Yesterday Tom went to the map store to buy a world atlas — and the store was out of business. I did a little googling and found out that the store had been around for 40 years and that Tom missed the last day — and the incredible sale — by less than a week.

Then I thought, it’s the googling that’s the problem. Google Maps, that is. And Mapquest, and of course, the GPS. But today I don’t write to lay blame, only to celebrate. So let us now praise the printed map, from fold-out models to large, laminated ones that cover most of a wall. From globes to atlases. From street maps to nautical charts.

Maps let us see where we’re going and where we’ve been. They offer us all the possibilities, not just a narrow route ahead. I can stare at a map for hours, studying how one road leads to another, imagining the lives of the people who live where I’m looking. I love the way a map feels after it has a few trips under its belt, wrinkled and dog-eared, softened from use. In time it takes on the land it chronicles, becomes part of the process. A map is tangible proof of the miracle of travel, armchair or actual.