Lost in the Labyrinth (and in My Head)

This is Not the one in my head!

The other day Rick and I were driving home from Houston. Long drive, semi-busy freeway, podcast playing—because apparently we’ve reached the age where podcasts feel like entertainment.

This one was about Egypt. Some archaeologist talking about discovering a massive underground labyrinth.

I perked up. “Isn’t that where the Minotaur was?” I asked.

“Where?” Rick said.

“In the—” And then… gone. The word had evaporated.

I could hear it echoing in my head, the way a dream vanishes when you try to hold it. I knew it. I’d literally just heard it sixty seconds earlier. And still—poof.

Welcome to my life with anomic aphasia. Tip-of-the-tongue syndrome. It started in peri-menopause, worsened over time, and got promoted to full-blown affliction after chemotherapy. It’s like my brain hoards words and hides them in the attic.

So there I am, flailing my hands around, making vague maze shapes in the air, hoping my husband can translate. Normally, he’s good at this game. We could probably win some cash on a game show with our hand-signal telepathy.

But this time he was driving. Eyes forward, wise citizen, going the top legal speed (give or take a smidge, or a little more than a smidge?). No glances at my frantic hand dancing. So, clueless.

And here’s the kicker: he couldn’t remember either. He’d heard it too—same podcast, same sixty seconds ago—and he was just as blank.

Finally, it popped back into my brain like a quarter from the couch cushions. “Labyrinth!” I announced, with the joy of someone who just solved world hunger.

“Yes, that’s it!” I added, repeating my question, “Isn’t that where the Minotaur was—in the labyrinth?”

Except, then my brain helpfully corrected itself: “Oh wait. The Minotaur was Greek. This labyrinth is in Egypt.”

At which point my husband, always ready with trivia, reminded me that Alexander the Great was Greek. And suddenly we’re off, debating the logistics of Alexander the Great capturing the Minotaur and relocating him to Egypt. Rick thought it was plausible. I called it highly dubious. He dubbed them the Grecian Wranglers.

This is what happens when you let middle-aged (?) married people loose with a podcast.

Music Would’ve Been Safer

You younger readers are probably asking: Why a podcast? Why not just play music? Believe me, I asked myself the same thing. If Pink Floyd had been playing, we’d have been lost in “Comfortably Numb” instead of plotting out Grecian cattle drives for mythological monsters.

Back in the day, I’d slam an 8-track into the player and drift away. (8-track, you’re wondering? That’s what cavemen used before cassette tapes. And cassette tapes? Prehistoric CDs. And CDs? Okay, you get the idea.)

Now? We overanalyze lyrics. We argue about what Floyd really meant. We dive into memories, into labyrinths of our own making, and we never just… listen.

The Punchline

So no, we didn’t solve the mystery of the Egyptian labyrinth.

But we did prove one thing:

If you give two people a podcast and a long highway, they’ll invent Grecian rodeo cowboys wrangling mythological monsters.

And honestly? I’d pay to see that movie.