It's been called a typically male affliction -- the inability to stop and ask directions when hopelessly lost. Driving in circles, hoping some landmark will magically rear its head to guide the way, or convinced that the next intersection will name a street that's vaguely familiar, male navigators are supposedly the epitome of straight-ahead stubbornness. They figure they know where they're going -- despite the fact that they are already 45 minutes late and the city limits were passed eight blocks back.
Hardly an endearing quality. Yet there is something to be said for the willingness to risk, not always playing it completely safe. Too many of us are reluctant to go on any excursion without precise directions and a detailed map. Would we even dream of starting out on any cross-country journey without hauling along a road atlas, not to mention a personalized "trip-tic" from the Automobile Club?
Edwin H. Friedman, rabbi, family therapist, sailor and map collector, argues that the...
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