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On the first official day of my survivalism training, I realized a crucial error: I forgot to pack a spoon. I was mortified. I’d made sure to bring two knives, UV-blocking shirts, saltwater wading boots and paracord, but I had no utensil to eat with. In a low-key voice that I hope masked my embarrassment, I casually mentioned this oversight to my teacher, Amós Rodríguez.“Oh, that’s OK,” he replied cheerfully. “You can make one!” Rodríguez sprinted a few feet into the jungle, climbed a tree and bounced on a few branches to identify a limb that could be sacrificed for my purposes. Finding one, he broke it in half and tossed a segment at my feet. Our woodworking session would become my first lesson in the field. He called it the ABC’s of survival: Always Be Craftin’.He showed me a few simple techniques, and we sat down on overturned buckets to work. The sound of our knives scraping against bark was meditative. After about 15 minutes, Rodríguez had whittled his rough, splintered branch into an elegant instrument. He fished a coal from the fire and set it in the middle of the slender oval end that he’d produced, smoldering out the bowl of the spoon. It looked like something you would pay $45 for at an antiques market. My creation looked more like a drawing of a spoon, by a child who had never used one before. “Maybe,” Rodríguez observed politely, “you can use it like … a … chopstick?” It had more in common with a shovel, and because it was too big to fit in my mouth, that’s how I used it — bullying food until it reluctantly boarded the chunky head of the tool and then flinging it toward my face. That it barely worked didn’t matter: The ability to improvise, to create something out of nothing, was exhilarating in itself.Our 10-day survival intensive took place in Chetumal Bay, Mexico, and consisted of a series of skill-learning workshops — first at a small lodge and then in the field, out on a strip of land in the middle of the water. I arrived with a mix of despair and determination, tired of the alarming news notifications about everything: wildfires, school shootings, disastrous federal decisions, food recalls, extreme weather events. The constant doomerism online and the deteriorating social infrastructure offline — it all had put me into a kind of spiritual ketosis. Brushing up on my survival skills felt like one potential answer.The word “prepper” usually brings to mind a bearded white man in head-to-toe Realtree camo, anticipating the next civil war while hunkered in a bunker, surrounded by automatic weapons, pallets of Dude Wipes and dehydrated meals. But over the last few years, the idea has drifted in from the margins: People with all sorts of ideological backgrounds are making plans for confronting an uncertain future.I’ve seen the shift in my own social circles. Friends and acquaintances are securing large plots of land, getting gun licenses and training in CPR and the National Acupuncture Detoxification Association protocol, a regimen developed to help people recover from addiction. One woman I know relocated her family from Boston to New Zealand, telling me that she wanted to live in a place that was nonexistent on a geopolitical axis of influence — “a beautiful place,” she said, “to ride out the end of the world.” Late last year, a book called “A Navy Seal’s Bug-In Guide” was in heavy rotation on TikTok’s e-commerce platform; over the holidays, I spotted it at my mother’s house and flipped through its pages. One offered tips for explaining away your ownership of large quantities of canned goods: “My wife/husband just got into couponing.”We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More