I realized the other day that the 27-year-old me is considerably more preoccupied and possibly ruder than, say, 21-year-old me. I had this epiphany when I was sprinting out of a building at Large Local University with a Parking Shortage, which I occasionally write stories about in my job. I had been to a meeting there that lasted longer than I thought it would, and was therefore desperately late to my next appointment.

As I huffed and puffed my way across campus, calculating how much time it might save me to take the stairs versus the elevator up to the top of the parking garage, this blonde-haired, sweet-faced college boy held out a flyer about global warming to me and said "Excuse me, ma'am, do you have a moment for the environment?"

And with no hesitation whatsoever, I said. "No, I'm sorry, I really don't. I'm very late. But thank you." I was fairly apologetic about it, and if I had had time, I like to think I would have stopped and listened to him. But I think 21-year-old me would have stopped and taken the flyer. Of course, 21-year-old me didn't have anywhere to be in the next ten minutes, ever.