The other day, someone asked me a question that stopped me mid-sip of my morning coffee:

Now, I could’ve gone with the easy answer: “Because my knees sound like bubble wrap and I need a nap after putting on socks.”
But there was something in the way they asked it, not joking, not dismissive, just honestly wondering.

So I sat there, coffee cooling, thinking…

Sure, there’s the usual:

But that’s not the hard part.
That’s just the body doing what bodies do.

The real challenge sneaks up quieter.

The hard part is watching the world move faster than you do.
You blink, and the music’s changed. The slang’s changed. The way people connect … changed.

You realize the “latest thing” you just figured out has already been replaced by something new.
And sometimes, it feels like the world doesn’t need what you have anymore.

That’s what hurts; not the arthritis, but the ache of wondering if your stories still matter.

Here’s what I’ve learned:
Getting older is hard because it forces you to face yourself.

There’s less noise, fewer distractions. The room gets quieter — and in that quiet, you start hearing your own thoughts again.

You remember dreams you shelved, words you never said, people you still miss.
Aging doesn’t just wrinkle your skin; it unwraps your soul.

It asks you to make peace with who you were, who you are, and who you’re still becoming.

That’s sacred work.
And sacred work is never easy.

But here’s the miracle part no one talks about:
The older you get, the softer your heart gets.
You stop chasing applause and start cherishing presence.
You laugh more - sometimes at yourself. You forgive faster. You love deeper.

Getting older is hard because it’s holy ground.

Every scar is proof that you healed. Every wrinkle is a line from the poem your life has been writing.

It’s not the end of the story; it’s the chapter where all the other ones finally make sense.

Write (or record) a one-minute reflection titled:

As I finish this letter, I catch my reflection in the laptop screen — gray hair, coffee stain, smile lines deep enough to hold rainwater.
And I think, yeah, getting older is hard… but it’s also the best teacher I’ve ever had.

So here’s to every ache, every laugh, every moment that reminds us we’re still here.
Still learning. Still growing.

Still sticking around for more.

Until next time,