Handrails and Backstops

Yankee Boy that I was, land navigation was not my natural strong suit.  To make sure I was going in the right direction through the woodline I paid careful attention to my compass.  I also methodically counted my steps—kept my pace—so that I would know how far I had gone.  These were the methods I had been taught as a young soldier to enable me to find my military objective.  I had to watch that compass needle and count those steps to make sure I came out exactly on the objective.  I gave myself no margin for error.  While this method worked (most of the time—I got lost a lot), it was slow.  And if I was navigating at night, when the needle was hard to see, it was even slower.  I would stumble, and my pace count would get messed up.  Land navigation this way was an exhausting mental exercise that hurt my head as much as my rucksack hurt my back.  But, as the team leader, it was my responsibility to make sure we reached our objective.  On occasion, I delegated this responsibility to Goofy.  When he was navigating, I noticed that he hardly looked at his compass and did not seem to be working too hard to keep his pace.  Not only that, we moved a lot faster and we never seemed to get mis-oriented (Army for lost).  One day, I asked Goofy how he did that.

 “Well Cap’n, I don’t really navigate off the compass.”  Goofy replied.

 “Then, how do you know we are on the right azimuth?”

 “I look at the map and kind of do it by feel.  You know, unlike you I’ve been running around the woods since I was boy.”  He said.

 “But what if your feel is wrong?  Doesn’t that ever happen?”  I asked.

 “Sure.  My feel isn’t perfect, but it doesn’t have to be.  I use handrails.” 

 “What’s a handrail?”  I asked.

 “Well, it’s something that runs along the route we’re travelling that I can lean on.  You see, I know I tend to wander to the right, so I set the route up so I’ve got a road, or a river or ridgeline to my right.  Then, if I’m rubbing up against that, I bounce to the left a little.”  He explained.

 “Okay, I get that.  But how about the distance.  You don’t seem to count your pace.”  I asked.

 “Well see, that’s kind of a feel thing too.  I know how far it feels to walk a click so I just kind feel that out.  But, I don’t trust that totally.  I put a backstop out there behind the objective to keep me from going too far.” 

 “A backstop?”  I asked.

 “Yeah, I look for a big thing I can’t miss that’s behind the objective, so if I go too far, I’ll hit that.  Like, if I know there’s a swamp behind the  hilltop we’re looking for I don’t worry about missing the hilltop until my feet are getting wet.  You see what I mean?  See, if I spent all my time counting my steps and staring at that compass needle, I might miss the enemy lurking out there or even walk right by the objective.  Plus, staring at the needle and counting every step takes too much energy.  What good is finding the objective if I’m too tired to fight when I get there.   It’s better to trust your feel knowing your handrail will keep you straight and your  backstop will keep you from going too far.”  

 Years after Goofy taught me this, I began to see that my technique of living was a lot like my initial efforts at land navigation.  I kept a careful watch on my moral compass needle and counted my steps (and compared them constantly to the number of steps taken by others).  And, like before, this method left me exhausted and lost much of the time.  Slowly I came to realize that I needed some handrails and backstops for navigating life just as much as I had needed them for navigating the woodline.