Currently it’s eight in the evening, my sister and her husband are on a date, and their friend Laurel is putting the boys to bed. I just got back from spending the day in Santa Fe with Brian, the boy I met for drinks last night. I’m putting a certain amount of pressure on myself to finish tonight’s blog and finish it fast, as I may go out dancing in a couple hours. Not that I really have the energy, but I don’t want to miss the opportunity. I’ve only got one more day here, then it’s time to say goodbye, so why stay home?

We’ll see how it goes. I could very well pass out on this keyboard and wake up in my own drool.

This morning before leaving for Santa Fe, Brian and I went to Starbucks, and I’m pretty sure the guy at the drive-thru said, “Welcome to a normal human Starbucks.” Even now, I have no idea what he meant. Was he trying to be funny? If so, no one was laughing. My therapist says humor is a function of intelligence, so that would say something about either the barista’s smarts or mine. (Since this is my blog, let’s assume he’s the one with the problem.) Also, are most Starbucks for abnormal humans?

I still have so many questions.

In Santa Fe, Brian and I went to an exhibit hall called Meow Wolf. We spent a couple hours there, but much like the interaction at Starbucks, I still can’t tell you what it was about. Outside there were several sculptures, so I made the assumption that we were going to an art gallery. But when we got inside, it was pretty much one big acid trip–or what I would imagine an acid trip to be. The first room was a house, but there was some story about how the people in the house had been sucked into an alternate dimension or universe, so a lot of the doors (and even the washing machine) opened up into strange and bizarre worlds full of dinosaur bones, chutes and ladders, or a hall of mirrors.

Initially we didn’t realize there was a theme–the whole bit about the family disappearing into a different world. But I guess if one had the intelligence and patience, there were notes and clues hidden throughout the entire exhibit, and supposedly you could piece together what the hell everything was about.

One of the clues said the rooms represented the emotions the family members were feeling before they got swept away, but what do you make of a psychedelic forest, cereal boxes that look like they’ve been eaten by aliens, or a bathroom floor that’s been crumbled up like last week’s newspaper?

Seriously, most days I can’t make sense of my own emotions, and now I have to figure out someone else’s? I mean, I gave it the old college try for about five minutes, but then quit because some days you just can’t–you just can’t even.

Again, I still have so many questions.

After Meow Wolf, Brian and I checked out downtown Santa Fe, starting with two of the chapels. Perhaps the more famous of the two, Loretto Chapel, contains what many call a miraculous staircase. (I think an escalator beats a staircase any day, but that’s just me.) But really, this staircase is pretty awesome. The story goes that over a hundred years ago a stranger showed up to build a staircase when the church was in need. No one knows who the man was, but people say he was an angel or at least a genius because engineers today say the staircase, which is spiral and doesn’t have a center support pole, shouldn’t be able to hold the weight that it does. Supposedly no one has been able to explain how the staircase is structurally sound.

People have so many questions.

Since we got back from Santa Fe and I dropped Brian off, I’ve been entertaining opposite emotions. First, I had a wonderful time with Brian today. I spend so much of my life doing things by myself, it was really–really–nice to be in such good company. I texted my friend Bonnie about it, and she said, “Sounds like your time together made your heart light for a minute. That’s definitely something.” In response, I said, “That’s definitely something. And I didn’t realize it was so heavy.”

That’s the second part–the opposite emotion–heavy. Part of me thinks it’s about all good things coming to an end, but another part of me thinks it’s about realizing what I’ve been missing out on. It always feels like that in some way–like I’m missing out on a good time at a dance, some magical relationship, or some better life. My therapist is quick to point out that plenty of people in relationships would trade places with single me in a heartbeat, so I guess we all want what we don’t have.

Clearly, we all have so many questions. At least us normal humans do.

People say your life only makes sense in reverse, that one day you’ll look back and realize why things happened the way they did. But lived moment-to-moment and day-by-day, life is a real head-scratcher. Nothing seems to compute, including our experiences and emotions. Try to figure yourself out, and you might as well have a conversation with a wannabe stand-up comedian at a drive-thru or spend a day at Meow Wolf. Maybe we’re not really meant to connect the dots, at least as we live them. Some days I guess the best we can do is embrace the wonder of it all, ever grateful for those places and people who cause our hearts to beat, even when it’s time to say goodbye to them. Perhaps this feels like climbing a miraculous spiral staircase and not understanding how we’re being held up. Yet step-by-step we’re supported and somehow we ascend–ever higher into our own mysteries.