What I do mind is the feeling that my options are limited, which is why 35 bothers me. At this point, I’ll never make it onto a 30-under-30 list. I’ll never be the precocious ingénue who takes the literary scene by storm. There is very little hope that I’ll achieve financial independence and retire by 45. That’s part of growing older, of course — choosing one life over another. Becoming one person instead of someone else. Playing the hand you’ve been dealt.