While I was visiting a friend in the hospital recently, a man in the bed one curtain over stopped me on my way out the door. In a place where people come in and out without knocking at all hours of the day and night, where your physical stats hang on a chart for anyone to read, and the signature outfit is a bad unisex knock-off of J. Lo's 2000 Grammy dress, privacy doesn't exactly come with the territory. Which is why I wasn't surprised when this lovely gentleman said, "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. So, what's your book about?" As we chatted, he mentioned that he had just celebrated a rather impressive birthday. "I'm eighty-two-years-old," he told me. "I know all the questions, but I still don't have the answer." His words were a powerful reminder: it doesn't matter who you are or how many candles gather on your cake. If you're still asking, you're still living.