A long time ago, we prepared ourselves for the end of the world. We imagined two scenarios: a nuclear explosion, a fire—something more or less immediate, something we committed on ourselves—or a biblical kind of wiping out, like a flood. Preparing ourselves for an explosion took no time at all. We simply sat down and waited. We practiced stillness and the absence of a struggle. We called it radical acceptance. For the flood, we bought logs and brought them to the public pool and set ourselves in the deep end where there are fewer children. We treaded water for days, the logs held above us like food, or shelter. This is all to say, we long ago committed ourselves to commitment. Our legs are thick and tireless. We are record breakers, surely, but are not vain enough to check. This is only about surviving all the way up to the end.