Did you ever notice that cartoon speech bubbles are drawn as a solid oval or rectangle with a single pointed tail directed toward the speaker? And thought bubbles are shaped like clouds with small circles aimed at the thinker?

A meditation teacher might say, “You are not your thoughts.” They usually do not mean that you have no thoughts or that thoughts are bad. They mean that your thoughts are experiences you have, not your essential identity. Clouds have no interesting content to think about unless you’re a meteorologist. So clouds are a useful metaphor for thoughts in meditation.

I know I don’t have to believe my thoughts — that I don’t even know where my thoughts come from — and that I don’t have any control over my thoughts. I learned this through years of meditation.

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But it was only a few days ago that I learned what I’m really writing about. I thought I was writing about old age, but I’m not. I learned this when I began to look back at my writing on Medium and Substack over the past six years, with the help of a friend who could take an objective view of my writing and tell me the truth.

Here’s what I learned.

• I am not really writing about aging.

• Aging is the setting.

• I’m writing about how our reality differs from our ideas about reality.

• I’m writing about the tension between what society says aging means and what it actually feels like.

I’m writing about what old age feels like for me. There is nothing more important than knowing what aging feels like. How aging feels in the moment is the secret we’ve been looking for. It’s the fountain of youth.

It’s the main event.

If we know how we are feeling in the moment, we’ll have gate-crashed reality. We’ll have found the Holy Grail of aging. But wait, you might say, I already know how I feel about aging. I’m me. I’m living in my body.

You might say, I read an article in The Guardian about how old age really sucks and is just the portal to more pain and suffering. Or maybe you read an article by me about how old age can be the best time of your life.

Both articles are wrong.

The only truth about old age is your truth. The truth about your sore legs, knees, and hips. The truth about your fear. The truth about all the things you have to give up in old age. The pain, loneliness, simple joys, and friendships. Your spouse’s smile. The sunrise.

Reality — not your thoughts about it.

I am only talking about the forest here, not the thousands of individual trees we have to deal with in our lives. In my writing, I take a 35,000-foot view of old age.

For me, this is the most important thing to know about life. General semanticist Alfred Korzybski coined the term: “The map is not the territory.” I remember hearing this quote in a high school class, and it has stuck with me because of the simple way it captures the mistake that makes everything harder.

It is a purely mental mistake.

And when I studied Zen, it really sank in. That simple quote describes the mistake that almost everyone makes over and over in their lives. The map is not the territory. The menu is not the meal. My thoughts about myself are not me.

This is the fundamental thing I have learned in Zen: “My thoughts are not me.” And I write about this within the setting of old age.

So it’s nice to know my thoughts are not me, but how do I explore this simple truth? The answer is to have a good look at my thoughts. Just spend some time watching them without attaching to them. To sit quietly and observe my thoughts (there will be a ton of them). If I don’t engage them, they will go away, one by one.

Many psychologists and neuroscientists suggest that a single conscious thought typically occupies the mind for around 5 to 10 seconds before attention naturally shifts if you don’t engage. If you engage, it could stay with you for hours — or years.

It is possible to live our entire lives through our thoughts instead of what’s actually going on. Maybe that’s what mentally ill people do, but sane people do it too.

Old age is a wonderful time to make this discovery of a lifetime — I am not my thoughts. But we can’t just sit down one day and decide, I am not my thoughts. It takes time. Simply knowing it is the first step. Then, reading Buddhist sutras, Zen parables, and philosophy will give you some good examples of the idea.

Spending quiet time in nature is illuminating when you do it with “I am not my thoughts” in mind. If you are older, you probably have time to sit quietly, doing nothing.

Over weeks, months, and years, I have gradually learned to take my thoughts a lot less seriously. With meditation, this life lesson slowly sinks in.

Of course, there are many other things to learn about old age: illnesses, exercise, diet, and health strategies for longevity. I seldom write about these things—one, because I am not an expert in those areas— and two, I only write about what I know: mindfulness, meditation, and, of course, being old.

So if you are older and depressed or have an illness, please see a professional about it. I am not a doctor. And there is endless information online about diet and exercise for us seniors.

My writings are always steeped in Zen Buddhism, Taoism, and philosophy — but always remember those are all just thoughts, too. A Zen story is not reality. A Zen teacher would call it a finger pointing at the moon, and would warn you not to get fascinated by the finger and miss the moon.

Gary
July 1 2026.

When I was young, I didn’t see chairs.

They were just part of the wallpaper of life, like tables, lawns, and bowling alleys. They were a place to rest before I jumped up and rolled another strike. I hardly needed a chair because I was hardly ever tired.

Chairs were the things I was forced to stay in for an hour in algebra class. Chairs were torture devices I was chained to to keep me in line. Chairs were the vehicles on the assembly line of the American educational system.

But now, chairs are the seats in God’s waiting room. Chairs are heavenly. I don’t care if they are priceless Louis XIV chairs or white plastic taquaria chairs. Chairs are God’s gift to humanity when you’re 81. A chair is cool water in the desert.

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When I go shopping with Marina, and she goes into a women’s clothing store, I can never find a chair. While she shops for shoes and blouses, I am trolling for chairs (in the fishing sense). There are maybe one or two benches or chairs in the store, and bored husbands like me always occupy them. I envy them and trudge on.

Marina and I are in Copenhagen, and as with most vacations, we are walking a lot. Even with the great Metro and superb train system, you still need to walk a lot here if you don’t have a car and don’t use Taxis or Uber. Yesterday I got 13,000 steps, but I’m not in very good shape, so I was exhausted.

This vacation is like a wellness boot camp for me.

Yesterday we visited the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, about 20 minutes north of Copenhagen, on the coast overlooking the Øresund Strait. It’s in a park setting with sculptures outside, and the paintings and other art inside. It’s beautiful just to walk around in before you even see the art.

One of the most precious features was the many chairs and benches placed about in the park, surrounding and intertwined with the modern glass-infused buildings. There were plenty of places for older people to rest inside and outside.

Why are chairs so important to me?

Chairs are a physical manifestation of my acceptance of old age. I now stop and rest when I’m tired, with no worry that someone will think, Look at that old man. He must be tired (and he is).

One of the top three things I would recommend to older people is to RELAX. Don’t take things too seriously, because life is too much fun to get serious about it. So whenever I see a chair, I take the opportunity to sit down.

In Copenhagen, they seem to honor their elders. Yesterday I saw an older couple walking with their granddaughter in a public square. The granddaughter was kneeling down and tying her grandfather’s shoes. That touched me.

I fear for the day when Marina may have to do that for me. I’m not sure I could gladly accept it. I might feel embarrassed. Not being able to tie my shoes or put on my socks are major signs of late old age, and I resist going there. But I know I’m going there eventually.

This vacation has unintentionally provided an exercise program for me. Like a personal trainer, but the personal trainer is me. I have gone from my doctor advising me to walk every day — and not doing it — to walking five or more miles a day, and averaging 7,000 steps. I will build a two-and-a-half-week foundation of walking to follow up on when I get home.

Chairs loom large to remind me to relax and not get in a hurry. I’ve learned that when you’re walking, and you want to look up at a building, stop first and then look up. Keep your eye on the sidewalk every minute when walking so you don’t trip and fall.

The most important thing I do now is to walk my own walk. I don’t try to keep up with faster people — my gait is just slower. To keep up with younger people would be exhausting. So I walk at my own pace and invite others to walk with me. When you walk slower and stop more often to rest, you see things you otherwise would have missed.

Like the present moment.

Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh taught walking meditation more often than sitting meditation. “Just walk slowly,” he’d say, “and be mindful of each step and each breath.” It’s actually an advanced meditation technique, and anyone can do it.

And if you’re on vacation in a busy city, it’s necessary for your own safety to walk this way. Walk slowly, mindful of each step you take. Walk this way everywhere you go. It’s actually meditation, but don’t tell anyone you’re meditating. Just tell them you’re walking this way to make sure you don’t fall.

Tell them it’s backed by science.

Gary
June 2025

I’m posting this from Copenhagen, where we arrived by train from Hamburg yesterday.

Marina and I spent four days in Hamburg, Germany, at her nephew’s wedding. We’ll be here in Copenhagen for five days, then on to Mannheim, Frankfurt, and Heilbronn to see more of her family and friends.

The trip is stress-testing my legs, but they’re carrying me well, despite some sore muscles. It’s kind of hot for compression socks, but I’m still wearing them every day. And before I left, my doctor told me my A1C is now back to normal. On the Metro this evening on the way to dinner, a young woman offered me her seat on the train, and I accepted it without getting pissed off.

Major progress for me.

Traveling at 81 is a trip I’ve never made. But I figure I’m lucky I’m able to do it—I’m lucky I’m still here.

I hope you enjoy this reposting.

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You’re Never Too Old To Be Bold

The cruelest thing that anyone can tell you is that you are over the hill, or that you’re not good enough. But there is always someone willing to tell you you can’t do something.

Once upon a time, I was an enlisted man in the Air Force during the Vietnam era (1967). I told a young lieutenant that I wanted to go to college when I got out. And he told me I didn’t have what it takes to make it in college.

He said I should go to a trade school instead. Can you imagine the ignorance and arrogance it took for a wet-behind-the-ears lieutenant to tell a 21-year-old he’s not smart enough for college?

Why didn’t he have the humanity to say, “Go for it, Sergeant.” Why did he have to come down on the negative side? Some people always come down on the “You can’t do it” side.

When I was discharged, I went to a Community College in Oakland, California, during the flower-power era, and transferred to San Francisco State University and graduated. I will never forget that guy telling me I wasn’t good enough for college.

That’s why I’ll never tell someone they can’t do something. No one knows what you can do because they are not you. No one — absolutely no one — has ever incarnated exactly the same as you. You are unique, yet still interconnected with everyone and everything.

We are all made of stars, yet we are all unique.

My work as a writer on aging is not to be a hard-nosed objectivist doling out tough love about diet, exercise, and illness to people who are struggling. There are plenty of people who can help with those things. That’s not my mission.

My mission is to encourage, uplift, and inspire you to thrive amid the mental and psychological challenges of old age. Every day, I’m working up the courage to do that myself. I’m writing about old age here on Substack — not only to help you — but to help myself.

I am not objective about it. I’m biased toward us — adults of a certain age. And I will never tell you you are wrong. How can I? I don’t know you. I’m just a guy writing on the internet. I have never met you, don’t know your history, or how you think.

But I know for sure that you’re older, and you might be scared of what’s coming next. I know I am. Whenever someone dies, you check the obituary for their age, cause of death, and do the numbers. You don’t dwell in the future as much as when you were young. You’re in the thick of the here and now — now!

At least I imagine that’s what you do, because I do it. I believe we are more alike than different, more positive than negative, more kind than cruel, and more forgiving. After a relatively short time as a writer (four years), the responses from my readers tell me that my beliefs about you are accurate. Older adults crave empathy, optimism, kindness, and happiness like anyone else.

Happiness In Old Age

New studies show that older people are happier than middle-aged people. One reason is that we have less future left to look forward to. We’re not worried and fearful about it — we’re dealing with it.

I know all this because I’m 80 and I am going through the same kinds of things you are. I worry about whether my social security deposit will appear on the third of every month. Whether I’ll have enough money in late retirement.

I worry because he’s back for a second POTUS term, but I’ve made a decision. I’m not going to let him live rent-free in my head this time. I’ve got myself, my family, and my elder brothers and sisters to think about.

The only way to thrive in old age is to be bold. Do something new, be a super-ager, keep ticking items off your bucket list, throw a party, vote, go out on the streets and demonstrate if you can — and don’t forget to smile and have fun every day. Be kind to yourself and love your neighbor. And if you really want to be the boldest of the bold, love your enemies too.

Love is the answer.

Gary
(Written in August 2025)

Some people hold their private thoughts close to their chest; others are spillers.

I’m a spiller.

There’s a trail of beans wherever I go. I used to be critical of spillers, but now I know it’s better to spill it out than to hold it in.

Holding our stuff inside can be harmful to our psyches. Yes, spillers are annoying sometimes, but a certain amount of spilling is necessary if you want to be authentic.

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I have decided to be an open book in my remaining years. Old age is difficult, probably the most difficult time most people ever face. I want to reveal what old age is like from one senior’s unique view. I have decided that if something is interesting to me at 81, it will be interesting to many other seniors.

This has proven true so far. The comment section of my essays tells the tale. People are resonating with what I write.

In my last essay, I wrote about discovering that I probably have REM Sleep Behavior Disorder. Normally, our bodies are blocked from physically acting out our dreams. In REM disorder, something is haywire, and we act them out. Dreams can be a wild, funhouse of strange happenings, like a movie chase scene, for instance.

With REM Sleep Behavior Disorder, if I am being chased in a dream, I might lunge to escape someone and actually leap out of bed onto the floor. This has happened to me two times in less than six months. It has never happened before.

As a writer, I felt I had to bring this out, not be embarrassed by it as if it makes me a less-than-perfect person. This sleep disorder is one of my truths, and I have a choice to hide it or bring it forth. And when I brought it forth, my readers opened up and told me about their experiences with the disorder.

One man woke up from a dream in which he was choking an assailant, to find he was choking his little pet dog. Many described yelling and flailing their arms, scaring their spouses. Opening up about my experience permitted them to do it too. And reading their comments was helpful to me. It’s comforting to know I’m not alone.

Seniors are hungry for insight into aging. They know whether I’m real or whether I’m using AI. They know when something feels off, like slightly rancid olive oil.

I read a lot of writing these days that seems off, nearly perfect writing, but slightly removed from reality. It’s the menu and not the actual meal. Only humans can experience the meal. The missing ingredient in AI is a beating heart and a lively consciousness.

Let’s say Marina and I are sitting at the beach, watching an amazing sunset. AI can write beautifully about that — but it can never experience the sunset. It can only describe it by drawing on what humans have said about sunsets in the past.

In Zen, there is an often-used metaphor about words: “A finger pointing at the moon.” The moon is reality. Words are fingers pointing at reality. We can become so fascinated by the fingers (words) that we don’t see the reality. We are made of lived experiences — AI is made of fingers.

People can get bored with a relentless spiller, so I have to be careful to make sure my writing is relatable to people, not just a diary entry. There is an old phrase called “Spilling the Tea.” It is usually defined as sharing gossip, juicy news, or revealing a secret. That’s not the kind of spilling I want to do, the kind you find on social media or TMZ.

My definition of Spilling the Tea is Spilling the T.

And the T stands for truth. If I want people to read my personal essays, they have to be true. Readers can smell a phony coming 20 miles down the pike. When they read AI writing, they know something is off. Something’s rotten in Denmark.

There is a quote from Jesus that has become popular among writers and artists, regarding creativity. It carries a deep meaning for me. The following is from translator Marven Meyer from his book, The Gospel of Thomas: The Hidden Sayings Of Jesus.

“If you bring forth what is within you, what you have will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you.”

Whether or not you are a Christian, this is powerful. What it means to me is that if I want to be a truly creative writer, I need to be transparent. I need to spill the beans. If I am not transparent, I won’t be able to reveal the many truths about being old. I won’t be able to really connect with readers.

Truths about aging emerge from old souls.

If I am unwilling to reveal myself, no one will read me. This is why AI won’t work for writers. I don’t want to reveal 100 percent of myself. I honestly can’t. I leave aspects of myself out. But I try to make sure what I do reveal is the truth as I know it.

Old age is no joke — it’s deadly serious.

And old age is not a medical condition — it’s the natural, healthy continuation of youth and middle age. I don’t write about the science of aging. I don’t have the qualifications to do that, and that’s not what I want to write about anyway.

I write about the lived experience of old age, as you are, but I am not writing only about old age.

Aging is the setting in which I write.

Within it, I write about deeper themes such as:

• How we suffer less from aging than from our ideas about aging.

• The surprises of growing old.

• How can we find freedom inside unavoidable change?

• Keeping our sense of humor and curiosity in the face of decline.

• The tension between what society says aging means and what it actually feels like.

We, seniors, know what aging feels like. Sometimes it’s great, and sometimes it’s painful. And sometimes we suffer. We need to be conscious of the entire spectrum of aging: the good and the bad. I bring that forth.

The more I bring you the truth from my experience, the more I learn from you as you feed back your experience to me. We are part of the aging community. The forgotten generation, from the undiscovered country of old age.

I think this is our time. For me, it’s like 1957, when I was 13, when Rock and Roll exploded, and I had my own music. Every day was filled with discoveries, and I was more mindful than I have ever been. I was truly happy. But I didn’t know it.

Now, nearly 70 years later, I feel like I’m 13 again. I have my own community of seniors, and I have taken my place as a writer among them, and I feel more mindful and happy than in 1957. That may sound preposterous, but it’s true for me.

This is our time. The elderly population grows every year.

We scare experts who call us the silver tsunami, as if we are a menace. But things are changing. The new Netflix series, The Burroughs, has been called “Stranger Things — But with Old People” by one reviewer. I’m watching it and loving it. It’s science fiction, but full of satire about the Senior Industrial Complex. It’s science fiction and a bit corny, but there is a message hidden in the show about how we are treated.

When major filmmakers start making films about us that depict us as confident, intelligent, wise people standing up for ourselves, we can know our time has come.

We old souls shouldn’t be afraid to share how it feels to be a senior. To our friends, our family, and everyone we meet. Because when we bring forth what is within us, it will save us. What we keep hidden will destroy us.

We need to shine our light.

Gary
June 2026

I thought I knew about all my challenges of old age, but here’s a new one I didn’t see coming.

Now I not only have to deal with my sore knees, swollen ankles (venous insufficiency), weight gain, loss of stamina, D.J.T., fear of falling, ageism, pre-diabetes, high gas prices, and impending death. That’s already a lot.

Last night, I threw myself out of bed.

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You heard that right. I involuntarily lunged to escape a dream villain and found myself on the floor. This is not good. It’s very dangerous. It seems my body got out of my control while I was sleeping. Our bodies have a built-in mechanism to keep our limbs from moving during REM sleep. But something went haywire last night.

This has never happened to me before 80, but this is the second time in a year I have lunged to escape a dream threat during sleep. Yet another senior condition to add to my growing list.

Luckily, it was a soft landing, and I didn’t hit my head on the wooden nightstand next to me. I didn’t mean to launch myself out of bed at three a.m. In my dream, something or someone, I don’t remember what, was chasing me, and I made a sharp right and crashed-landed on the floor.

Luckily, I took the entire duvet with me, so it was a softer landing than it could have been. My duvetless wife was all, “What the heck are you doing? Are you okay?”

Over the past year, I have had some minor episodes in which I punched and flailed my arms about and said things like stop it, get away from me and Marina would intervene and wake me up.

Turns out, being chased by dream characters and yelling, flailing around, punching, and even falling out of bed is a thing: It’s called REM Sleep Behavior Disorder. Here’s what Stanford University has to say about it.

Dreaming occurs during Rapid Eye Movement or REM sleep. With REM sleep, changes occur in brain signaling, which cause reduced muscle tone in many of the body’s muscles; this may be called REM sleep muscle paralysis [A good thing.] or muscle atonia. This is considered a normal function of REM sleep. REM behavior disorder occurs when the body maintains relatively increased muscle tone during REM sleep, [A bad thing] causing the sleeper to move and act out their dreams.
 — Stanford Healcare REM Behavior Disorder Guide

That’s my condition in a nutshell. For some reason, my body is not automatically shutting down my muscle tone during REM sleep, allowing it to enact my dreams during Rapid Eye Movement (REM) sleep.

That’s why I was flailing and eventually launched myself out of bed while being chased by some bad guy in my dream. Normally, the brain inhibits muscle movement during REM sleep.

Have you ever flailed about in your sleep in response to your dreams? I’d love to know

That is not only dangerous to me, imagine my wife if I am punching and flailing about, my arms are dangerous weapons. She usually wakes up, grabs my arm, and says, Wake up, Gary! For her, it probably feels like sleeping with a loose cannon. So I need to learn how to tame this condition if it’s possible, for my sake and hers.

Studies have shown that REM sleep behavior disorder (RBD) can be a precursor to Parkinson’s disease and Lewy body dementia. Now my funny little story is getting serious. Parkinson’s disease is not amusing.

I’m very concerned.

So what am I going to do now?

I have done enough internet and AI research to scare the heck out of me, so I’m going to lighten up on the amateur sleuthing and let the experts have a go at it.

I have a doctor’s appointment four hours from now, which should give me some actionable information. I’ll report on the doctor’s appointment at the end of this essay.

I’ve also been doing some thinking about this that I haven’t seen in my internet searches: some psychological aspects I’m exploring.

I believe we have disturbing dreams due to chaos or unfinished business in our lives. So one thing I’m going to do is take better care of my personal and family issues, and maybe I won’t have so many disturbing dreams. If I’m having a dream about having tea with a friend, even if my arms move, it won’t be dangerous. (And I won’t spill tea on the bed.) That’s my theory anyway.

I’m back from seeing my Primary Physician, who seemed not to know much about REM Sleep Disorder, but she’s a family practitioner. That’s understandable; one can’t know everything. She made an appointment for me with a sleep specialist, and they will be calling me in a few days.

Meanwhile, I’m doing what I can, mainly making my sleep environment safer. I have removed the nightstand from beside my bed. I have placed some spare blankets on the floor to soften the landing in case I have another episode.

Could learning lucid dreaming help?

I used to read a lot about lucid dreaming: the phenomenon where you are asleep but fully aware that you are dreaming. If you can achieve lucidity, you can gain some control over the dream environment, the narration, and the various characters in the dream.

One trick to gain lucidity is to plant some prompts in your mind before you go to sleep. You might say, When I’m dreaming, I will look at my hands. That might make me fully conscious that I am in a dream, just like that. Experienced lucid dreamers say it works.

So now, before I go to sleep, I tell myself: If I have a disturbing dream, I will immediately say, Wake up now! Hopefully, before I launch myself out of bed. It’s worth a try.

So if we think we know all about old age, there’s always something new around the corner to burst our bubbles.

I’m super careful not to lose my balance and fall when I’m walking in the waking world. Now I’ve got to be mindful to avoid falling in my sleep, too. Not sure exactly how to do that, but I’m working on it.

Have you ever flailed about in your sleep in response to your dreams? I’d love to know.

Gary
June 2026

What if a psychic told you that you were going to move to a new country and have transformative, unexpected adventures at 65?

You might get excited.

What if the new country was old age? And the unexpected adventures involved swollen ankles, slower walking, bad hearing, worn-out knees, deteriorating eyesight, reduced sex drive, and ageism.

You might get scared.

Old age is an undiscovered country. And we can name it exciting, or we can be miserable. It’s our choice. But let’s not choose miserable and live the last 30 years of our lives in a cold, grey dictatorship of hopelessness.

One person’s problem is another’s solution. Sixty-five is not the beginning of the end. It’s when new vistas open up, and the slower pace of life reveals new opportunities if we can get out of our heads, open our eyes, and see.

If we can ignore all the old age stereotypes our culture has spoon-fed us since we were children, we will be open to the hidden opportunities old age brings. I am growing and doing new things at 81, and I know many of you are too.

I started when I hit 76.

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In the first weeks of the pandemic lockdown in February 2020, I began changing my life. If it hadn’t been for COVID-19, I don’t think the changes would have been possible.

The worldwide pandemic that killed millions was a blessing to me. It seemed like the world was meditating. The city was almost deserted, and people dressed like bank robbers in masks darted here and there on the San Francisco streets. People were scared, but I was hopeful.

Time had stopped, and it was the perfect time for me to get some things done that I had been avoiding all my life. I wanted to become a writer, but I was afraid.

I was afraid of what people would say about me. My whole life up to that time had been about me and what people would say about me if I poked my head up and spoke my words from my heart. If I did that, Internet snipers would shoot me down, I thought. It’s no exaggeration to say I was terrified of writing in public.

Something else I had been wanting to do for years was to meditate daily. To establish a seven-day-a-week meditation practice at home. I was sure something good would happen, and my life would change for the better if I did that. I had certainty that meditation was the right path, but I had been unable to do it daily up to then.

Years before, I took a year-long course called Establishing the Path of Practice, aimed at helping people develop a home meditation practice, and I loved it — but I did not successfully establish a home meditation practice, even though I had been studying Zen for 25 years.

It seemed impossible.

I decided to meditate daily during the 2020 lockdown. I had the time. I had a generous, government-subsidized unemployment income and a pandemic loan. If I were ever to become a meditator, now was the time.

Come hell or high water, I would become a meditator, and I would become a writer! I felt 100 percent committed. And mind you, this was the time of life when I was supposed to go gently into that good night of retirement, like a good little senior. Move to a retirement community and play pickleball, I guess.

No way I was going to do that.

Meditation and writing are deeply connected; I didn’t realize how my daily meditation would help me overcome my fear of writing. I wanted to write, and I wanted to meditate, and I thought writing and meditation were separate things, but I found out they are deeply entangled.

One of the most important things I learned from meditation is that my thoughts are not me. And I don’t necessarily have to believe them. One thought that had me in its grip was “I am afraid to write.” I accepted and believed that thought wholeheartedly. It played me like a violin.

Meditation teaches us, while we are meditating, to not attach to our thoughts, to let them float on by like clouds in the sky. And after months of meditation practice, we begin to put this “letting go of thoughts” practice to use in our everyday life.

Meditation practice taught me that “I’m afraid to write” was not true for me at all— it was just a thought, and I could let it go. And meditation works to eliminate other self-limiting thoughts like, I can’t do algebra, I’m afraid of flying, I’m angry, I can’t remember names, I’ll never succeed at anything, I’m not a likable person, and on and on.

All those things are just thoughts in my head.

So that’s how meditation eliminated my fear of writing, reduced my anger, and increased my attention span and concentration. And made me a kinder person. I realized that one of the most important things we need to do in life is to quiet our minds.

So, that’s my story, but how can you live a happy, satisfying life in old age? There is no way I can tell you what you should do; we are all different, and my answers will not work for you. But you could start with this.

Just Begin

Choose something you would love to do and begin doing it. Jump in. Watch YouTube videos about it. Invest time and money in it and do it at least a little every day.

And most importantly, hold the thought of what you want to do in your mind every day and don’t let go of it. Wholesome thoughts are just as powerful as harmful ones. Your subconscious will give you the most powerful one.

If you want to do something, set your internal GPS to the thing you want to do and start moving toward it. If you hold that idea in your mind every day, you’ll find yourself doing things that will make it happen.

The power of your mind will give you what you concentrate on the most: fear of writing, or becoming a writer — it works both ways. Concentrate fiercely on what you want to do, and I’m convinced you will do it.

I’d love to know what you think about this.

Gary
June 2026

When The Beatles released “All You Need Is Love” in 1967 to explosive popularity, the cynics and naysayers had a field day calling it idealistic and oversimplified.

But I think “all you need is love” is the truth.

It’s not just putting a bumper sticker on your car, wearing a flower dress, or putting on a phony smile. It’s as real as your baby’s laugh, Aunt Molly’s apple pies, or your wedding ring.

You can’t find love on an X-ray or an MRI. The James Webb Space Telescope, orbiting the Sun 1 million miles from Earth, can see the first galaxies born after the Big Bang in detail, but it can’t see love.

Love is a feeling, an emotion that can’t be mass-produced, understood, or anticipated. Love happens when you least expect it. When you fall in love, the world opens up, and everything is perfect. At least that’s the case with romantic love.

But there’s a deeper kind of universal love that happens every so often in our lives, and if we quiet our minds, we make ourselves available for those moments, those peak experiences when we know everything is alright. Astronauts in the stillness of space experienced it.

Reflecting years later on the intense impact of looking back at our borderless planet from the lunar surface, Apollo 16 astronaut Charlie Duke emphasized human unity:

“From the Moon, you don’t see any races. You don’t see any nations. You don’t see any borders. We’re all here down on Earth, and I said, we’ve gotta learn how to love one another.”
Astronaut Charlie Duke on X

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How to love one another

One of my dear readers on Medium, Shirley Willett, is 93, and always reads my articles and comments on them. And she signs off every time with, “Love to you.”

You see, as you get really old like Shirley and I, family and friends are dropping like flies, and the only thing left to sustain us is love. Love for ourselves and love for all of humanity.

John Lennon said while discussing the meaning behind the iconic Beatles hit he co-wrote, “I think if you get down to basics, whatever the problem is, it’s usually to do with love.”

Every time I read comments from my readers, I feel a great love for them because they’re going through the same things I’m experiencing in old age. Old age is a strict teacher, but we all just do the best we can.

And as we get into our 70s, 80s, and 90s, we have fewer and fewer close family and friends. But platforms like Medium and Substack are great places to find other seniors who are looking for support and information on how to navigate this fascinating life stage.

So my writing on Medium and Substack is my expression of love. The love of writing and the love of all the seniors out there reading me and commenting on my essays.

Your comments are what sustain me — let me know whether or not I’m hitting the target with my essays. And I love the comments because they’re so kind and thoughtful — some are 200–300 words long, almost articles in themselves.

I have never in my life felt this kind of community, and I’m glad I have the opportunity to contribute to the steadily growing senior communities on Medium and Substack.

Substack serves a mostly young audience. It has over 35 million monthly active subscribers and 5 million paid subscribers, most of whom are aged 22–44. I can’t find any statistics for how many are 65 and up, but since Substack has 35 million subscribers, there must be quite a lot of us.

Medium has approximately 1 million paid subscribers and over 50 million active monthly users (including both free and registered readers). Five percent are aged 65 and up on Medium.

I know I don’t have any trouble finding you. And there are a lot of seniors who are writing on Substack and Medium as well. Readers or writers, we are all playing our part in educating people on what it is like to grow old and continue to thrive in spite of our age.

We know that old age is not the end — it’s another beginning, a brand new beginning in which we can continue to change and grow as we did in our youth. My writing is my love and my message about old age.

All You Need Is Love was released 59 years ago, and we should stop thinking of it as a Summer of Love artifact — but an urgent message for us to adopt today.

Gary
May 2026

One damn thing:

I was 75 when I first noticed I was walking funny.

I wasn’t ambling energetically with confidence; it felt more like stumbling. My walking and running always had a steady cadence, like a good drummer in a band, laying down the rhythm for my life.

That day, when I was walking across the street on my way to the bank, I suddenly noticed my gait was missing a few beats. I was a polka band. The way I was moving was off, and the range of motion in my neck was minimized, so that I had to turn my body to look both ways before crossing the street, instead of just turning my head.

I realized that day that I was really getting old, that other people would notice, and there wasn’t anything I could do to stop it. I was going to have to accept it.

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Another damn thing:

I first learned the value of acceptance at 68, when I finally accepted the stone-cold fact that I had become a senior. I was reluctantly pulled into old age by my therapist. One day, she asked me if I wanted to join the weekly seniors group she ran.

I told her I would think about it.

But inside, I am whining like a toddler whose toys have been taken away. Waaa, I don’t want to be a senior. I don’t want to be old. I want to stay young, forever young . . . I don’t want to change, I don’t want pain, I don’t want a cane, especially the cane.

It took me a few days to come out of my denial. I joined the seniors group, and that acceptance of acceptance changed my life. For one thing, it’s why I am a writer at 81. It’s why I write about aging. I learned that I can change and grow, even in my seventies and eighties. I learned that old age is not the end — it’s another kind of beginning if you accept it.

Another damn thing:

I was accepting four days ago when I was lying on my back on the floor with my legs propped up on a chair for 20 minutes.

My ankles are swollen with edema, and Marina and I will be flying to Germany a month from now, and I’m worried. And I only have a month to make it better.

I’m embarrassed by the swelling and want to do something about it. I have an appointment with my doctor in a week to make sure it is what I think it is: venous insufficiency. This is a fairly common ailment among older folks. My veins are struggling to send blood efficiently from my legs back up to the heart.

Instead of flowing upward, gravity is causing the blood to leak backward and pool in my legs. Hence, I need to walk and elevate my legs above my heart every day.

I’m a worrier, so I‘m trying not to exaggerate this into a life-threatening illness in my mind while I wait to see my doctor. I tend to make cancers out of hangnails. My doctor has told me what I need to do before my appointment. She said in an email that I should walk daily, cut down on salt and alcohol, or quit drinking altogether. And elevate my legs four times a day.

That was three days ago, and this is my fourth day of increased walking and elevating my legs twice a day for 20 minutes. My ankles are already less swollen — 60 percent better. It’s not going to be a disaster, I’m not going to die of swollen ankles.

Acceptance is my go-to strategy. Whatever a problem pops up — and in old age they will, like a jack-in-the-box. If I, instead of running away, just accept what’s happening and then take action to improve it, things get better.

Acceptance is not giving up — it’s getting in touch with what’s actually happening now and taking action, as I did with my swollen ankles.

It’s getting in touch with Reality.

Acceptance is the way for me now

In my weekly seniors group (a new one), someone brought up acceptance, and some people didn’t understand it. They think that acceptance is always a negative reaction to a problem. They view it as giving up. That’s not acceptance in the spiritual sense.

One of my favorite spiritual teachers, Pema Chödrön, in an interview with Ezra Klein of The New Your Times a week ago, expanded further on acceptance.

It’s not acceptance exactly. It’s [being] willing to be there fully and completely with whatever it is that you’re feeling — with an unconditional warmth toward whatever you’re feeling.

Instead of saying, as I often do, that accepting your age is necessary in order to have a better old age. What if I say

Be willing to be there fully and completely with whatever it is you’re feeling about old age — and then do something about it.

That takes the “giving up” inference out of acceptance. Acceptance, in the Buddhist sense, never means quitting.

Meditation:

Be willing to be there fully and completely with whatever it is you’re feeling in the moment.

Meditation is the foundation of acceptance in my life. Meditation is an exercise in acceptance. It is the practice of accepting the present moment for what it is, instead of remaining tangled up in my thoughts.

I meditate with my attention on the present, my mind wanders, and I bring my attention back to the present. It’s simple, but it ain’t always easy. The idea of meditation is to, as Pema Chödrön advised, just be there fully and completely with an unconditional warmth toward whatever it is you’re feeling.

The even harder part about meditation is to take what you learn in meditation out into your everyday life. Can you “Just be there fully and completely with an unconditional warmth toward whatever it is you’re feeling — when you’re with your family at Thanksgiving dinner?

Or in the workplace?

Or in your book club?

Or in your marriage?

Or when you’re with your children?

As I said, accepting ain’t easy, but if you use it in your life, acceptance is the power that will make you stronger.

Gary
May 2026

We all want to be happy.

The problem is that we look for happiness in material things and exciting experiences, but that rarely works. Your nice house may burn down, disease may strike, divorce may happen, and vacations will end.

But there is a place within you where everything is all right. Where you don’t regret the past or dread the future. It is so close you can’t find it— it has no monetary value — yet it’s priceless.

It’s the present moment.

It’s the silence between your thoughts. It’s the sudden stillness that comes in an emergency, or when someone dies. It’s when your world becomes silent, and you listen in wonder.

It’s when you realize you are not your thoughts. You are the unchanging part of yourself that’s always there from the time you were a baby.

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Who doesn’t fall in love with a baby? It’s always the center of attention because it’s simply itself. It has no concept of time — every moment is the present moment for a baby. And it has no concepts, ideas, or language to label things, as grownups do.

Can you be more like a baby? Can you look out through your eyes and see the world brand new? I doubt I could see with the unfiltered view of a baby. But when I am simply myself without the overlay of my thoughts, I enjoy each moment.

But when I am constantly comparing and mansplaining things, I lose the present moment because my thoughts won’t shut up.

The past 12 months have been very hard for me. Worry about my grown daughter has consumed me, beaten me down, and saddened me. I was understandably worried, but it made the past 12 months the hardest time of my life.

Now the situation with her has calmed down. She has her divorce settlement money, so I’m not worried about her being homeless. But her state of mind is still not good. I have to accept that, and it’s not going to get better until she sees a therapist and/or receives medication. I love my daughter, but I’m not going to sacrifice my life to her.

I’m moving on and taking care of myself. I’m exercising every other day and have recovered my daily meditation habit.

My life is better, but I’m still not at peace, even though I’m beginning to feel the effect of my new chair exercise program and my return to meditation.

There are many ways to invite the present moment, like yoga, tai chi, walking, and many more. But the one I’m most familiar with is meditation: the art of doing nothing.

Meditation is not a search for the present moment. Our bodies are already in the present, but we get so distracted by our thoughts of the past and the future that we can’t see the immediate reality in which we live.

We meditate to unite our mind and body in the present. When my mind quiets down, it becomes a clear lake. The haze of thought lifts like the overcast when the sun comes out.

The art of doing nothing

The purpose of meditation is to do nothing, get out of your head, lay down your troubles, relax, and enjoy the moment.

But doing nothing is difficult. We’re not wired for it. Not being a productive member of society is almost a crime. To get something we want, we have to work hard for it, we’re told.

We’re wired for doing, doing, and more doing. And that’s fine for holding down a job and making money to support ourselves and our families. We all want to do that, but we also want to be happy.

One of the best ways to discover the source of your happiness is to meditate. But when you meditate, you’ll find your mind doesn’t want to do nothing — it wants to do something, ANYTHING. It will go on strike, carrying a picket sign saying, “Just Do It.”

Meditation is hard at first.

What to do?

First of all, don’t meditate unless you really want to. Find another way to be present. Plant a garden or go for a walk. Forcing yourself to meditate will not help. But being aware of what meditators do, and how you can apply those principles to everyday life, might help.

How to meditate in three steps

1. Sit quietly and observe your breathing, your body sitting, and everything inside and outside yourself — without judging them or commenting on them, just notice the whole experience.

2. When your mind wanders, bring your attention back to your body and repeat as many times as necessary.

3. Do not worry about your wandering mind; that’s what our minds want to do. When your mind wanders, bring it back. That’s the simple process of meditation.

That’s all I need to tell you. It’s up to you to try it. No one can meditate for you, and a book can’t teach you. Meditation is like playing the piano. You can only learn by practicing it every day.

And if meditation is not your jam, take a walk and apply the above three steps. Focus your mind on your walking. When your mind starts wandering, bring your attention back to your walking as many times as necessary. And don’t worry about your wandering mind, just bring it back to your walking and enjoy the moment.

Whatever you’re doing, keep bringing your attention back to the present moment. To the stillness beneath your thoughts. To the quiet space where you realize that your thoughts are not you.

The real you is the unchanging part that’s always been there from the moment you were born. It’s always content and always happy. It’s why many older people say (no matter how old they are) they still feel young inside. Ask yourself:

Who is it that’s looking through my eyes?

Gary
May 2026

This is a stupid article, isn’t it?

Of course, mindfulness can prevent falls. Everyone knows that, you might say.

Sure, you know it when you’re in your armchair reading about it. But do you remember it when you’re crossing the street or deciding to walk up a dangerous staircase?

Do you remember in the heat of the moment?

That is the question.

Rehearsing mindfulness in a daily practice helps you remember it in the rush of your life.

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He was 74 and decided to climb the stairs in a house under renovation, on which the balustrade was not yet installed. On the way down, he tripped, fell, and died instantly.

Peter was one of my massage clients. I used to give him a shiatsu massage every Saturday. He was in excellent health, wealthy, single, and well-loved by his friends and family. That accident was a tragedy that didn’t need to happen.

Why didn’t he stop, look, and decide that the unfinished staircase was unsafe and not go up? If he had, he’d probably be alive today, 13 years later at 87.

One simple decision — one tiny moment would have saved Peter. With the deepest respect to my old friend, I believe his fall was a lapse in mindfulness. If he had just stopped for a second, and... well, he didn’t.

Rest in peace, Peter.

What is mindfulness

Mindfulness is looking both ways before you cross the street. It’s paying attention.

It takes mindfulness to drive a car, eat lunch, talk to somebody, write an email, or make breakfast. We need to be mindful when we do these things, or we wouldn’t be able to accomplish them at all.

But a closer look reveals that we are not fully there when we do them — our minds are somewhere else. While we’re cracking our breakfast eggs, we’re worrying about our finances. A photo would show us preparing breakfast, but would not show our absent minds.

Mindfulness originates with the Buddha, in his first teaching after enlightenment, the Noble Eightfold Path, which his monks follow to liberate themselves from suffering and achieve enlightenment.

Mindfulness is being purposefully aware, without judgment, of what’s happening in your mind, your body, and your environment in the present moment — this is what meditators do on their cushions.

Although I have been practicing Zen for 25 years, I didn’t start meditating daily until I was 75 (six years ago), and it blew my life wide open. Not in the sense of enlightenment, but Daily meditation began to soften me and change me in important ways.

It resulted in improved concentration, better attention span, and less stress, anxiety, and worry. And I didn’t have to perform any special techniques in order to bring about the improvements. They slowly manifested from my simple daily practice of being aware, without judgment, in the present moment.

What I do

I sit quietly, aware of the room around me, my body, and my feelings, without judging them. The without judgment part is key — I just notice what’s happening within me and outside me, without layering my thoughts on top.

Anyone can do this, whether you’re sitting formally on a meditation cushion or in a comfortable chair by the window, having a cup of tea. Just notice what’s happening in and around you without judging it.

When I notice my mind has wandered off somewhere, I bring my attention back to my body. I’ll do this many times in 30 minutes. My thoughts are clouds, and I’m just watching them float by.

You can do this too, meditating casually, looking out the window. When your thoughts wander, bring them back. Who’s to say that’s not meditation? And if you do it regularly, you’ll realize you can also do it in line at the grocery store, at the airport, or in conversation with a friend.

You can just BE in those situations without pulling out your phone to distract yourself from the reality around you. And when your mind wanders, you’ll bring it back to the task at hand. Mindfulness is being fully present in life.

Recent I came to a stop at a crosswalk and watched a young man cross the street in front of me while texting on his phone, and he didn’t take his eyes off his phone the whole way. I wanted to yell out my car window, WAKE UP!

Facts about falls from the AARP

For adults 65 and older:

• Falls are the leading cause of injury and injury-related death.

• More than 95 percent of hip fractures are caused by falling.

• Falls are the most common cause of traumatic brain injuries.

Source: CDC

How to avoid accidents and falls

My number one fear as an older adult is the fear of falling. A fall to the sidewalk that a young skateboarder would find mildly annoying could send me to the hospital. The same goes for an auto accident or a bicycle fall.

Recently, on vacation, I had the opportunity to hop on a bike and take a little ride around an RV camp, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I knew if I fell off the bike, I could injure myself severely. I have decided that riding a bike is just another one of those fun activities I need to give up. This is my decision, based on my age and the shape I’m in.

Was that fear of bike riding an irrational fear? Maybe getting on a bike again would rid me of that fear, a part of me says. But my mindful self knows that if I fall, I’ll injure my hand or arm trying to break the fall, and incur more injuries when my body hits the asphalt. If my head hits the road and I’m not wearing a helmet, it’s deadly serious.

To quit bike riding is my decision. I know there are people out there in their 80s right now, riding their bikes and having fun. But everybody is different, and this body is not getting on a bike anymore.

Better decisions

Once in my tai chi class, the teacher was demonstrating some self-defense moves. And I asked him, But what if you meet a robber in a dark alley and he pulls a gun on you? What good are these self-defense moves then?

A tai chi teacher wouldn’t walk down a dark alley, he replied.

And a mindful person will not ride a bike if their intuition is telling them it might be unsafe. A mindful person will not walk up a staircase that doesn’t have a banister. A mindful person doesn’t care what anyone else thinks about what they should or shouldn’t do. A mindful person makes decisions based on reality on the ground, not solely in the thoughts in their head or what someone else tells them.

Mindlessness has consequences. In 1967, in the Air Force in the Philippines, I went to the firing range for my yearly evaluation and forgot to put on the ear protectors, and now, almost 60 years later, I still suffer from tinnitus — because of that bad decision.

Being mindful means making better decisions. Deciding not to walk up a particular staircase that looks dangerous, even if everyone else you’re with is doing it. Mindfulness is deciding to take the elevator. Mindfulness is deciding not to jaywalk. Mindfulness is not using your phone while walking.

Mindfulness is deciding not to get into a political argument in a bar or flip the bird at someone from your car. Mindfulness results in better decisions because your mind is clear and calm.

It could save your life.

Gary
May 2025

This morning, I woke up to another beautiful day.

The rising sun burned through the San Francisco fog, the birds sang their morning songs — and I didn’t have to ask for this day — it was freely given for my enjoyment. All I had to do was open my eyes and ears.

I should be grateful I have eyes to see and ears to hear. Some people don’t. But I don’t always appreciate this feast of miracles that has been on my table for 81 years. I’m like the fish that, when asked, How’s the water? said, What’s water?

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I have been swimming in the miracle for so long that I no longer see it or appreciate it. For example, Marina and I live on a hill in San Francisco, and when we first moved in 30 years ago, we were awed by the view, the colorful houses on the hills, and the amazing sunsets.

Now it’s only when guests visit us — and the first thing they say when they walk through the door is, Wow! Look at that view — that we remember where we live and really appreciate it. We all do this to some degree. We’re no longer awed by a cat on the windowsill or a wildflower growing from the sidewalk. Those little miracles become ordinary.

If we stop living in our heads and rediscover our bodies (which are always in the present), we can see more clearly and live more enjoyably in the present.

This is the only moment we have

This present moment is the most valuable gift that we can ever receive. Whether we are a billionaire or a pauper, everyone gets the same allotment: one moment.

The question is, do you realize its value and appreciate it? The past is only memories, and the future is only a thought in our heads. We exist in the eternal moment, the here and now, although we feel there are many moments.

There is no way to guarantee we will wake up tomorrow. We should be grateful we’ve made it this far, but we take it for granted. If we are 80, maybe we have 10 or 20 more years. We should be flabbergasted by those numbers. We are lucky to be so old.

If you think about it, we are lucky to be alive at any age. If we are not grateful, it’s because we haven’t realized the value of the gift we’ve received. If we won millions of dollars in the lottery, we’d be grateful; we’d be over the moon with thankfulness because we would know the value of the gift.

But we take the present moment for granted.

Every moment we get is like winning the lottery, and it’s much more valuable than that. We don’t always notice those moments. When we fully experience one of those gifted moments, it will live in our memory forever, because those golden moments of grace are a connection with the One, the Tao, dare I say, God? The mind slows down, and there you are in a quiet world you never expected that will shine forever in your memory because you were fully present for it.

There are three types of given moments in my experience.

Everyday moments

Most of the time, we are living in our heads. Our thoughts are having a dialogue with one another, while we miss the reality right in front of us. We live our lives through our thoughts. When we look at a tree, we don’t really experience the tree; we experience our thoughts about the tree.

Is it an oak tree? Is it native to this area? How old is it? What species of oak is it? It’s like the one I saw in central California. Those were so beautiful, on and on. We don’t realize we are living like this. It’s normal for us.

To really see and appreciate the tree, we need to see it as a toddler would see it — without any knowledge of a tree whatsoever. To see a tree like that would be a psychedelic experience for most adults. So the first kind of everyday moment is the kind created in our heads.

But there are moments when we look around and notice where we are and what we’re doing.

Mindful moments

Living in the moment, I may decide not to go on a strenuous hike or walk down a steep sidewalk because I’m 81 and know it might be dangerous. Not going on the hike may set me apart from others and cause me to feel left out.

But if I’m weighing my decision based on an accurate assessment of the terrain and the risk, not what my thoughts say I SHOULD be doing, I’m living in the moment. Staying in the moment as a senior may prevent falls and maybe even save my life.

Living in my head, I might opt to tough it out, not be a baby, and forge ahead as if I’m still 50. This is the danger of living in my head. I may still feel young inside, but I have an old body. I need to take care to know the difference between my physical age and my psychological age lest I hurt myself.

Finally, there are the mindful moments I experience in my formal meditation practice. Meditation is a kind of mind training, where day by day I practice getting out of my head into the present, bang on. right here! moment reality.

Transcendent moments

It’s a late Friday afternoon in the mid-80s, and I am walking with my girlfriend, Kathy, on Geary Street, the sun dipping into the Pacific Ocean behind us. We walked out to Ocean Beach and are on our way back to our neighborhood in the Sunset District of West San Francisco.

And suddenly it’s perfect.

The setting sun is transforming everything around us in this very ordinary neighborhood of Chinese Restaurants and neighborhood businesses into golden light. I am in the perfect place at the perfect time with the perfect person.

I look through the open door of a typical SF dive bar filled with neighborhood people drinking, laughing, and getting buzzed on a Friday night. I watch these citizens enjoying themselves, and feel a great affinity with them; I am one of them, and they are one with me.

This transendent moment probably lasted less than five minutes, but I still remember it vividly 40 years later. Through no effort of my own, I was thrust into the present moment — the drab streets, corner stores, bakeries, and auto parts shops were Shangri-La.

I was content and at peace. It was a totally subjective experience, and there is no way I can repeat it or give it to anyone else. Something opened up in me, and I got a glimpse of how the world could be. Beautiful. Perfect. That moment was a gift — every moment is a gift — that’s why we call it the present.

Gary
April 2025

Thriving in old age is an inside job —a positive attitude that makes the critical difference.

Is getting old depressing for you? Or is it an opportunity? How you view old age is critical. Yes, diet and exercise are important. But a great diet and a toned body at 75 are not enough if you have a negative attitude.

I’ve always been an optimist, except for my ideas about aging. I was 68 before I realized I was a senior and accepted my age.

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It happened when, in 2012, my therapist asked me if I wanted to join a seniors’ group, and I was greatly offended. I am not a senior, I said to myself. My mind was full of negative stereotypes about older people, and I didn’t want to become one.

Senile, slow, grey, sick, grumpy, frail, and over the hill are just a few examples of the old age stereotypes — or everyday ageism, as one study called it.

There is a ton of research about how our attitude toward aging affects our health and how long we live. We start absorbing all the negative stereotypes about old age when we are children, and by the time we are grown, they are living rent-free in our heads— until we learn to tell the difference between stereotypes and reality.

A Harvard study concludes that people who have the highest satisfaction with their own aging have a 43% lower risk of dying from any cause over four years compared with those who were the least satisfied. People with more positive attitudes about growing old tend to live longer and healthier lives than those with negative thoughts about aging.

A 2002 Yale University study, published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, found that older adults with a positive self-perception of aging lived an average of 7.5 years longer than those with a more negative outlook.

It’s clear that our attitudes about old age affect our health and longevity. How can we get from negative to positive?

The road forward

I have been writing about old age for six years, and I will continue to do it because I love it. I don’t seem to run out of ideas to write about, even in such a narrow lane as aging. I’m fully engaged with the adventure and looking forward to it. I have a positive view of aging.

Before I accepted the fact that I was old, I had a victim mentality about life. I felt life was something that happened to me, not something I could control and direct. When I accepted old age, I was, of necessity, accepting myself as I was — something I had never really done before. That was a major turning point in my life.

At 75, I started writing and fell in love with it. Turns out writing has become my life purpose — it fulfills me, and it helps other older people as well. It is something I can do that is a unique expression of myself.

Old and retiring

After our kids are grown and we’ve put down our career responsibilities, we need to find a replacement for that old life purpose. Because without a life purpose, living becomes as dull as a rock. Our life purpose is something that gets us out of bed in the morning, eager to get going.

If you can find a new purpose to replace your previous working life purpose, you’ll thrive in old age. My life purpose became writing about old age and mindfulness. I want to keep doing it and get better and better at it. I love it, and I’d do it for free if I had to. I no longer have a victim mentality. I have taken charge. Meet the new boss, different from the old boss.

I have no idea what your life purpose should be, except that it should be something you love. It might be your grandchildren, and spending as much time as possible with them. Or your purpose might be something you did in your youth that you gave up in order to go to college, find a job, or start a family.

Whatever you choose, make sure it’s something you love.

It takes a village to raise a senior

Here’s how to proceed — get out of your head and into reality.

Don’t philosophize about aging, batting ideas and thoughts around without ever coming to a conclusion. Talking to other people instead of talking to yourself is a good way to begin. Scientific studies have shown that having a network of friends and family is one of the best predictors of a long life.

Monday, I joined a seniors’ group of 20 people that is run by two therapists at my HMO. My first meeting was great — it was freewheeling and feisty.

Now, I’ve got 20 new friends, a place to express myself every Monday, and most importantly, to be empathetic toward a wide variety of older people. We help one another.

The intelligence of everyday older people is not widely known because most of us keep to ourselves. I’m sure this group will be a helpful community for me. I need to get out of the house and connect with people in person because it takes a village to raise a senior.

Gary
April 2026

I believe that the purpose of life is to be happy. From the moment of birth, every human being wants happiness and does not want suffering.
 — His Holiness the Dalai Lama, The Art of Happiness

If the Dalai Lama’s words are true, and I believe they are, we are all fundamentally the same. For some of us, happiness is a glass of wine at 5 p.m. For others, it’s a Ford F-150 pickup truck or an In-N-Out Burger with cheese.

Looking for love, sex, or money is a major preoccupation. We dream of winning the lottery or just paying the rent. Or a hot date. But there is one thing that unites us all — we all want to be happy and avoid suffering. And it’s always been like that. The Buddha taught this 2,500 years ago, and we are still looking for happiness in all the wrong places.

We think the happiness we seek is just around the corner in the future, but we will never find it there. The meaning of life and the secret to happiness is in this old story about a bar that had a sign that said, “Free Beer Tomorrow.”

A customer would come into the bar and say, I was here yesterday and noticed your sign, so I came in for my free beer, and the bartender would just point to the sign.

You’ll never be happy in the future; you can only be happy now! The more we realize this, the happier we will be. I believe living in the now is the most important thing we can do to thrive in old age. I’ve spent six years pondering old age and death because I write almost exclusively about them. And I learn a lot from my readers.

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One told me about his mother’s 90-year-old husband, who has been in poor health for ten years. The 90-year-old says his frustration is having a young mind trapped in a body that no longer responds. I can relate to that.

My reader agreed and told me he believes that’s where the suffering exists. “To want to travel and have experiences but needing to stay close to the specialists treating your broken body and being hyper aware your end is near would be torture,” he said.

And there it is — the trapdoor to unhappiness.

If I am in the hospital, staying close to the specialists treating my broken body and being hyper aware that my end may be near is exactly what I need to be doing — not dreaming of travel to far-away places.

There is beauty in the present moment, no matter how old you are or where you are. At the end of our lives, we can end up repeating the same thing we’ve always done — longing for happiness in all the wrong places, while forgetting it’s in our heart — the only place we can find it.

A Zen Hospice worker told me about a man who became radiant and content during the last weeks of his life. He reversed the normal hospice situation of being comforted by his caregivers and became a comfort to them. He enjoyed his simple meals of broth or yogurt and was satisfied watching the breeze gently move the curtains in his window. He had fully accepted his situation and was living those words of wisdom that said: “Wherever you go, there you are.”

Was that dying man happy? Maybe that’s not the best word for it — he was content. He had accepted what he had, rather than longing for something in the future that was not going to happen.

I have been doing this distorted, delayed gratification thinking for a full year regarding my daughter. My feeling was that I had to wait until my daughter resolved her precarious situation before I could get on with my life. I needed to sacrifice my immediate needs for her, because that was my responsibility as a father, I thought.

But I may not have time in the future to really enjoy myself. This is probably the most common mistake we make — waiting for some time in the future to travel, or do that special thing we can’t do now because we think we’re not ready, or too busy.

Do that special thing now — at least get started, because tomorrow never comes.

When that time you call tomorrow comes, it will be today, and today is where we live. So do that thing, make that phone call, have that hard conversation, begin that project now. Take the first step today, even if it’s a small one.

“The journey of a thousand miles starts from beneath your feet,” is a line from the Tao Te Ching I heard long before I meditated or practiced Zen. That line of wisdom always had a deep resonance for me because I’ve always been lazy and prone to procrastination. I needed a philosophical prod.

I used my daughter’s situation as an excuse for neglecting my meditation, my writing, and being present for my wife and friends, and my life in general. And I felt fully justified while doing it. But it’s possible to handle many difficult things in life and not neglect yourself. — I know people who do it every day. My wife, for example.

And there is only one way to pull that off —be fully where you are, wherever you are.

We all want to find happiness, and we can only find it HERE.

Gary
April 2026

I feel like I’ve aged five years in the past 12 months.

Don’t get me wrong, old age is going well for me, and I want to live a long time. I want to squeeze every last drop of juice from the orange, whether it’s at home or in an ICU. I’m positive about old age. But still . . .

Eighty-one is carrying a backpack of rocks up the stairs. Eighty-one is seeing a stranger in the mirror. Eighty-one is being unable to run for your connecting flight at the Airport. Eighty-one is being all dressed up with nowhere to go, or somewhere to go with nothing to wear.

Old age is just one damn thing after another, and it will never get better — but have hope — our perception of old age can get better. We will have pain in old age, but to quote Haruki Murakami: “Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.”

The ancient Stoic philosopher Epictetus said, “It’s not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters. This is a truth that will soften any number of problems if taken to heart.

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Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional, should be our motto in old age, because there will be pain. If one morning, a young person woke up in my body, he would immediately call a doctor. But old age comes on slowly, so we don’t see it coming until one day we “suddenly” realize we are old.

The story of the rest of my life will be how I react to all the changes life throws at me. And that’s good because I’ll always have a motivating force to push me on.

Dealing with the slings and arrows of old age gives me a reason to keep going. To find creative solutions and find love with my friends and family. And to remember that suffering is a choice. If I could figure out how to eliminate suffering in old age and bottle it, I’d be a billionaire.

There will be pain, but I’m hopeful

I have been suffering for the past 12 months, worrying about my daughter, who, because of her unwillingness to accept her divorce, was suffering too, and was on the verge of homelessness. She has finally received her divorce settlement, and the worry about homelessness is gone. But her state of mind is still not good. And I am in the process of letting go of my suffering around her.

But I have no regrets about my anguish and suffering over her. I did whatever I had to do to keep her off the streets. Tomorrow I’ll have my first therapy appointment, and I am hopeful I can let go of my suffering and get on with my own life. I’ll be more useful to my daughter in that state of mind.

But my long year of anguish is not unusual. In your old age, you’ll have such periods, whether it’s your own health or the pain of others you love. Everyone, without exception, will have pain and difficulties in old age.

And we should not be surprised when bad things happen to good people. Whatever your definition of old age, you will have pain once you’re old. Shunryu Suzuki, the founder of the San Francisco Zen Center, tried to warn his students about all the coming pain, but he did it kindly and with humor.

On the fourth day of sesshin, as we sat with our painful legs, aching backs, hopes and doubts about whether it was worth it, Suzuki Roshi began his talk by saying slowly, ‘The problems you are now experiencing . . .”

“Will go away,” we were sure he was going to say

“... will continue for the rest of your life,” he concluded.

The way he said it, we all laughed.

Suzuki Roshi’s wisdom was a hard truth wrapped in humor. We should live our lives wrapped in humor. My tai chi teacher once said, Once your legs are gone, the end is near. Well, once your sense of humor is gone, the end is here. You may be stoically carrying on with a stiff upper lip, but all the joy of life will have been sucked out.

You’ve gotta laugh about old age, which is like boarding a ship that’s setting out to sea to sink. Without humor, it’s a grim scenario.

But if we know that all that suffering is optional, we can live a little lighter and breathe a little easier.

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Gary
April 2026

One of my readers, who’s also a writer, emailed me today while I was sitting at my desk, staring into space, wondering what I was going to write next. He wanted to know how I approach my craft and have a conversation about writing.

So I decided to answer him, and it became this essay.

I began writing publicly at 75. Before that, I had written brochures and other marketing materials for Hewlett-Packard and other companies. I learned to put sentences together and how to express Hewlett-Packard’s point of view. That was the extent of my writing before I began writing online six years ago.

I don’t normally write about writing. I’m a beginner, still finding my way, and I’m not ready to teach anyone about the craft of writing. But in my six years at the laptop, I have learned how writing is transforming me. Writing is teaching me who I am, what I think about the world, and my place in it. Writing brings me into the present tense, more in touch with my body, which is always in the present.

Writing about my life has forced me to own up and take responsibility for my life in ways I wasn’t doing before writing. I hope this is useful for you and will motivate you to write down your life and discover more about who you are.

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What I Don’t Write

I love to talk about writing, and I can only approach it from the type of writing I do. Let me start by saying what I don’t write. I don’t write journalism, or the type of writing that is backed up by experts, scientific studies, or the news. I’m just not good at that kind of writing, plus I don’t find it interesting to write like that, although I love to read it.

I don’t write fiction.

I don’t write poetry — yet.

Whenever I read an article based on a new scientific study about, say, what foods older people should eat to be healthy, I find myself arguing with it because scientists try to isolate the particular food they’re studying, and life isn’t like that.

You can’t isolate anything in the health space; everything’s connected, so it’s hard to say that one food is really having a big impact. It’s what you eat over the weeks, months, and years that’s important — A balanced diet, not what you eat on any given day. It’s not only what you eat, but it’s also where you eat it, how you eat it, and who you eat it with.

An Old Guy with A Laptop

Basically, I write about old age and mindfulness from the first-person point of view of an old guy with a laptop. My favorite kind of article has no citations or references to scientific studies, or at least very few. Basically, I choose a topic and write about it from my subjective point of view. Like, “The Truth About Being 80 That Few People Know.”

I write articles with a four-to-eight-minute read time. I wish I could write 18-minute reads, but I’m not yet skilled enough to do that and keep the reader from clicking away or falling asleep.

I recall a quote from Blaise Pascal: “I have made this [letter] longer than usual because I have not had time to make it shorter.” People have amazingly short attention spans, so I keep to short formats. I’m amazed by people like Murakami who write 800-page novels — that sell.

Here are the main things I try to do in my writing.

I try to be vulnerable and authentic. That’s what people reading on Substack and Medium want to read. They don’t want to read someone posturing and pontificating while revealing nothing about themselves. They want me to be real. It has taken me three-to-five years to develop my writer’s voice. If you write long enough, your writer’s voice will surface. It’s exciting for me to see that happening.

I stick to a very small niche: ageing and mindfulness, written from my personal experience. I consider myself an expert at meditation, and of course at 81, an expert at being old. I stick to my knitting. And size matters — I believe the smaller your niche, the easier it is to produce quality writing.

I write as I talk, as if I were having a pint with you and holding forth on something about which I’m passionate, like what is consciousness? Or how your thoughts affect how you experience old age.

You cannot separate the mind from the body. They interact in ways we cannot fully explain. That’s what fascinates me, and I like to speculate and add my five cents about it in my writing.

I write about the mind and how it affects our lives.

If You Want to Write, You’ve Got To Read

I read a lot on Substack and Medium. And my mentors come mainly from the world of fiction. One of my biggest influences is Haruki Murakami. I have read everything he’s written. And I am currently reading “Vigil” by George Sanders. I‘m enjoying that book.

I love playing with simile and metaphor. In Murakami’s work, almost every paragraph contains a metaphor or simile. Writing is more than presenting facts and opinions. I like to bring the element of surprise into my sentences. As I’m writing this, I realize I could use more metaphors in my writing — because I believe our lives are metaphors for something — and I want to find out what.

I just realized that, strangely, my writing is also greatly influenced by watching talking heads on MS NOW and various YouTube shows like “Inside Trump’s Head,” with Michael Wolff and Joanna Coles. And Pivot, with Scott Galloway and Kara Swisher. I love to watch articulate people winging it live on the screen. I learn a lot about how to express myself from them.

My Naked Mind

Finally, I love the process of writing. Today, I was frustrated because I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to write about, until a random guy asked me a question about writing, and I was off to the races. But it took six years of practice to get to a place where I could do that.

It wasn’t always like that. Seven years ago, I wanted to write, but was afraid of exposing my naked mind in public. It took me a year to gather my nerve and say publicly what was on my mind.

That fear was more than just a fear of writing. It was a fear of living fully, of taking my place at the podium of life and saying my piece. And I was afraid of death. Getting over my fear of writing has changed my life significantly. It has made me a braver and more intelligent person.

Someone said, I write in order to learn what I think.

Wise person.

Gary
March 2025

I write, almost exclusively, about old age. And many people respond to my essays with, “I’m 82, but I feel like 30 inside” — or 25, or 13. The number varies, but the general idea is the same.

Older people with weakening, even failing bodies, still feel like young people inside. Psychologists call it “subjective age” (As if all our feelings were not subjective). I call it the inside-outside effect.

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It is a very common feeling. My inner age is 13, the happiest period of my life, even though my body is 82. I feel young inside, not because of fond memories of 1957, but for a more deeply spiritual reason.

George Harrison, the spiritual Beatle, had thoughts about this inside-outside effect. He tragically never reached wise old-man status. He died at 58. But he talked about the inside-outside effect in this video clip.

“It doesn’t take long to go from 17 to being 47. Forty years just go by like that. [In a flash]. Now I understand 90-year-old people who feel like teenagers. You know, because nothing changes. It’s just the body that changes. The soul in the body is there at birth and is there at death. And the only thing that has changed is the bodily condition.”

It’s just the body that changes.

We, in the 21st century, are so over-identified with the body, with the scientific, materialistic world view that when the body dies, it’s over. There is nothing else. But in the religions of the world, there is more: God, the soul, or the Tao. Our body is here temporarily, but the soul goes on, they teach.

The feeling of being young inside is a knowing or unknowing acknowledgment of the ageless person within; the real me: consciousness. I cannot philosophically or scientifically “prove” this. It is my belief based on my Zen practice and my reading about the various spiritual practices of humankind.

I believe that the basic underlying essence of everything is universal consciousness — there is nothing else. We are all waves in the ocean of consciousness. We look like separate waves, but as you know, waves are not separate from the ocean; they ARE the ocean.

Master Rinzai (Chinese: Linji Yixuan) was a pivotal 9th-century Tang Dynasty Chinese Chan (Zen) master and founder of the Rinzai Zen school. He often said to his students:

There is one true person of no rank, always coming out and going in through the gates of your face. Beginners who have not yet witnessed that, look!

Zen practice has always been, and still is, a relentless search for this “True person of no rank. The true self. And when you have that feeling of being young inside, you are encountering that Self, which has no bursitis, bad knees, loss of hearing, or dementia. It is pure consciousness.

No scientist can tell you anything about what will happen when you die. They don’t know either. There are things about life that science (which has only been around for roughly 400 years) cannot tell you. The mystical and the spiritual are domains that science isn’t equipped to understand.

So, in our old age, we should not be afraid or embarrassed to look into spiritual things, just because some people will say they are nonsense because they can’t be scientifically proven. Science cannot explain our love for our children. But it is as real as an electric current for us.

The feeling of being young inside is a glimpse, a clue, to the great riddle of life. Why are we here? Why do we get old and die? The truth is, it doesn’t matter why. It just happens, and we have to deal with it. The meaning of life is to live it — to jump in with both feet.

As I get older, I’m becoming increasingly open to all religions. None of them can be scientifically proven, but they provide comfort. A Christian’s love for Jesus is just as real for him as my love for my wife and children.

My belief in universal consciousness is as real to me as the oak tree in the garden. And it is comforting to me to know there is something that never dies, and it is within me — my true self.

It will be exciting to learn if my belief is true. None of us will know what happens when we die until we die. But that strange feeling we have of being young inside is a clue.

Here is a video of George Harrison’s My Sweet Lord.

Gary
March 2

Old age needn’t be a sad story of our life in decline, with all the youthful joy drained out of it. Rather, it’s a new way of living we couldn’t see coming amid the vitality and energy of our youth. But as our lives slow down, this new way of living will come into focus.

Anti-aging products and life-extension strategies are a distraction from the main event: enjoying the afternoon of our lives.

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I think of old age as youth in reverse, when we discover the disadvantages of old age turn out to be opportunities in disguise. Youth and old age are two sides of the same coin. Neither is good nor bad, but part of the cycle of life.

We are born with everything we need for the first half of life: abundant energy, desire, ambition, and sex drive. Then in the second half of life, these energies begin to diminish.

And we change.

We have less energy, so we slow down and become more contemplative. Our desire and ambition morph into acceptance — we realize we have enough and begin to appreciate what we have, rather than continually longing for more.

And our sex drive becomes a different kind of love — more universal — a love for humankind and all the animals of the forests and the seas. And most surprising, a love of ourselves.

In youth AND old age, we will have difficult periods of sadness, illness, and suffering. But when we have them later in life, we often blame them on old age. In both stages of life — youth and old age — we have exactly what we need if we are mindful enough to see it.

Old age is youth in reverse, ending in contemplation and a quiet enjoyment of stillness and the little things in life. A warm bowl of soup. A glass of wine savored slowly. A kitten in our lap.

“The afternoon of life is just as full of meaning as the morning; only its meaning and purpose are different.”
 — Carl Gustav Jung (1943)

The afternoon of life

Carl Jung believed that the life of a young person is characterized by striving towards concrete goals, and that any neurosis involves hesitation or shrinking back from these goals.

And Jung said, “The life of an older person is characterized by a contraction of forces... and by the curtailment of further growth. His neurosis comes mainly from his clinging to a youthful attitude which is now out of season . . .”

Jung called the elder years, from age 56 to 83, the afternoon of life. “The afternoon of life is just as full of meaning as the morning; only its meaning and purpose are different,” Jung said.

I was excited to learn of Jung’s view of old age because it matched my experience and my own view. If youth is a time of expansion, old age should be a time of contraction.

If we try to ignore or hold back old age in our youth, we may never realize what a wonderful time of life old age can be. And if, in old age, we try to hang on to youth, we’ll grow old, reminiscing and missing the many possibilities of growing old.

Youth is a time of expansion, building, and acquiring experiences, family, and material things. But, as the bible says, there is a time and a season for everything — and old age is the time for letting go. I believe old age should be our preparation for death, the greatest act of letting go we’ll ever be asked to face.

Old age should be a time to loosen our grip on the material side of life and turn inward, spiritualizing our lives. And of course, many young people cultivate an inner life by practicing a religion, meditating, doing yoga, running long distances, or engaging in any activity that quiets the mind.

And if we do those kinds of things when we are young, we’ll have a much easier time accepting the end of our lives and beginning the process of letting go.

In old age, the flow of life reverses, helping us move away from life’s many distractions back to the One — the realization that we are all one consciousness. And because we are no longer striving in old age, we have a great opportunity to see and experience the One.

I work on that by meditating, practicing, and reading within the ancient Buddhist and Taoist traditions. And if you were to ask me what they teach, I would say they teach only one thing: universal consciousness.

The ancient Chinese called it the Tao — the spiritual force that underlies the universe and is found in all things. But it’s not that simple because those are just words. We cannot define the Tao in words, hence the first four lines of the Tao Te Ching.

The tao that can be told
is not the eternal Tao.
The name that can be named
is not the eternal Name.

One has to experience the Tao in order to understand it. One has to let go of everything in order to understand it. And when we’re in our seventies and eighties, we are closer to the time when we’ll experience it when we return to the One from which we came.

The Tao is like death: we cannot understand or explain it until we experience it. And maybe we can get some inkling of the One while we’re alive. That’s why it’s so important to accept and give in to the softer energies and the letting go that old age demands. The slowing down of old age is not a problem; it’s a gift.

People around the world, of all religions, go to monasteries or seminaries to pray and meditate. They hope to experience the one, the Tao, or God, as Christians and Hindus call it.

In old age, we should realize that our monastery is inside us. In old age, we have the opportunity and the inclination to enjoy stillness, to search within ourselves, and to discover the One, whether or not we believe in God. Meditation is easier when we don’t have to overcome the distractions of youth.

We can become wise old men and women and be mentors to young people by sharing our wisdom.

We can teach them that there is nothing to fear in old age — it’s just youth in reverse — a time when we come full circle and realize it’s all good.

Gary
March 2025

If I had to name the most vital component to a happy, vigorous, old age, I would say without hesitation, it’s acceptance. Accept old age. Start with a firm acceptance of your situation: I’m old. Then tell yourself the truth about the good and the bad, and live your life to the fullest.

Accept old age the way a child accepts her mother. I have found that if I accept old age, life is better for me. But it took a while for me to come to that realization.

I discovered old age at 68.

Until then, I had never thought much about it. I was old but didn’t know it. I was in denial. I was feeling some effects of old age, sore knees, reduced energy, and the like, but just moving on with my life as if I were still 55.

I was Mr. in between.

In Tibetan Buddhism, there is a term called Bardo, which refers to a gap in existence — a bridge between the states of death and rebirth. Bardo is the central subject of the The Tibetan Book Of The Dead. And also the subject of one of my favorite films: Jacob’s Ladder.

Other than death, the Bardo is often used to represent any in-between state, such as my situation at 68. I was well past middle age, but had not yet experienced my rebirth into my Autumn and Winter years.

I was old but still acting young, not wanting to be old, grey, weak, feeble, retired, out to pasture, or any of the other ageist ideas about old age that had been implanted in my mind since I was a child. Researchers have called these old-age memes “everyday ageism.”

I didn’t want to be old, because in my mind, it was all downside — if I was old, my life was over. Of course, that was nonsense, but that was the underlying reason why I resisted being an “older gentleman” or a “senior.” I didn’t want to be old. I was suffering from a sort of internal ageism.

But 13 years later, I have been reborn. I haven’t solved my problems — they have increased—but at least now I’m living in reality at 81, having accepted who I am — an “older gentleman,” as a polite young person might say, and I would accept it.

I have learned to accept old age with optimism, yet grounded in the reality that unpleasant things will happen to weaken me and slow me down. Living in the reality of old age takes courage. But the gain is worth the pain.

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Accept your mother

Accept old age the way you would a snowstorm or a flood. You wouldn’t shake your fist in anger at a snowstorm. You’d just put on your coat and shovel your sidewalk.

Old age is, to borrow a legal term, an act of God. It’s gonna happen, and you don’t have anything to say about it. Ten years of working out at the gym or rubbing anti-aging cream into your arms won’t stop it.

I can’t fight Mother Nature — she’s faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound! But I can accept Mother Nature the way a child accepts his mom.

Mother Nature represents the power of the natural world — feminine power. And in Chinese philosophy, the Tao represents the ultimate principle underlying the universe, a feminine power. The Tao Te Ching often talks about the Tao as feminine.

The Tao is called the Great Mother:
empty yet inexhaustible,
it gives birth to infinite worlds.

It is always present within you.
You can use it any way you want.
—Tao Te Ching, Chapter six

The key to thriving in old age is to tap into our feminine powers of love and acceptance, and apply them to ourselves — and others.

Accept old age like a decades-long root canal

I am dealing with more dental procedures than I can afford. I need two implants and two bridges, which I will need to space outover the next two or three years, for financial reasons. Yesterday, while I was in the dentist’s chair, I had the thought that old age is like getting a root canal.

This is what I mean by that strange statement.

You’re horizontal in a chair with a device in your mouth that holds your mouth open wide in an uncomfortable way that makes it hard to swallow. A bright light is blinding you, you can’t get up, and you’re completely at the mercy of the skill and kindness of the dentist and her technician.

You are powerless for an hour or more, and the only way to get through it without too much pain or fear is to relax and trust. If you tense up and fight the situation, you will be miserable. But if you can somehow relax and put your trust completely in the dentist’s hands for just a little while, you’ll get through it and will feel better when it’s over.

Old age is similar, but unlike a root canal, it lasts for decades. It is a time when you lose more and more control over your life each year. Illness happens, loved ones and friends die, and there are surprises you can’t anticipate, many of them unpleasant. The Buddha was realistic when he said, in the first noble truth, that life is filled with suffering.

It is —just look around you.

Old age will be better if you accept it like a root canal — relax and don’t resist the process. It’s happening whether you’re tense or relaxed. So you might as well relax. Root canals can be painful, but they can also lead to healing, less pain, and more confident smiles.

Accept the moment and move your body

Accepting the moment leads to fearlessness. But how can I be fearless? It sounds unrealistic.

The only way I know to be fearless is to live in the moment, as the Zen masters of old advised. Just chop your wood and carry your water. Don’t think about doing something — just do it.

When you’re hungry, eat. When you’re tired, rest. Since fear and worry are almost always about the future, spend your time as much as possible in the here and now. When you are fearful, stop and focus on your breath for a few minutes. Or walk around the block.

When I am worried, it’s hard to use these seemingly simple solutions. The call of the future seems irresistible, and I just want to take a nap or have a glass of wine and numb out for a while. Those are only temporary solutions. The real solution is to take action. Work on your problems, meditate on them, walk, and contemplate what to do. And most importantly, take action.

Moving your body will wake you up to the present moment. Exercise is, for me, a major component of longevity.

Accept the gift and be grateful

I was born in 1944 and am 81 today. About 60 percent of people born in my birth year are still alive today. Forty percent have passed on. So for me, every sunrise is a gift.

Can you imagine a better present? I am grateful for every new day, at least when I remember to be. But most of the time, I take it for granted that I’ve made it to 81. Each morning before I get out of bed, I should thank God, the universe, the Tao, or Mother Nature for allowing me another year on Planet Earth.

But I don’t think about it, and that’s a shame. All of us, whatever our age, should be thankful we are alive in human form. Out of the 100 to 400 billion stars and the same number of planets in our Milky Way galaxy alone, we were lucky enough to be born on one that supports life. We hit the lottery, and we don’t even know it.

The only appropriate thing for people like us to say is “Thank You.”

Gary
March 2026

Have you noticed that death is not on anyone’s bucket list? A trip to Africa or skydiving is a common bucket list item. But the bucket list idea —actually kicking the bucket—is never on the list.

I’ve been in a rough patch the last few months, and then finally, when I feel like writing again, I decide to write about death. Strange. Hope it doesn’t bring you down. I hope it lifts you up.

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I said earlier today in a comment to a reader that I’ll never use the word funeral in a headline because people won’t click.

It’s too scary.

And even if I use the word death in a headline, I add a twist of humor (bucket list) to soften the blow. As an eighty-something who writes about old age, I cannot honestly write about it and ignore death. Death is always the elephant in the room, and the room shakes when death walks.

The word funeral is very scary to me. Funny because a funeral is a ceremony that happens after death, but it’s scarier than the word death for me. The funeral is the one aspect of death we all experience multiple times in our lives. But we must remember. The funeral is just a symbol or ceremony about death — it’s not death itself.

The funeral is like all the thoughts in our heads that scare us — they’re only a thought about reality, not the thing itself.

Sometimes in San Francisco, I see a big funeral procession slowly moving down Highway 101, then turning onto 280 toward Colma, California. Car after car, all filled with mourners, following their loved one to their final resting place. Sometimes there will be 50 or one hundred cars or more, and I feel sad — sad for myself. My cortege will be so much smaller.

As with so much in our society, size is all that matters. Bigger cars, bigger processions, bigger houses, bigger dicks, bigger meals, bigger Christmas presents, bigger sporting events, bigger salaries (does anyone long for smaller?), bigger music stars, bigger wedding rings, bigger muscles, bigger eyes, bigger stomach, bigger movie stars, bigger disappointments.

I’ll stop now because the word bigger is starting to look strange. Ever notice how if you repeat a common word over and over, it starts to look weird?

Bigger BIGGER.

Strange that a word so prevalent in our society is even applied to funeral possessions. And the reason I don’t like to see such processions is that I worry my procession will be small and pathetic, not big enough.

I know that’s ridiculous, but that’s how I think. I think I will be embarrassed about the size of my funeral procession. Of course, that will be impossible. The real me will not be at my procession or conscious of it. Like all of our thoughts about the future, it’s meaningless. The future hasn’t happened yet, and when it does, I won’t be here to be proud of or embarrassed by it.

Yet I am not afraid of death. Death is like opening a door and walking through it. Everyone must walk through that door, and yet no one knows what will happen.

I am not afraid of death. It may be scary or sublime. Who knows? But it will be the second most important day of my life. Birth was the first. They are two sides of the same coin.

Death will be like lightning striking itself.

That’s why I’m putting death on my bucket list. It’s the first item on the list because I have never had a bucket list. Eighty-one and never had a bucket list? That’s me. Everyone goes to Disneyland, and I never do. Don’t want to. Everyone wants to go to the most popular restaurant in town. But I don’t want to do that anymore. Most people hate jazz — I love jazz.

I’ve got a one-item bucket list — but it’s a big item — the biggest one of all. My bucket list contains the most important thing. It’s the most important because it’s when you find out who you are. Have you lived your life as a fraidy cat? Then death will probably be scary for you. Are you afraid to skydive or go on the roller coaster?

Are you scared of your own shadow?

Death is the big one. Are you ready? I am. Death is saying, “Who is it? Come on in, the door is unlocked. Preparing for this moment is our job as elders. The older we get, the clearer we see it. The man in black with the weed-whacker is roaming the neighborhood, and your time will come.

Some feel it’s morbid to think about death, but in Buddhism, it’s a requirement of the practice. Death requires letting go. It requires a box of wine, a good alibi, and an adventurous spirit. Can you be 20 again?

I’ll no longer stand on the sidelines at the dance as all the other people get down. I need to get out there and boogie — I’m getting ready to get down.

Are you ready?

Gary
February 2025

Making it to 80 is no big deal. (Easy for me to say.) It’s a matter of genes, lifestyle choices, and just pure dumb luck. For me, a super bad planner, it was the latter. But if you’re lucky enough to make it to 80, and if you’re mindful, you can learn a lot from being a senior by paying attention to the small things.

I turned 81 in November 2025.

Here’s what I have learned.

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Making it to 80 is no accomplishment.

My life has unfolded like a flower in spring, turning toward the sun. Jesus said, “See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.” We are more beautiful than we know, especially if we learn to simply be ourselves. For me, becoming 80 has been about turning toward the sun and becoming my true self.

Age is just a number

So, don’t let numbers define you. We can’t scientifically measure when old age begins or when it will end. There is no scientific instrument for that. The most important measure of being 80 is how much time you spend in the here and now, with your life partner, your family, and your friends. No one on their deathbed ever said, “I wish I’d spent more time scrolling on Instagram.” Unplug, and plug into the ones you love.

One small thing

Old age is about one small thing after another. Don’t get caught up in the big things, or you’ll miss your life, which is always about the small things. The aroma of your favorite tea, steaming off the mug. Your lover’s smile.

Tender touch

I trained as a Shiatsu Massage therapist and spent many years providing chair massage in public settings. And I learned that technique is not the most important thing in giving a massage. Offering a sincere, caring touch can heal. Just a simple neck and shoulder rub, a gentle handshake, or a kind word can heal a relationship and open up new possibilities.

Super happy

Feeling happy is the reverse canary in the coal mine. Some experts have said that if you put on a smile, you’ll feel happier. But real happiness bubbles up from inside you. A genuinely happy person becomes a magnet, drawing people in. You see that in people like the Dalai Lama. If you quiet your mind and live more in the moment, you can find true happiness petting your dog or having a meal with people you love.

Turn off the TV

And turn off your smartphone. I recently read an article about seniors being addicted to their phones. In it, young people visiting their parents or grandparents struggled to connect because their parents are constantly on Facebook and TikTok. Who says seniors are tech-challenged? We’re addicted to that shit, just like our kids. Turn off your TV and your smartphone and stop trying to be like your grandchildren instead of the wise elders you are.

There will be pain

When I watch TV, it seems most commercials are aimed at seniors and focus on alleviating pain and other natural consequences of getting old. We live in a pain-adverse, drug addicted society. I have learned to first accept my pain. Just doing that can help. Tensing up and fighting the pain can make it worse. Pain is a signal that something is wrong. Try to accept the pain and then see your doctor.

Make your own mindfulness practice

Meditation may be the best-known mindfulness practice. Yoga, tai chi, or Qigong may be close seconds. A mindfulness practice doesn’t need to be an exotic Eastern discipline. But it needs to be (and this is not an option) — it needs to be something you love.

Think back to your youth and remember something you loved to do that you would consider taking up again. Is it gardening? Walking? Writing? Stamp collecting? Restoring vintage cars? Carpentry? Pottery? Painting watercolors? Tennis? — (you could switch to pickleball). What was something you loved when you were young that faded away while you were making other plans? Maybe it’s time to bring it back.

Choose something you love and do it with your full attention every day. I think that qualifies as a mindfulness practice. And if you do that, it will change your life for the better. At least a little.

Make home-cooked meals

Cooking meals has become a lost art. People order takeout or buy heat-and-eat meals, but those meals don’t offer the health and spiritual nourishment of meals cooked from scratch with your own two hands. And scratch meals don’t have to be fancy. This morning I made my signature “Dogfood Beans,” as my wife calls it, (because I use canned beans, I guess). I had it for breakfast.

I heated a half can of Trader Joe’s Low Fat Refried Beans and added olive oil, a generous sprinkling of curry powder, Japanese BBQ sauce, and catsup, with some bread-and-butter pickles on the side. I served it with leftover brown rice. The basic recipe is canned refried beans, and you add seasonings and condiments to your taste. If you don’t like my recipe, make one of your own.

One of my favorite simple meals is a tuna fish sandwich, served with a glass of lemonade. It’s the perfect taste combination for me. A man who cooks his own meals is in control of his life. — I said that.

Live on the sunny side of the street

Research by Yale University psychologist Becca Levy shows that people with positive attitudes toward aging live about 7.5 years longer than those with negative views. And this benefit often exceeds factors like exercise or not smoking. Professor Levy shows how cultural beliefs and personal outlook impact health and longevity.

Levy’s landmark study, published in The Journals of Gerontology, followed hundreds of individuals for over two decades, tracking their attitudes towards aging. Positive age beliefs were linked to better physical health, reduced cardiovascular events, improved memory, and greater resilience.

Living on the sunny side of the street can lead to a healthier, happier old age. And it’s backed by science. I’m not a big fan of the objective art of science because all of life is subjective. But if I break my arm, I’m first going to see an orthopedist, not an acupuncturist. But I will think positive thoughts about my recovery.

It comes like a thief in the night

Old age comes on long and slow, like a turtle in slow motion, so you hardly see it coming. First, the turtle is so far over the horizon line that you can’t see it. Then you start to hear rumors about it, notice your hands look old, and then a young person calls you Sir or Ma’am — and you suddenly realize you’re old.

How to be old

Eat a balanced diet, don’t drink too much (or not at all), hang loose, and calm the heck down! Don’t take things so seriously. Go with the flow, help your neighbors, floss twice a day, and you’ll be fine.

But you’ll still die; we all will die — so enjoy the moment and spread the love because we’re all in the same wonderful boat together.

All in the same boat

Zen master Shunryu Suzuki (Suzuki Roshi) said, “Life is like stepping onto a boat which is about to sail out to sea and sink.”

Suzuki Roshi’s quote is a reminder of life’s ever-changing nature and impermanence. If we know this truth when we’re younger, we’ll fare much better when we get older. And if we only get hip to it after we’re already old, well — better late than never. We should go clear-eyed into that good night.

Old age ain’t for sissies

I was in Trader Joe’s staring at a shelf, trying to decide between the bread and butter pickle chips and the standard dills, when I heard a woman’s voice.

A young Trader Joe’s employee said, “Are you all right?” She didn’t say, “May I help you?” as one would expect. To her, I looked like I was in trouble. But I was just standing there, troubled about my pickle choice.

This is the way of old age.

If you’re not yet aware that you look old, others will let you know. You can’t hide from old age. Like SEAL Team 6, it will smoke you out and expose you for what you are. So it’s better not to try to hide behind Crepe Erase or any other anti-aging product.

Old age is coming for you, and it always wins in the end, so don’t fear it. Use Jiu-Jitsu on it. Embrace it as it comes, and use its energy to flow with it. Co-opt it and transform it from a shitshow into a lifestyle choice — old-age chic, maybe.

Why Getting Older Is So Scary

No, it’s not the weaker bodies, illness, ageism, or dementia. It’s the fear of death.

Mark Twain said, “The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.” Eckhart Tolle said, The more you live in the present moment, the more the fear of death disappears.

I agree with Twain and Tolle. If I am living fully — engaging with people in kindness and love — I will be living in the present with no regrets and will be prepared to die at any time. And in the present moment, the fear of death disappears.

I have not been in the present moment on Eckhart Tolle’s level, but I have been practicing mindfulness for a while, and I don’t feel a fear of death. But I fear what my children, my wife, my family, and friends will do without me when I’m gone.

That’s really ego-centered, almost narcissistic. If I really had no fear of death, I would let them go, and know that they will deal with my passing as best they can, and I will become a fast-fading memory. But it’s hard to accept how unimportant I am in the grand scheme of things. Maybe that’s the fear of death I still have.

The fast-fading memory part hurts.

I should kill my ego first, and then physical death will be no problem.

Old age is about letting go

Old age is about letting things go, traveling lighter and lighter until, finally, we are unburdened. We’ve let go of all our possessions, except for love, kindness, and compassion. And we can make our exit fully alive and aware of the most remarkable and mystical moment we will ever experience.

Maybe we’ll even let go of love, kindness, and compassion.

We won’t be able to post it on Facebook or appear on TV to discuss it. It will be our private moment of exploration when we learn what no one else knows, what no one else can take from us.

We will learn the most precious secret of them all, and we won’t be able to tell anyone.

Suffering is optional

A wise man said, Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional. There are too many pains in old age to count, both physical and psychological. They happen to us all with no exceptions. But the suffering is something we add on top like a rotten maraschino cherry.

We can’t fight old age because, in the end, it always wins — always. But if we accept old age and allow ourselves to grow old and proud, despite all the pains, we can carry ourselves with dignity and become wise elders who guide those who come after us. This is a worthy vocation because those whippersnappers behind us need our wisdom.

Don’t blame your memory lapses on me!

Young people, not old enough for AARP membership, use the term “senior moment” all the time. It has become a meme for a momentary lapse of memory. I’m sure they think it’s fun.

Still, attributing a forgetful or disoriented episode to a senior moment perpetuates the stereotype of an older person out of touch with reality. And the great majority of older people are not out of touch.

Eighty-five percent of adults aged 85 and older do not have dementia. And 96 percent of US adults aged 65 and older do not have dementia. So don’t blame your memory lapses on me. It’s insulting, unkind, and it pisses me off.

Old age is a time of senior moments

The real senior moments happen when you’re old enough for AARP and have decided to accept the sore knees, dental problems, bad hearing, blurry eyesight, forgetfulness, and all the natural disabilities of old age.

Those senior moments will be the moments you live in until the day you die. And if you accept it and meet it with mindfulness and curiosity, it won’t be so bad. It might even become exciting and fulfilling. My goal is to enjoy my senior moments.

No grannies please

It bothers me when people refer to a 78-year-old grannie, or grandpa, or, God forbid, peepaw. (That’s a real thing. I heard it with my own ears.) I guess if it were said in love about me, I’d accept it. But words like grannie and grandpa reduce older people to stereotypes. My grandchildren call me grandpa, and I don’t complain, but I’d rather they call me Gary. That’s my name.

The way people talk about and to older people reminds me of how people talk to little kids in that high, melodious voice as if they couldn’t understand adult language. Maybe we need to address them like that so we can categorize them as youngsters and make clear our superiority over them. But I have found that “youngsters” respond well when talked to in a normal voice.

And so do oldsters.

Old people are, generally, not admired

If you’re having a big party, you don’t want to invite too many older people (Unless it’s a party for older people, or unless the older people are famous). Being old is not popular.

Sometimes I feel like I left the in-group for the out-group. Most young people do not grow up wanting to become a grandpa or grandma. Except in Japan, where they have a national holiday to celebrate older people called Keirō no Hi, which translates to Respect for the Aged Day, celebrated on the third Monday of September to honor older people for their wisdom, experience, and contributions to society.

We don’t have anything like that in the good old USA, sigh.

For young people

To thrive in old age, we need to have an awakening about age, or many awakenings. Old age is not just a number — it’s our last chance to wake up to the beauty and wisdom we were too busy to see when we were young.

Dream Big

If your dreams do not scare you, they are not big enough.”
 — Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, former president of Liberia

I wrote in April 2025, “Sitting beside my desk are some Amazon boxes. In them is a new microphone and a mic boom I ordered. I’ll rig them so I can sit in my normal meditation seat and speak my guided meditations into the microphone. I’ll edit them and publish them on Substack.”

I still haven’t done the guided meditations. I’m too stressed by the firehose of life’s difficulties coming at me. It’s hard to do a soothing guided meditation when your mind’s a five-alarm fire. But I’m still dreaming big. I’m managing to write and keep a fairly even keel until the storm passes. I can’t take on something new right now. But I still dream big, even at 81.

I think of my old age as an adventure movie about an old man in denial of his age who begins to realize he’s on a hero’s journey, a quest, and a search for enlightenment in the most challenging time of his existence— and how he ends up having the time of his life! It’s my movie, so I figure I get to write the screenplay and play the leading role.

Dreams of my eighties

I thought I would spend my eighties writing, meditating, and enjoying my retirement. Enjoying smooth sailing on the SS Elderhood. That is not how it has turned out, and maybe all these difficult problems (and more) will just keep happening for the rest of my life, and perhaps they will.

That will be okay, because I am thankful to be alive. And maybe my role is to help my wife, my daughter, my son, and my friends when times are tough for them. And to help the people who read my writing. I have a role to play in all these people’s lives.

That’s enough.

The wisdom I’ll exit holding

Fill your bowl to the brim
and it will spill.
Keep sharpening your knife
and it will blunt.
Chase after money and security
and your heart will never unclench.
Care about people’s approval
and you will be their prisoner.

Do your work, then step back.
The only path to serenity.

— Tao Te Ching, Verse Nine

Gary
January 2026