The Map with No Names

Sometimes the most honest map is the one with no labels — just contours, rivers, and the faint trails left by those who wandered before us.

I’ve been thinking about this idea a lot lately. We spend so much of our lives trying to name things: our feelings, our purpose, our next step. And naming can be powerful — it can anchor us, give us language for what we’re living through. But sometimes the naming comes too soon, before the thing has had a chance to simply be.

What Happens When We Stop Naming

In our workshops, there’s a moment that happens almost every time. Someone will be deep in their collage or their writing, and they’ll pause. They’ll look up and say something like, “I don’t know what this means yet.” And I always say the same thing: Good. Let it not mean anything for a while.

That’s the gift of expressive arts. It gives us permission to explore without explaining. To create without justifying. To follow a thread without knowing where it leads.

Following the River

The name River Roots came from this same instinct. Rivers don’t consult maps. They follow the path of least resistance, finding their way around stone and through soil. They don’t rush — they just keep moving.

What if we trusted ourselves to do the same?

“Not all those who wander are lost.” — J.R.R. Tolkien

Next time you feel the urge to label what you’re going through, try this instead: pick up a pen, a brush, a magazine. Let your hands do the thinking. You might be surprised by what your hands already know.