhere, but those roads and highways let me dream of going somewhere.

I have an atlas of the United States that I flip through almost daily. It gives me a peaceful, easy feeling, as the Eagles might say. Which roads have I traveled? Which would I like to travel? What towns would I like to visit?

Sometimes I'll follow an interstate across the country. Or because interstates are mainstream and kind of boring, I'll follow the U.S. highways, whose paths are less predictable and pass through more obscure locations.

I'm drawn to the obscure. Ask people to name a place in California and most will say Los Angeles or San Francisco, maybe San Diego if they remember it's not part of Mexico. I'm more likely to think of spots I've visited that have memories attached: Adin, Bishop, Bodega Bay, Cayucos, Sea Ranch.

It requires effort to reach such places. You have to want to be there, or at least want to travel the remote roads that pass through those small towns full of potential memories. Whether it be almost running out of gas in the middle of nowhere, buying pastries at a family bakery, chatting with a kind woman and her dog who doesn't like hats, strolling along a wooden pier, or taking in a spectacular view of the ocean from high atop bluffs, each has a deeply personal story that started as a point on the map.

I may not go everywhere I'd like to go, but I'll never stop dreaming. I'll keep plotting trips. Some I might take, others will only be in my mind. I'll stare at maps.