Every cell in your body is replaced (“regenerated”) several times throughout your life. Every day, in fact, 50 billion of your cells formally transition into the afterlife; may their memory be a blessing. So, the person you were is physically not the same person you are. But how did your current cells get the info from their predecessors? You remember your childhood; your fingernails still grow. Clearly, each cell must somehow ensure its successor does as good of a job as it did, or else you would quite literally disintegrate.

I imagine the transfer of genetic code is like that awkward transition period when you’re leaving a job and have to train the replacement they hired. One aging corneal cell, a 15-year veteran of the Ocular department, books a conference room with the protégé. The elder cell begins his lesson plan.

“So, in this department, we produce mucus in the eye at night. I’m not sure why we do this, but it is what we do. As you’re aware, my cell walls are about to disintegrate, and you’ll be the big man in charge pretty soon. Just remember, every night, scavenge for gunk, and stick it over there by his nose. All right, that about covers it. I’m going to go die now. Peace!”