“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
I fancy myself a detective. Growing up, I sure was a confident little investigator. I had all the answers. I knew exactly where in the world Carmen Sandiego was. Of course a whole brownie could fit inside a mouth my size. (It could — my mom just had to remove it with the Heimlich.)

Time has introduced a more reasonable doubt. Turns out I nabbed the wrong guy. I'm not the lawyer in Chicago with three kids, two dogs and a houseboat mansion: that line-up was rife with inaccuracies. So was that career vision essay. Oops. Consequently, I've re-opened the case.

My findings so far: I find the greatest happiness in serving others. I cannot stop laughing at awkward and inappropriate things, and I don't want to. It bothers me that I ended that last sentence in a preposition. Oddly, I often have exactly three things I need to tell you.

Some days, the trail runs cold. Others, I find a clue. I've got a new prime suspect. And I'm staying in hot pursuit.

One thing's for certain: though I haven't cracked the case, I'm thrilled to be working it. There's so much good detective work left to do — in the world and the world within.

— Matt Segneri