Not that I think anyone is especially interested in me as subject for biography, but once in a while I stumble on something that brings back a flood of memory and I feel compelled to say something about it. Recently a friend of mine wrote in his blog about the Twenties being the most painful time of life, at least of his life, and it got me thinking. All pain is relative and certain periods possess character, and characteristic pain. The Twenties are painful insofar as most of us assume—and have it assumed on our behalf—that we know what we want, know how to get it, and, most importantly of all, that we know who we are. …