I stood by the window in my hotel room and convinced myself that behind the storm, which was brewing outside, I could make out Mount Bæskades, while I reassessed my own story which I hadn’t understood was unbearable until Dag died. At that point I had already discovered my old diary from 2000 and was teetering on the edge, then Dag died and nudged me, I fell and I hurt myself, but I got up again and now I was here. A mere mortal, but perhaps that was enough? Might life be a serious business that required something of you, a daunting enterprise? The thought, however, wasn’t oppressive but liberating because it’s good to have a purpose, to be given a purpose, it’s a declaration of trust because you don’t entrust a task to someone you don’t respect. It was almost as if I, too, was standing on the bottom step of a dark basement staircase and could see dawn creep under the door at the top, and I was filled with great faith that I would make it all the way up and step out into the bright ground floor.