left vs north -- the feedback

Sydney

In the last post I asked readers to comment on how they navigate and understand the city where they live -- in particular if they tend to navigate using maps or narrative directions.  I was interested in how this difference affects the way we imagine our community.

Many of the responses seemed to confirm the common perception that map-oriented people are mostly male, and narrative-oriented people mostly female, though there were exceptions both ways and plenty happy to be in the middle.  

Being in a heterosexual couple may have the effect of pushing people toward the extremes of map-man and narrative-woman, as though this is distinction is a safe way to express deeper incomprehensions of gender.  Nancy describes her husband's orientation to maps and compass.  (She could be describing me:)

My husband has to know where to compass points are, or he is uncomfortable -- even inside a room. Even when not asked, he likes to draw little sketch maps of places. When people say, 'I have to go to x', and wave their arms vaguely, he always corrects them (with some incredulity) when they're pointing in the wrong direction. He knows which direction the bed faced in the room in which he was born.

The other interesting point is in Nancy's parenthesis: "with some incredulity."  Many people simply can't believe that others perceive space so differently.  This is one of those differences that seems to catch us offguard.  Our orientation toward maps or toward narrative seems to lie close to the center of ourselves, too close to see clearly, so it arises suddenly as though out of the subconscious, and we have trouble believing that others are not like ourselves.  Thus Dale writes: "My wife can never believe how I understand space, and *always* tries to give me narrative directions ..."  Peter, who prefers to navigate by maps, finds that those who navigate by narrative just don't believe that he doesn't:

People, especially women, want to give me narratives, and I've learned to suggest early on that, as kind as they are to offer them, they do me no good at all. I've also found that, despite my fairly firm refusal to accept this information, the person's response is something like, "Okay, but if you follow 619 until the large white building . . ." In other words, people can't believe I can't follow their information.

I asked also how people would describe the city or place where they live.  (I have always loved descriptions of cities in literature, and often keep otherwise forgettable books solely for these passages.) The sample was too small for analysis, but there were some fine images.  Hele writes from a city that I've never seen, but that I admit has dystopian associations for me:

 

When asked about Johannesburg I always think of the cultural. The constant movement, the crime, the contrasts between green suburbs and dusty townships, the amazing mix of cultures living among side each other and the differences even in inter-cultural groups.

The image I have of Johannesburg is the sky line silhouetted against a dusk filled with smog turned magical by the setting sun.

That last, of course, is also a classic image of Los Angeles, especially 25 years ago, before the California Clean Air Act, when I was in college near there.  One of my closest friends of that era, Miss Bliss, still sings LA like the native she is. 

If you ask me to describe my city I'll get all poetic on you. You'll hear about the mountains and the ocean and the rock and roll and driving on a clear freeway with your window rolled down on a warm summer night and the matzo ball soup at Canters and the coyotes running down Hollywood Blvd. in the middle of the night and the homeless guy downtown who can sing Stand By Me like nobody's business. I think that probably tells people more about me than LA...but this is a city that people love to hate...but to me it's just home.

Thank to everyone who commented, and feel free to add more.  I'll be doing more with this.

Comments

[Peter]

I guess it's easy and commonplace to say that this could turn into a book. But, unlike my ideas for books, this one could make, you know, money.

"Mars and Venus on the Highway"? (You could back off from the stereotypes in the text, of course . . .)

[Miss Bliss]

Oh I agree with Peter...what a good idea!

[Teresa]

It is easier to describe my hometown when I am away from it, as now. The city is built on hills and drumlins. It's on the most polluted lake in the country (according to some news article or other) though they are "working on" that. There is a Haudesone reservation just south of town, and the rolling hills in the distance as one drives the interstate highway southward is one of the loveliest views on earth. Central New York in spring summer and fall is hard to leave. If I didn't love this place where I am now on a month's vacation [see blog post], I'd always have winter vacations.

To get to my town you can drive, fly, take bus or train, bicycle. Once here, there is bus service and not much traffic. [We have a "rush minute" at 5:00 o'clock]. The city is dominated by the University, which is the second largest employer (after the SUNY Medical Ctr.].

There are loads of trees in the city, even though a fierce "micro-burst" of a storm that raged through on Labor Day in 1998, took over 30,000 of them down, lowering the horizon noticeably.

There is an effort to revive the downtown [as in most middle sized cities in USA] but in my opinion it will not work unless they do something about the interstate that was built in the 60s and which cuts the city in half. I think it could go underground, though as the city is built largely on a swamp, that might cause further problems. Still, there are graduates from the College of Engineering every spring.

The winter is the least appealing time of year in my city, but it only lasts 5 months, despite what many complainers say. It is fierce and character-building, with great falls of snow that come off the Great Lake that is just to the west of us.

The art scene is good, and there are wonderful people here.

That's all for now.

Teresa