Disability, in old age, is the one thing that connects us all. It crosses boundaries of race, gender, class, ethnicity, culture, nation, region, belief. As disability is consciously thought of as that which is to be excluded or that which is to be eradicated by means of anti-aging and immortality, disability is also that which makes us most human, most alike. Mortality is disability, by nature. We all die. We all age. We all succumb to illness and ailment at some point(s). We are physically vulnerable to mother nature, and pain, and pleasure, on various spectra. We live, and living means to be subject to the inadequacies which come with the phenomenon known as life, bios and/or zoe. And the most certain thing about life is death. Without it, we cease to live. To be disabled is not to die. To be disabled is to live. To live is to be disabled. From Adam to Ahab, and from Caliban to Katniss. Our mortality, our biology, is linked to an interminable and constantly malleable perfection found in our adaptability and our finality, our growth and our decomposition. And because of that, we are all perfect.