
In the novel Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything is 42. When I was around 15 years old, I decided I would read the book that many of my friends thought was so good. I sat down and opened its pages and began to read. Hours later I closed the book and never picked it up again. I did not finish it, nor have I ever had interest in doing so. I’m not saying it is a bad book, but it did not draw my interest as a teen. There are various reasons I could discuss, but a book review is not the reason for my words today. I will say perhaps I did not like the book because the book drives the point home that our lives are meaningless.
For some reason, on my 42nd birthday this book and its answer for everything has been in my thoughts. Why? I’m not real sure. Maybe the reason is on my birthday each year, it is a time when I reflect on this life and the time I have spent living. Today is the 42nd time this planet has traveled around the sun since I came forth in agony and blood. Is there any meaning to any of this life? What is the point of it? What is the answer to everything?


