Those first few times I stumbled out of my new apartment and into the blustery, cold air of Seoul, my eyes were fixed on my cellphone screen and the little blue dot slowly sliding along the suggested route to the health center. When I had a long stretch of road before me and no upcoming turns to navigate, I made sure to look up and around at the buildings that crowded the skyline while warming my hands in my pockets. Tucked away, the weight of my phone had the reassuring heft of a lodestone.

As long as my phone was with me (and charged), I could go anywhere. I could look up the nearest cafe, translate an unfamiliar word, or double check bus schedules. But even though I knew exactly where I was—there, that quivering blue dot on a grid—I had exactly no clue where I was.

My street corner before trash pick-up.

My approximately 17-minute walk to and from work was the first route I memorized. Then, I started piecing together the turns I took after clambering down from the bus at the nearest stop. 스포월드, 라움아트센터. Or climbing up the stairs from the subway station. 언주역. Now, I branch out onto side streets when I need to grab breakfast before I get to school or top up my transportation card.

충현 교회, Chunghyeon Church. Even when I can't see the church itself, spotting one of its spires lets me know I'm just two blocks away from home.

I'd consider myself a fairly observant person, but I've always struggled with directions. I'm the type to wander a little too long in a Target parking lot or walk five minutes in the wrong direction before realizing my mistake. I second guess myself.

Not long before coming here, I learned the term for this, uh, disposition, in Korean: 길치, gilchi. Bad with directions.

Because it seems inevitable, I dread the day where merely being "bad with directions" unfolds into becoming seriously lost, which would be easy without my cellphone (or service). The fear of losing my way is exacerbated by feeling my grasp of the language to be currently clumsy. Could I trust myself in that situation?

Honestly, I'd rather not find out, so I make sure my phone is charged before I go out and bring my charger with me when I'm traveling out of my district. But I'm also learning to keep my head up, literally—I'm challenging myself to choose landmarks and memorize right turns until it becomes second nature. I want to replace the gray, featureless map with more and more of my neighborhood—the dessert cafe, the dry cleaner, the convenience store with the good ATM—and let go of the blue dot.