I'm 31 and a half, and no one wants my eggs. Not that I'd ever sell, but you know--options are just another form of freedom. And according to those donor ads on Craigslist, et al., my fruit's too ripe.
I'll admit, I'm one of those Americans preoccupied with quantitative figures: percentiles, stats, heartbeats per minute. I'm personally offended by the birthyears of Disney stars and age-based magazine superlative articles like "The Most Successful People Under 30." I mean, the rest of us aren't dead yet last I checked.
Anyway, the point is this: All of us are getting older, whether gracefully or otherwise. So instead of me just slathering on a $45 face cream and counting my gray hairs, I'm gonna explore what it means to get farther from ground zero. Ya dig?
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