LAST summer I went hiking with my teenage daughter in the Swiss Alps. On the first day we left the small village of Wengen and climbed above the timberline to a mountain outpost, Kleine Scheidegg, where we stopped to catch our breath. As I was drinking some water and taking in the awesome panorama, I noticed a hiker approaching. He was bearded and sunburned, wearing a kerosene-stained Swiss mountaineering pack and using trekking poles. I thought he was going to warn us of some danger. Instead he walked up to me and in German-accented English asked, “Are you Carlton Cuse, from ‘Lost’?” Startled, I answered, “Yes.”

Then he said, “Why did you not explain the polar bear?” As he detailed his own theory of how polar bears ended up in a tropical jungle on “Lost,” my daughter rolled her eyes. Even here in this remote spot I could not escape the last six years of my life. I had spent that time working an average of 80 hours a week writing and producing a TV show. After “Lost” ended last May, the first thing I wanted to do was go someplace far away and clear my brain. But I quickly discovered there was a big difference between getting away and leaving the show behind.

There is a story told in Hollywood about how right after “Tootsie” had its premiere, Dustin Hoffman was walking the streets of Manhattan with a friend when he saw his name on the marquee of a theater. He turned to him and said in all seriousness, “Do you think I’ll ever work again?”

Though probably apocryphal, this story is quite reassuring to those of us who work in the film and TV business. It underscores that even the most talented among us, after an intense period of work on a project, struggle with the question “What do I do next?”