Happiness. It's relative.
Long underwear, stitched with instructions for fire-starting, shelter-making, first aid, self-defense, and eating things that grow in the wild. Scrabble tiles in a pouch to play or spell out what I need, assuming I’ll be deaf and the emergency happens before I finish ASL class.
Two loaves of banana bread and an empty milk bottle filled with unsweetened black tea. Tylenol. Toilet paper in pre-folded wads in all my pockets.
Two cans of pork and beans (it worked for Hemingway).
A proper hat and maybe the axe from the back hall. A heavy belt from which to hang my smaller iron frying pan. My name written in permanent marker on my arm. A spoon.
My cat in my knapsack and my dog at my heels.
you sound ready for most anything