In 2003, I was a pre-med undergraduate at UC Berkeley majoring in philosophy and taking poetry classes on the side—totally scattered, that is to say: lost, alive, lonely, and away from my Fresno home and family (in a real way) for the first time. I was waking up. I wandered a lot, probably with a Walkman (!) in my tote bag, hiking the campus’s Eucalyptus groves and roaming Telegraph Avenue with its jewelry vendors and tables of tarot cards.