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CHAPTER 2Meeting the Moment

“And once the storm is over, you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.”

—Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

I'm an early riser, usually up with the sun. But on September 9, 2020, I awoke in total darkness. Mornings that time of year are usually crisp, bright, and sunny, with the first pink rays piercing through our bedroom blinds, so I wondered for a moment if it was still the middle of the night. I walked over to the window, which faces east over the San Francisco Bay, and scanned for some glimmers through the gloom. Nothing.

It was disorienting, even dystopian. I later learned that it was one of those freakishly unpredictable events – the combination of a thunderstorm a few weeks before that had ignited about 100 wildfires spanning from Santa Cruz all the way up to Wine Country. The fires had raged for weeks, producing thick blankets of smoke that eventually mingled with the city's fog. First the sky turned black, and then the color of a Halloween jack‐o'‐lantern. It is now known as “Orange Day.”

That day the sun disappeared felt like the end of the world. It seemed to augur something sinister and gave me a sense of foreboding that is etched in my memory. For me it came to symbolize all the disturbing news of the global ...