Learned on this vacation: the only activity I am willing to risk physical injury or death for is tidepool exploration. In all other pursuits (inc. street crossing, drawer opening, gas-burner lighting etc.), I live in mincing fear of catastrophic injury, succumbing to a combination of paranoia and complete physical inability rarely seen outside of severely PTSD-stricken preschoolers. But Christ, give me some promising tidepools and I'm right there where waves of cruiseship-sinking size are pounding at unpredictable rates into the lava shelf just below, I'm skipping dryad-agile over rocks Astroglide-slick with algae, I'm cheating death to glimpse what, another sea urchin? In this alone I am reckless, in this alone I taste the marrow-rich savor of ill-advised daredevilry.