The day I found myself in an underground hot springs cave, wearing a headlamp and scribbling notes on a soggy notepad, I had one of those “How did I get here?” moments that could’ve doubled as a Talking Heads song. Was this my life now? Standing calf-deep in mineral water, avoiding bats, and trying to ignore the flirty, shirtless guide who may or may not have been hitting on me while waxing poetic about geological formations? Yes. Yes, it was. And all for the sake of a story.

Let’s back up a bit.

The Assignment That Spiraled

It started innocently enough—an editor pitched an idea about modern “healing rituals” and whether they actually worked. Think sound baths, desert yoga retreats, and, as the universe apparently decided, a subterranean soak in an ancient thermal spring. It wasn’t even my beat; culture was one thing, nude amateur hydrotherapy another. But they saw me as a “spiritual authority” because I once mentioned smudging my apartment after a fight with an ex who left behind bad vibes and a worse Wi-Fi password.

I said yes, mostly because I have trouble saying no (recovering people-pleaser here), but also because I was intrigued. In Navajo culture, water is sacred—both a life-giver and purifier. I wanted to see if this dazzlingly marketed “spiritual male cleanse” (yes, that was the legit title of the thing) aligned with that respect, or if it was just another Instagrammable cash grab. Spoiler: It was…both.

A Quick Detour Into Chaos

They sent me to a remote spa-slash-cave system outside Taos, New Mexico—long enough for questions to surface, but too short for me to back out. Immediately upon arrival, I realized I wasn’t prepared.

For starters, everyone else in the retreat group was part of a couple. I arrived solo, clutching my Arkansas gas station coffee like it was a talisman of independence. Also, they hadn’t mentioned that the cave temperature hovered at “sweaty-just-thinking-about-it” degrees, which is how I ended up borrowing someone's extra tank top that said, unironically, “Namaste in Bed.”

The worst part, though? There was no cell service. For someone who splits time between sprawling desert skies and the city buzz of Portland, this kind of isolation felt cosmically brutal. I had no backup plan, no distraction if this turned south, and no way to save myself from the growing weirdness. But worse, I had no Wi-Fi memes to help me cope.

The Guide, The Bats, and the Awkward Flirt

Cue our guide, a man we’ll call “River” because I’ve erased his real name from my brain for self-preservation. He was shirtless—of course—and had the energy of a guy who’s read The Alchemist too many times but still somehow pulls it off through sheer charm. River waxed endlessly (and seductively?) about the “energetics of water,” calling me out when I scribbled furiously in my notebook instead of “grounding myself in the present moment.”

At one point, he asked, voice low, “Have you ever felt the sacred pull of water…deep within your bones?” Which would’ve been tolerable if not for the bat that flew right past my face at the exact same moment and made me yelp. Just add that to the growing list of things I did not want to explain to my editor.

By this point, it felt like I was stuck in an indie rom-com no one asked for: one where the meetup spot is, weirdly, a dripping cave where everybody smells vaguely of lavender and regret.

A Pivotal (And Soaking Wet) Moment

Despite the awkwardness, I decided to lean in. It’s one of those lessons you pick up along the way—perspective only comes after you surrender to the moment. (Also, what else was I going to do?)

When we were left to float in the spring—just us, the shifting light patterns from our headlamps, and that odd mineral-y funk the water had—I took a deep breath and thought back to something my grandma would say: “What are you here to learn that you can’t learn anywhere else?” So, I did some reflecting:

  • About connection: When you’re sharing water with strangers in near-darkness, it’s impossible not to feel bonded. Even when one of those strangers accidentally splashes you during a misguided attempt to look meditative.
  • About boundaries: If someone with River’s energy ever corners you in a conversation, remember you’re allowed to bail—politely, of course, but firmly. Even when they start monologuing about your “incredible energy fields.”
  • And about myself: There’s something unshakably humbling about being yanked out of your comfort zone, whether that’s through a dodgy date, a weird cave, or a life choice that makes you wonder if your ancestors are side-eyeing hard from the Spirit World.

So, Was It Worth It?

When I finally emerged from that cave (sweaty, mystified, and somehow also craving tacos), I carried mixed emotions. The experience wasn’t exactly spiritually transcendent…but it was illuminating in a way I didn’t expect. I realized we’re all weirdly chasing connection—whether through tradition, wellness trends, or unlikely hot springs guides named River. The best lessons often come from the strangest places.

That said, I wouldn’t necessarily recommend “biodynamic healing through cave water” on a first date. I mean, unless you really know the vibe and you’re okay with dives into both literal and metaphorical waters.

What I’d Tell You

Here’s the thing about chasing stories—or chasing connection: It’s messy. It’s unpolished. It usually involves bats, terrible tank tops, or some form of embarrassment. But it’s in that discomfort that you learn. About others, sure, but mostly about yourself.

This experience taught me to embrace—not avoid—the parts of life that make me laugh-glare at the heavens and go, “Really?!” Because even when things feel weird or like a full-blown misadventure, there’s almost always a gem waiting underwater. You just have to jump in and find it.