I was reading some Joe Bageant yesterday. We all have our secret pleasures which we rarely broadcast, but share with a few close friends. Joe became one of mine as soon as I read Revenge of the Mutt People.

So, I was reading Joe’s Skinny Dipping in Reality and ran across a question I haven’t heard since I was 18. I recognized it immediately and wondered if I’d ever painted it on the wall. Could be, I’ve always been a naval gazer.

Last time I heard the question asked I was awed by it. This time I felt a lump in my throat and a hint of moisture at the corner of my eyes. I treat myself more kindly than I did back then. That compassion for self grows with age, along with a diminishing tendency to awe. It’s a good trade-off.

You could write the question down if you like. You know, bring it out on your birthday…or whatever. I kinda wish now that I had.

Here you go:

What is the question to which your life is the answer?