Currently I’m in Springfield, Missouri, just back from a quick trip to Branson with my dancer friends Anne, Andy, and Matt. I’ve got to get up early in the morning, and the longer tonight’s blog takes to write, the less Daddy gets to sleep. I’d really thought about blogging today before I hit the road, but my body said, “Sleep–sleep or else.” Honestly, when I did get out of bed today, I felt worse than I did before I went to the doctor–my eyes were red, my body was jittery. “That’s the steroid,” my dad said. “It can absolutely do that.” Most the day, I’ve been coughing–that’s new too. Now I’m scared that the medicine won’t help and might actually hurt. Also, I’m imagining that I’ll be chronically ill until I die sometime in my mid-fifties–single and alone–at which point my body will finally be removed from my parents’ house.

Maybe I’m being dramatic.

As the day has gone on, I’ve perked up a little. The three-hour drive to Springfield went well, and I spent most the time listening to Joseph Campbell talk about mythology. He’s dead, of course, but over sixty-five of his talks are available through his foundation’s website, as well as on Google Play. And not that I keep a list of the ones I’ve listened to or anything, but I’ve listened to thirty-seven of them as of today. (I obviously keep a list of the ones I’ve listened to.) Anyway, Joseph Campbell is one of my favorite teachers, and I’ve spent so much time with his voice in my ears, I feel like he’s become a friend too–my man JC.

When I got to town, my friends and I packed up and headed to Branson, straight for Silver Dollar City. Y’all, I went to Silver Dollar City for the first and only time when I turned thirty, so it’s been a minute. But Anne suggested seeing the Christmas lights, and–oh my gosh–what a great idea that turned out to be. There were lights EVERYWHERE–on buildings, in trees, suspended in the air–it was gorgeous. Not only that, but the lights on the buildings were all lined up and turned in the same direction. My little OCD heart just soared. Honestly, I was so busy staring that I didn’t take any decent pictures, but if you Google “Silver Dollar City Christmas Lights,” you’ll get an idea.

Here’s a picture of one of our first stops–it’s the four of us pretending to be gingerbread people. We asked a couple to take our picture, and they quickly turned the task over to their angsty, headphone-wearing teenage son. Well, junior did NOT seem impressed with being volunteered, so I thought about saying, It’s okay for you to say no. That’s called having a boundary. But figuring he could take himself to therapy in his thirties like I did, I just shut my mouth, let him take the damn picture, and said, “Thank you so much.”

Since we were only at the park for a couple of hours, we spent most our time riding roller coasters. Well, Andy, Matt, and I did. Anne said she always–always–pukes on roller coasters, so she graciously stayed behind and watched our things. Having a personal aversion to being vomited on, I think this situation was a win-win for everyone. Y’all, it was awesome tonight–the weather was delightful (67 degrees), and none of the lines were long. In fact, we didn’t have to wait more than five or ten minutes to ride any of the four roller coasters we went on. On top of that, we were always in the front three rows. Talk about Christmas coming early.

I know some people hate them and some people puke on them, but I love roller coasters–the sudden drops, the loops that go upside down, the corkscrews. I always scream, then laugh, then scream some more. I guess what I love more than anything else is the thrill, the surprise of it all, the adventure, all of which were amplified tonight because the rides were in the dark–and everything is better in the dark.

That’s what she said.

During one ride, it did occur to me that an accident could happen. Like, a screw could come loose, and I could connect with a tree the way a bug connects with a windshield. (But then I guess my sinus infection wouldn’t matter.) I’m not trying to be morbid, but I’m just saying–these things do happen. I have a friend on Facebook who was on his way to the emergency room recently because he thought he had the flu, but he ended up being t-boned before he got there. He survived, but he had to be cut out of his truck with the jaws of life. Anyway, I can only assume the flu quickly dropped down on his list of problems. With this in mind, I’d like to publicly state that even though I often complain when I don’t feel well, I AM grateful to be alive and not currently plastered to a tree at a quaint little theme park in Branson, Missouri.

Another thing I thought about on one of the roller coaster rides was the fact that I wasn’t in control of the ride. I mean, I got on the thing, but at the point at which my seatbelt fastened and the guy hit the green button, I wasn’t in control anymore. When we got to the top and were about to be dropped straight down, it was too late for me to do anything except scream or pee my pants. (For the record, I screamed.) Anyway (actually while we were doing corkscrews), I realized I’m also already on the ride of life. Some days I’m at the top, and some days I’m at the bottom. (For a while now it’s felt like I’ve been going around in circles.) Anyway, I can scream and complain all I want, but the one thing I can’t do is get off the ride or control what’s going to happen next.

And I hate that.

You know how sometimes you get so wrapped up in what you’re doing that you lose yourself, maybe when you’re holding a baby in your arms, reading a good book, or dancing with someone you love? Well, this happened to me a few times tonight while I was either staring at all the beautiful lights or being whipped around on the roller coasters. The moments didn’t last very long, but when they did, I forgot about my sinus infection and the fact that I don’t currently have an income. My man JC calls moments like these aesthetic arrest, and they’re moments when we’re fully present, times when we’re not afraid of or wanting something, but are simply in a state of wonder about life as it is right here, right now. Of course, like a roller coaster ride, life is an adventure–right here, right now is constantly changing. But I’m starting to believe the best part the adventure is that state of wonder that never changes and–what’s more–is always available to us, no matter how good or bad we’re feeling.