Aren’t you scared to travel alone in India? I suppose I am. I try to find a woman to sit next to on the train. I keep my passport close at hand. I walk quickly in dark deserted roads. I hide my money. My heart beats a little faster in each new, unfamiliar, and unpredictable situation.

It’s the same feeling that led me to keep bearspray within reach when random camping near the US/Mexico border (for the murderous villains surely stalking the tent) or my hiking boots on while sleeping on a volcano in Hawaii (in case I needed to run away in the middle of the night, again from those murderous villains).

And it’s the same feeling that made me check for monsters under my bed. It’s the fear of the unknown.

I used to always take my rolls of film to Safeway to be developed. Premium Kodak paper, and it only look three days. One day, expecting the usual photos of my dog, some flowers, and stuffed animals, I ripped open the envelope on our way out of the store. My nine year-old eyes struggled to comprehend the set of photos: a man in his casket – apparent photos to remember a funeral.

A bizarre mixup, and my closest encounter with human death at that point in my life.

I didn’t know how to react at the time. It seemed like one of those things a person should be shocked at, disturbed by. Maybe I should have cried. I didn’t know.