I got in the car this afternoon, intending to drive out to the library in Arlington. While I did reach Arlington, I did not make it to the library, instead finding my way to an entirely different county.

I have long argued that the highways in Virginia behave rather like some of the staircases in the Harry Potter series. You may get on a road that you’ve taken to the library any number of times, but that doesn’t mean it’s where it leads today. Tomorrow I could take that same route past the old bike shop and it will deposit me at the library without issue. But today, it chose not to. Sometimes it happens on the way back from the airport, which is in an entirely different section of Arlington. If I come back from the nearby farms with Sarah (which would be the only reason I’d take that route), if I am driving, it will send us further into Virginia, rather than back over the river to D.C. where we were headed.

It’s inconvenient, but no longer surprising. I mean to me, of course. Other people routinely seem surprised that I can’t get the four miles down a road and over a river without an unplanned detour after living in the same place for nearly two decades, but they seem to believe this remains in my control.

I’ve just learned to recognize when I have bypassed where I needed to go and look for the next place to reroute the car. I can always get either where I wanted to go or to someplace I recognize; sometimes it just takes a bit.

Yes, I know there are such things as phones and apps and gps. And if it’s super important to reach a destination in a timely fashion, I will employ such muggle technologies (or direct another party to drive). Otherwise, it’s best just to embrace the ride.