On a summer trip to a small agricultural village in southern Mexico, my friend and I spent 48 hours in the throes of Montezuma’s Revenge. Looking back, we agreed that our adventure was still worth every minute en el bano or la cama. But in the midst of the misery we were not as confident. After a particularly terrible night (when the minutes felt like years), we were met with a moment of physical reprieve that paralleled the growing glow of sunrise. As hints of morning slid through our sheer curtains, we got up to stare at the stunning beauty of what (we recently learned) was called ‘amanecer.’ After a dark night, dawn had finally come. And with it, hope.