Something magical happened today.
I was driving on a road, let’s call it Rt. 1, and I realized it intersected Rt. 2 and Rt 3 and Mall Road and the interstate. It was magical, like polished beads slipping onto a string.
You have to understand something important about my new town: none of the roads are laid out in grids. I have no idea why. It’s like that where I come from, too, but we have hills. Here in the flatlands, I have no idea why the road structure would avoid recognizable geometric shapes.
So when I drive from Rt 3 to Rt 1 and back, I’m not exactly parallel to Rt. 2, and I never realized that Rt. 1 was a common connector. In other words, Rt. 1 was always my destination, and not a through road for me.
Suddenly my whole inner-map-vision of my neighborhood and environs has snapped into focus.
Home is a Name 