I didn't sleep for a second of my third night at sea. I lay awake, staring at dark water and stars. The universe was terrifying in scale. In fact, it had been expanding all night, erupting in an infinite rainstorm of light. It was so remarkable, so mind-warpingly awesome, that I felt like a deer in the cosmic headlights of the milky way galaxy.

Leaving port some strange man told me that the night is always darkest before the light. I don't know what he was trying to tell me but I knew now. I was sitting there, in the cockpit, 3 days from land in any direction, wondering what the hell I was doing in eternal darkness. Who the hell am I? I was a simple young man, floating on a man made creation, hundreds of miles from land! How could this be? WHAT WAS I DOING!?

And then, at the peak of my despair, at near breaking point, I spotted the morning star. Darkness faded, and the sun peaked its glorious face over the horizon. Daylight flooded the sky. It was a tremendous display of light prevailing over darkness, as it must to restore balance in the cosmos. I tied the wheel to keep our course, and I walked to the bow of the boat. I spun and looked in every direction, and rejoiced in the splendour of sunshine as far as the eye could see.

That's when they showed up. Seven or eight of them. Darting and soaring and shooting through the water like well designed torpedoes. And I stopped worrying about what I was doing in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. I stopped worrying about who I am. I just stopped worrying. My fears didn't leave, I just embraced them. All I needed to settle my mind was the dolphins' company. Surely they know what they're doing. That's good enough for me.