“What’s that in there?” was the question which drove my life.
It carried me halfway across the galaxy opening tombs and crypts, secret passageways and closed boxes. It led to so much more mystery and inquisition. Why was it in there? When was it put there? Who put it there?
That question had led me to hidden cities older than the human race, hordes of jewels that would shame an Egyptian pharaoh, secret writings better hidden than any government file. It had also led me to danger, to fame, to fortune, to life spent millions of miles away from home.
Eventually, the only place left to look at was myself. “What’s in there?” Nothing. So long spent looking, had I found anything worthwhile? There was always something to be found. But not this time. I had to put something there. I travelled millions of miles just to end up back where I started.
But I found something. I always did. I found the greatest mystery of them all: I found my wife. Soon we had a son and I found that when I asked of myself “what’s in there?” that I had found a truly great treasure.
One day I was walking along a beach, an unremarkable stretch of coast that years ago would have held no interest to me. My son was running along lifting every stone he could looking for crabs, he examined every rock pool for pockets of fish. “What’s that in there?” he called to me, pointing to a cave opening out of a cliff face. “I don’t know,” I replied. “Let’s go and found out.” And we went in together to unravel the great mystery of the cave.