Dancing in the Dark

So often I feel like I'm dancing in the dark. Where is my life going? I'm doing a tango without a partner, tap dancing around committments, waltzing into trouble. I need a metaphorical flashlight to guide me as I tunnel through my golden years.
I sit alone in a cafe sipping coffee and reading a book. I watch people strolling past in the heat. A short, old Latino man sits two seats away and drums loudly on the counter with his chubby fingers. maybe he is trying to get my attention. I do not speak Spanish.
A woman sits between us. He stops drumming and utters one word--Bella. She thanks him and we sit quietly. Their little dance has ended.
I am dancing with words. Later I will meet friends for lunch and dance with bread and salad.
What does it all add up to? Will I always be stumbling in the dark, pretending to understand the moves? We should have a floor diagram showing all the correct places our feet should be. Meanwhile, I will suck in my stomach, straighten my posture and assume the position--whatever that position is.
Finger drumming may well hold the key.