Editor’s Note: What you’re about to read doesn’t necessarily pertain to St. Clair County specifically, as much as it does a cult-ish television show and its fanatical fan base. If you’re like my parents and wife and care nothing about the show in question, feel free to move on to something else. Thank you.

If I learned nothing else from the television show “Lost,” it’s that oftentimes the questions we ask are much more important — and certainly much more entertaining — than the answers to those questions.

I’ll explain: going into 2008, I made the jump into the landmark ABC television show, and only because critics seemed to be swooning over its every move, AND fans seemed to be jumping on the bandwagon as well. How often do critics actually like a show that has a giant fan base as well?

That was enough to lead me to watching back-episodes on the Web, in anticipation of Season 3. And, in the words of Dr. Juliet Burke, “It worked.”

Over the course of five seasons, I followed the journey of the survivors of the crash of Oceanic 815. Almost all of that involved questions, with little to no resolution.

“What is this island?” “What’s that black smoke?” “Why do some people seem to die in this place, and others seem to be healed?”

On and on it went. Each time we seemed to be nearing a resolution for a question, we’d get three or four more questions.

And I’ll be honest: it was fun that way. I’d keep a running list of questions, do a little casual research on the Web, make my own theories and debate those with other people who watched the show. Basically, the show turned me into a giant dork.

(Note: You could argue that I was already a big dork, and the show just gave me something new to geek out about. And you’d probably be right, but for now I’m going to shut my ears and pretend I can’t hear you.)

Everything was pointing toward the final season, when everything promised to be answered.

That’s where things fell apart for me. With every answer, I began to loathe the show a little more — instead of being satisfying, the final two-and-a-half hours (you read that correctly) left me feeling empty, confused and kind of angry.

I now realize why: the journey was more important than the destination.

Hey, that’s life. Reaching the summit of the mountain is never as much fun as the climb it took to get there. And as much fun as the graduation parties definitely are, the four years it takes to reach graduation are what everybody remembers.

I’ve still got that list of unanswered questions. I’m guessing they’ll stay that way.