“Diogenes, come out and share with us!”

My head pounded with each tap on whatever shell I’d made my home in. What did he just call me? Why did I hear so many people clamoring around outside? As a matter of fact, where was I?

I crawled toward the light, toward the feet and sandals I saw on the other side. When my shoulders emerged, a pair of hands grabbed onto me, hoisting me to my feet.

Hundreds of people lined the street in front of me, maybe thousands, all looking at me. My head still ached and I was in a daze from having been so rudely awaken. No wonder since when I looked back at what I’d been sleeping in, I’d found it was a ceramic jar. How’s a person supposed to rest in there? I snapped out of it when a cool breeze hit my body. A bit too cool, and in all the wrong places.

I immediately shot my hands over my privates, doing my best to cover them while backing myself against a wall. The man who’d helped me out of the jar looked at me puzzled.

“Diogenes, what is this newfound modesty?”

Okay, I guess “Diogenes” is my name. God this is the craziest dream I’ve ever had, I thought.

“What are you doing here?” I managed.

“We were discussing the meanings of life, and after asking thousands of men and women that question, we’re stuck between honor, family, and success. Given your unique lifestyle, we thought you should have interesting insight.”

I guess this Diogenes character was unique. The thousands who’d lined the street all wore tunics of different colors and sandals. Most men had shaved faces and the women had braided their hair. Catching my reflection in a puddle, naked with unkempt beard and hair, I felt closer to an animal than to these other people.

It’s just a dream, I told myself. I shut my eyes as hard as I could, trying to force myself awake. I knew I’d failed when a hand found my shoulder.

“Diogenes, are you well?” Asked the man who’d helped pull me out of the jar. Damn. Guess I’d have to ride this one out.

I looked back up at him. “Yes,” I said, “can you remind me of your question?”

“We want to know your opinion on the meaning of life.”

Then shouting started.

“Honor!” Yelled some.

“Family!” Shouted others.

A few people chimed in with “Successs!”

“What’s your name? Why do you ask?” I asked the man I’d been speaking with.

“To hopefully gain enlightenment,” He replied, “My name is Mieredes.”

“Mieredes, who are all these men and women who have come to hear me?”

“Many of them are merchants of fortunate birth. Others are former soldiers, like myself. Some are simply plain men and women with families seeking wisdom to pass down to their children.”

I looked back at him, bewildered. “Thousands of men and women with honor, family, or success cannot agree whether the meaning of life is honor, family, or success. You all then decide to come to a man who has none, asking for wisdom?”

“Yes.” Mieredes replied, obviously not seeing my point.

“You people are hopeless.” I said. I crawled back into my jar, taking a strong pull from the flagon of wine in the back before falling asleep.