And then, with my fall in the kitchen, a new existential crisis emerged. This third fear is manifest in my Gollum-like scrambling along the length of the tent. It’s the unknown dangers that paralyze: Darkness. Confusion. Solitude. Vulnerability. Essentially blindfolded, grasping for a familiar shape, a handhold that is stable and can be trusted, but finding only the temporary and unstable as I negotiate my way, pleading my case before gravity.
