Meow Wolf: I slid and climbed and played gesture games with costumed performers moving through the space. Jennifer and I made a lot of nerdy art museum jokes about which elements were like knock-off Yayoi Kusama’s or Nam June Paik’s and James Turrell’s. It was a good time of an afternoon.

I spent 8 hours driving on the interstate. Which is all well and good, and it was neat to see all the wind farms and the change from plains to shrubs to mesas to mountains. But it also means my brain is mush, so here is a bit of a photo and video diary of the day instead of words.

The social side of my brain and my heart feel a little bit like those first few crocuses that peek their heads up out of the ground when there’s still some snow lying around and nothing is yet green. I’m hopeful for a verdant season ahead of seeing how these interpersonal pathways re-grow.

The kids are all right. And I’m hopeful that museums—the ones that are Doing The Work of acknowledging the good, the bad, and the responsibility of their role in society—may be all right too.

When I let my spontaneity urge take control, it’s much easier for me to see something as seemingly minor as a parade of ducks in a hotel lobby or a random local coffee shop as a highlight of my travels. I take more visceral pleasure in the little aspects of my travels when I don’t have as demanding an itinerary. I’m more in the moment, and I’m more attentive, and I’m more apt to look up and notice things.

I really do love perusing and finding funky, offbeat temporary homes to be in for these few hours. It’s something I can give myself along the way… paying attention to my emotional state and knowing that it’s OK to do something that may feel decadent if it’s also going to make me feel comforted.

If museums like this can be out there doing the good work and the next generation of professionals can be out there choosing to confront true histories, even—especially—when they’re ugly, then maybe there’s hope for this field, yet.

Frankly, discomfort is part of what I’m curious about for this trip. I’m intentionally visiting parts of the country that I’ve never seen and where I know there are very different priorities from my own when it comes to politics and public health and the inevitable ways those two things have become conflated.

There’s something that’s always intriguing about fog. Especially the kind of fog that takes away your visibility. It could be hiding so many things. It makes the mundane mysterious.

Today I loved the sense of everything lying fallow around me. I’ve come to deeply appreciate my own fallow periods when production and activity and accomplishment all need to stop in order to rest and replenish.