Ageism, in the usual sense, refers to judging or discriminating against someone based on their age. While it can apply to any age group, it’s most often associated with older adults. But what happens when we turn that lens inward? When we wrestle with our own biases about aging, not just in how we see others, but in how we see ourselves?
This past week, a dear friend—about 20 years older than I am—came to stay with Fito and me. I’ve known her since grade school, but as adults, we’ve been close for about 40 years. I try to see her at least once a year, whether she visits me or I make the trip back to my hometown in Maine. Her husband, who passed away at the end of October, was also someone deeply important in my life.
We had an incredible visit. And somewhere in the middle of it, I became acutely aware of my own struggle—not just with ageism as a societal issue, but with my own discomfort around aging.
I am not someone who dreams of living to 100. I’ve never been interested in enduring the slow decline of the body or the possibility of memory loss. And of course, we all have our own unique paths, each shaped by our own choices and experiences.
To put it another way: I feel the same about surviving an apocalypse—no thanks. I’m not here for survival alone.
Yet as the week unfolded, I realized that much of my thinking about getting older was missing something crucial. I’ve been looking down the road ahead with assumptions I haven’t quite earned the right to make. Because the truth is, I don’t yet know who I’ll become as I settle into my senior years.
At 66, I know that, technically, I am already there. But most of the time—98% of the time—I don’t feel that way. In my mind, I’m not all that different from who I was 20 years ago. My body, of course, tells a different story, but my thoughts remain unchanged.
Spending time with my friend—someone further along the path—was a gift. Not because she showed me how to avoid aging, but because being around her, helped me realize, that I still have no idea what it will truly be like.
She is vibrant, engaged, and deeply present, while still struggling to figure out next steps. Watching her navigate life, with all its joys, uncertainties, and losses, made me realize something: Aging isn’t just about decline; it’s about depth.
And if that’s true, then how can I possibly know today what will inspire or motivate me 10, 12, or 15 years from now?
Looking back, I see that this has always been the case. What I imagined about this stage of life 10 years ago has very little to do with where I actually am today. And yet, I wouldn’t change anything about the life I have now.
Who knew that spending a week with a dear friend would serve as such a profound reminder that real joy is only ever found in the present moment? That this moment—right here, right now—is the only one that truly matters.
Maybe the real issue isn’t just ageism toward others, but the way we limit our own future selves with outdated assumptions. If aging is anything like the rest of life, it will keep surprising me. And if this moment is all that truly counts, then I want to meet each new stage with curiosity instead of resistance.
