These are simply my thoughts and observations on aging, written as notes to myself. I'm not a doctor or aging expert, just someone starting to experience it firsthand. What I'm sharing are the things I've noticed, the things that make me laugh, and the things I wish someone had told me. If you're looking for professional advice, this isn't the place. But if you're curious about what aging really looks like from my perspective, come along for the ride.
These notes aren't about making fun of older people. It's about embracing aging with humor and honesty because, let's face it, some weird stuff starts happening, and nobody warns you. I wish someone had handed me these notes as a 40th birthday gift. It would've been nice to know what was coming… like your knees sounding like a bowl of Rice Krispies every time you stand up.
Let's get one thing straight: aging isn't for the weak. It's for the creaky, the sleepy, the bruised, the suddenly hairy-in-weird-places, and the mildly disoriented, but never the weak.
No one warned us about the weird stuff. Sure, we knew wrinkles were coming, and maybe a few gray hairs. But what about:
Waking up at 3:17 a.m. and deciding, "Yep, that's it for the night"?
Random bruises on the back of your hand that you swear you didn’t earn?
Looking for your glasses... while wearing them?
And farts. So many surprise farts.
This is not your grandmother's aging guide. These are my notes with the real stuff, like "Ugh, my knee" every time I sit down, or "Ugh, my skin is turning into crepe paper."
This is for me, who is aging with style, sarcasm, and self-respect. Or at least two out of three.
Let's get into it.
One day you're reading the back of a shampoo bottle just for fun in the shower. The next? You need to hold it at arm's length and squint like it holds the secret to eternal youth.
Common Changes:
Blurry close-up vision (hello, reading glasses)
Worsening night vision (those steps are scarier than they look)
Reduced peripheral awareness (good luck spotting that curb)
TIPS:
Keep readers everywhere—car, couch, bathroom.
Don't fight it. Squinting isn't a workout.
Get your eyes checked more than once every election cycle.
The Glasses Hunt
Searching for your glasses while they're already on your face? That's just your rite of passage into the Hall of Aging Champions. Bonus points if you check your purse, desk, and fridge before realizing it.
TIP: Accept the chain necklace. It's not just for librarians anymore, it's a lifestyle.
Hearing: Are People Whispering or Are You Just 70?
Everyone mumbles now. Or maybe your ears are just in retirement mode.
If you say "What?" more times in one day than "Hi," it might be time to check in with a hearing specialist. Don't worry, today's hearing aids are sleek. Some even play music and translate languages. The future is weird.
Once, your hair was your pride. Now? It's giving up slowly. Or quickly. Or everywhere but where you want it.
Rogue Hairs: A Horror Story
You may lose hair on your head... but fear not! New growth will sprout:
Out of your ears
From your nostrils
On your chin
And let's not forget the lone eyebrow hair with ambitions of world domination
Men, your ears will look like they're growing moss. Women, your chin hairs will wait patiently for you to go outside, then shine like silver beacons in the sunlight.
TIPS:
Trimmers are your new best friend. Embrace the buzz.
Keep tweezers by every mirror.
Don't ask how they grow so fast. Just accept your new horticultural hobby.
The Gray Invasion
Going gray doesn't follow rules:
Some go silver at 30
Others hold on to full color into their 60s
And some have a single rebellious streak that refuses to behave
Color it, flaunt it, braid it; whatever makes you feel human again.
Haircuts Hit Different Now
Remember when a haircut was an identity shift? Now it's a strategy session: "How do we hide the thinning spot and the baby bangs I didn't ask for?"
Your skin is now made of rice paper. Light tap on the doorknob? Full purple bruise by morning. And no, you probably don't remember how you got it.
Wrinkles and Folds
They show up gradually, then all at once. You'll look fine in the mirror at night, then wake up with pillow lines that last until lunchtime.
Some spots sag, others crinkle, and occasionally your face forgets where things are supposed to go.
TIP: It's called "character." Own it.
Texture Shift
Your hands may now resemble an ancient map. Your elbows feel like cracked leather. And your neck? It's doing its own thing now. Quit tugging on that sagging skin!
Care Tips:
Moisturize like you're frosting a cake
Sunscreen, even on cloudy days
Accept that your skin now has the bounce of a tired trampoline
Standing up sounds like someone opening a bag of chips. That's just your knees now.
Stretching is no longer optional. Bending over is an event. Sitting cross-legged? Forget it.
TIPS:
Daily stretching, even if it's just while brushing your teeth
Warm-up before chores like you're prepping for a marathon
Keep moving. Rust is real.
Getting Out of a Chair
What used to take 1 second now takes 3 steps:
Grunt
Lean forward like a grandpa
Use momentum (and possibly furniture) to launch upward
Congrats, you've unlocked: Elder Acrobatics
You no longer power through fatigue. You fold like a lawn chair after lunch. The nap isn't optional, it's divine.
TIP: 20 minutes = bliss. 90 minutes = regret.
Shorter Sleep, Longer Nights
Your bladder and brain have teamed up to make sure you wake up at 2:58 a.m. for no good reason. You're now the proud owner of a reverse sleep schedule.
TIP: Lean into it. Night is quiet. No one will judge you for organizing your spice rack at 4 a.m. or eating a cookie.
Surprise Farts
They escape. Often. In public. In private. During stretching. Or walking. Or breathing.
You're not alone. The floor creaks. Your knees pop. And now you do, too.
The Occasional Leak
You laugh, you leak. You sneeze, you leak. You think about laughing? You leak.
Pelvic floor exercises aren't just for postpartum moms anymore. Get squeezing.
Memory Lapses
Walk into a room. Forget why. Go back. Still no idea.
Welcome to Loop Mode.
What You Can Do:
Make lists (but don't forget where you put them)
Say people's names out loud three times (don't make it weird)
Use your phone as your external hard drive
Emotional Wisdom
You may forget names, but you're emotionally sharper than ever. Less drama, more "I'm too old for this crap." That's growth.
Aging doesn't just hit your body, it hits your ego. The trick is to laugh first.
You'll fall asleep at parties, fart while tying your shoes, and cry watching insurance commercials. And that's okay.
Own the quirks. Laugh at the weirdness. Every stage of life comes with trade-offs. Now, you just know better, and creak louder.
Meditation: The Secret Weapon Against Mental Chaos
Aging is a physical and mental journey. Suddenly, your brain starts having "senior moments" when you're not even that old. You forget where you left your keys. You forget what you were about to say. You forget everything, including why you went into the kitchen.
So, how do you calm the storm of "What was I supposed to be doing?" swirling in your mind? You meditate.
Meditation is not just for monks or people who can touch their toes. It's for everyone who feels like their thoughts are moving at the speed of a runaway bus.
How to Start:
Sit down (or lie down, we're not picky).
Focus on your breath. In. Out. In. Out. Your brain will wander. It's normal.
Don't stress about "getting it right." Just accept your wandering thoughts and let them drift away.
Start small. Five minutes. Then ten. Until you've reached Zen master status.
Meditation is like giving your brain a soft reset." It'll stop you from spiraling into "Did I forget to lock the door?" or "Why am I thinking about that time I tripped at the grocery store?" Plus, it's a perfect excuse to do nothing and call it "wellness."
Bonus Benefit:
You can always say, "I'm meditating" when you're avoiding doing the dishes or tasks your spouse or partner assigned to you. It's practically a spiritual practice, right?
Remember when you only took vitamins, maybe an aspirin for a headache, and that was it? "Ah, the good old days." Now? You've got a pill for this, a pill for that, a pill for the thing you didn't even know you had.
It's not just about staying alive anymore. It's about staying well enough to function, but not quite well enough to avoid accidentally becoming a walking advertisement for Big Pharma. Blood pressure pills, cholesterol meds, vitamins for things you didn't even realize could be deficient, your med cabinet looks like a medicine buffet.
By the time you've sorted out your pill schedule (breakfast? noon? dinner?), you're almost too tired to actually take the pills. But then you realize, hey, you're an adult now. This is what you signed up for. If you need 17 different types of medication just to feel like a functioning human, so be it.
The "New Normal": Medication Management
Now, you're the proud owner of a pill organizer. You've got the "Monday to Sunday" box, and you fill it with little colored capsules that probably all do something different.
You've got meds for your back, your knees, your brain, and probably something to make sure your stomach can actually handle all the stuff you've been taking for the last 30 years. The best part? Getting to the end of the day, popping your nightly meds, and realizing that 90% of your day was sponsored by your pharmacy. If only they had a loyalty card.
The Side Effect Lottery
You thought side effects were just for antidepressants or diet pills, but no, aging comes with its own set of delightful bonuses.
Dry mouth (Congratulations, you now sound like you've been in a desert for 40 years.)
Fatigue (Because popping a pill for energy seems counterintuitive when it makes you want to nap for three hours.)
Weight gain (The pill for digestion makes you eat more cookies, naturally.)
Funky taste in your mouth (Like you just licked an old penny.)
It's like a box of chocolates. You never know what side effect you're going to get, but it'll definitely be weird. Don't forget to write it down, though, because your doctor probably won't remember to ask. Or they'll just say, "Yep, that's normal for your age." (More on that later…)
PRO TIP:
Just pretend you're the healthiest person alive. Your doctor may never know the full extent of your pill-based coping mechanism.
Oh, and if you think you're going to get through the day without at least three trips to the bathroom for meds and water, think again.
The Doctor's Visit: A Game of "What's Normal for Your Age?"
Here's the fun part about doctor visits as you get older: You'll have that one moment where you describe a weird symptom and the doctor looks at you with that "Ah yes, the magic answer" face. "It's just old age," they'll say, almost as if you've crossed the finish line in a race you didn't enter.
"My knees hurt."
"Oh, that's just old age. Happens to everyone."
"I've been feeling fatigued."
"Yep, totally normal for your age."
"I can't remember what I had for lunch yesterday."
"Ah, age-related memory loss. Totally fine."
It's like a one-size-fits-all diagnosis, and it fits you perfectly, like that sweatpants set you bought in desperation during last year's winter. I didn't sign up for this after arriving on time for my appointment. And yet, there I was, unknowingly purchasing a time-share for the consulting room, a place where the furniture is slightly uncomfortable and the minutes pass like a bad episode of Waiting for Godot.
While we're at it, what would it take for a doctor to ask something remotely interesting during a routine visit? Like, "So, is there anything you've never told me? Anything that might make this experience feel less like a factory and more like, I don't know, something involving actual people?" I'm not expecting a full-on intervention or a cocktail party, but it would be nice to feel like I'm not just a collection of symptoms they're ticking off, like some outdated appliance they're trying to decide whether to toss or replace.
The Push-Up Challenge
Here's what you do: The next time they drop the "It's just your age" bomb, challenge them to a push-up contest. That's right. You do one first, then they do ten; after all, "it's your age" and you're allowed to do fewer than the doctor. They'll probably look at you like you're crazy, but it'll certainly break the monotony of the 15-minute visit.
Side Note: The Refill Dance
And let's talk about medication refills, shall we? The refill hustle is real. The next time you run out of blood pressure meds, and you call your doctor, only to be told that they'll need to authorize another refill, you'll start to wonder: "Why is this so complicated?"
You can call your pharmacy, play the waiting game for an hour, then spend the rest of your day wondering whether or not you'll get your pills before the weekend. And then the doctor will finally call you back on a Friday night, telling you to come pick up your meds, only for them to be out of stock. This is modern aging.
Final Word: Own It, Meds and All
Sure, it might feel like you're running a one-person health factory. You've got pills for this, that, and a third thing you didn't know existed. But hey, you're managing, and you've got it down to a science. You might even be the expert in your family now. Your doctor may treat you like you're ancient, but you know the real truth—you're still here, still standing, and probably still doing a couple of push-ups (with or without the doctor).
Technology is amazing, until it isn't. You used to know all your passwords. Now they're either saved somewhere or written in a notebook cleverly labeled "DO NOT LOSE THIS."
Well, at least it's not like that Word doc on your desktop titled "passwords_FINAL_FINAL_updated2.docx", which is basically the digital equivalent of leaving your house keys taped to your front door with a note that says, "Please don't rob me."
Every website wants you to have a special character, uppercase letter, number, blood sample, and a symbol from the ancient ruins of Mesopotamia. Who can keep up?
The Update Spiral
Just when you get used to your phone, it updates overnight and you wake up in a digital funhouse. The buttons move, the fonts change, and suddenly you're asking your grandchild how to open the camera.
TIPS:
Stick to one "master" password format and adjust slightly for each site.
Don't be ashamed of sticky notes. You're not in the CIA.
Ask for help, but only from someone who won't sigh dramatically.
Let's be honest, we deserve a medal every time we successfully log in to something without resetting a password.
Here's the truth: aging can be lonely sometimes. Friends move, drift, or pass on. You may look up one day and realize your circle is smaller than it used to be, and maybe that's not a bad thing. You may also realize you don't miss half the people who left. That's not cold, it's clarity.
The Great Pruning
You start letting go of people who drain you. You no longer chase one-sided relationships or force conversations that feel like small talk on life support.
TIPS:
Keep in touch with the ones who make you laugh.
Be open to new friendships, yes, even in line at the pharmacy.
Say yes to lunch. Say no to people who make you feel like a chore. And if the lunch invitation comes with a 45-minute rant about Medicare, feel free to say no to that too.
If you like your own company, that's not loneliness. That's finally getting some peace and quiet.
Loneliness doesn't mean you're broken. It means you've lived long enough to know your own company is actually pretty great.
Grief sneaks in like fog—quiet, disorienting, and hard to explain. It can show up mid-laundry or while looking for your glasses, on your head. As you age, it becomes a recurring visitor: loss of friends, family, pets, routines, even parts of yourself.
Nobody tells you how often you'll grieve things that seem small, like not being able to run like you used to, or needing help with something you used to do in your sleep. Or realizing every fall could be "the fall."
TIPS:
Reading the obituaries doesn't make you morbid. It makes you informed. And occasionally surprised.
Let yourself feel grief. There's no "right" timeline.
Talk about it. Or write about it. Or cry about it while folding laundry.
Remember: Grief is love that has nowhere to go.
It's okay to carry your losses gently. They're part of the journey. Part of you.
Aging in a world obsessed with youth is like bringing a flip phone to a TikTok convention. You feel fine... until you catch your reflection in a store window and wonder when your knees migrated to your elbows.
The Invisibility Cloak
Some days, it feels like you're invisible in public. Clerks talk past you, younger folks ignore you, and ads seem like they're for everyone but you.
And yet, you're still here—wiser, sassier, and more confident than you've ever been. The world might not see it. But you can.
TIPS:
Dress for comfort, but don't abandon style. You're not dead.
Compliment yourself out loud. You're listening.
Treat mirrors like mood rings. Some days, they lie.
Love your body not because it's perfect, but because it's carried you through storms, summers, and that one Thanksgiving where you hosted 23 people and only cried twice.
Remember when you used to dream about retirement like it was some glittering vacation? Turns out, the all-day free time package comes bundled with a mini existential crisis.
You're no longer your job title. You don't have a boss breathing down your neck. And at first, it feels like freedom… until 9:47 a.m. on a random Tuesday when you're already wondering what the hell to do with yourself.
Productivity Hangover
We've been trained to measure our worth by how much we do. So when your schedule suddenly opens up like a blank page, your brain whispers: "Shouldn't you be doing something?" And by "something," it doesn't mean word puzzles and slow walks around the block (even though those are delightful).
TIPS:
Redefine what "productive” means. A day spent gardening, napping, or reading still counts.
Try something new: a class, a hobby, or a weird obsession with vintage Tupperware.
It's okay to be still. You earned it.
The "What Now?" Phase
You might feel a little lost at first. That's normal. You just retired from decades of structured life. It's like being kicked out of a moving train with a slice of cake and no map.
But guess what? This is your time to explore. To say no without guilt. To do things badly and enjoy them anyway.
You don't need to be useful. You just need to be you.
Once upon a time, you ate whatever you wanted and just... survived. Spicy tacos? Midnight ice cream? Mysterious street meat? Your stomach handled it like a champ.
Now? One wrong bite and you're out of commission for 48 hours, Googling "natural remedies for intestinal betrayal."
Digestive Roulette
Eating after 50 is a delicate dance. You now live in a world where:
Cheese is both delicious and a dangerous game
Spices are weapons
Beans are a social risk
TIPS:
Fiber is your best friend, even if it tastes like cardboard.
Start carrying antacids the way others carry lip balm.
Accept that prune juice is no longer a punchline. It's a solution.
Your Gut Has Opinions Now
Everything you eat triggers a negotiation with your internal organs. "Can we handle this salsa?" your stomach asks your colon. Your colon responds with: "Are you trying to kill us?"
The end result? Meals get simpler. And your body becomes the ultimate food critic. Spoiler: it's not impressed with that third slice of pizza anymore.
And yes, gas is your new roommate. It doesn't pay rent, it arrives uninvited, and it makes itself known in the elevator.
At some point, your wardrobe shifts. Slowly at first. Then all at once. One day you're rocking skinny jeans and boots. The next, you're googling "shoes that don't punish me for walking."
Dress shoes? Clearly designed by someone who never walked, just stood ominously in oil paintings. If it takes two Band-Aids and a prayer to make it to dinner, skip it.
Men, here's some design wisdom: Stop with the cargo shorts. Cargo shorts are what happens when pants give up and decide to become luggage. They're less clothing, more filing system. If your shorts have more storage than your car, it's time to let them go.
Fashion doesn't go away, it just evolves. Comfort stops being a compromise and becomes a lifestyle.
Elastic Nation
Waistbands now matter more than logos. Shoes must pass the "can I walk a mile in these without rage" test. And bras? Let's just say, if there's an underwire involved, someone's getting sued.
TIPS:
Find a personal uniform that feels like you. (Bonus if it has pockets.)
Embrace colors, patterns, and textures that spark joy, not just camouflage.
Buy the cozy thing. Regret doesn't come in fleece.
Style Isn't Dead—It's Just Done With Trying Too Hard
Here's the secret: Aging doesn't mean giving up style. It means you stop dressing for anyone else. You wear the hat because you like it. You choose bold glasses because why not? And if someone doesn't get it, they can go iron their uncomfortable pants elsewhere.
You've earned the right to look like whoever the hell you want. That includes sweatpants at brunch and earrings shaped like flamingos.
Fashion is now about expression, not expectation. And honestly? That's kind of fabulous.
You've made it this far. Through the pillow wrinkles, rogue chin hairs, phantom joint pain, and unexpected naps.
And you're still here. Still sharp. Still growing (even if it's just ear hair). You're not "over the hill," you are the hill. And you've got stories to tell from the top.
So throw on those glasses you thought you lost. Take your nap. Stretch your knees. Go live like the beautifully weird, slightly leaky, fully fabulous human you are.
And listen, you didn't come this far just to start playing it safe.
You've survived bad fashion, worse decisions, suspicious casseroles, and decades of people telling you to "act your age." And now? You are the age. You set the damn standard.
You've earned your quirks, your scars, your saggy bits, and your zero tolerance for BS.
So grab life by its thinning hair and don't let go. Keep raising eyebrows, keep breaking rules, and keep being the glorious, creaky, unfiltered badass you were clearly born to be.
Because aging doesn't mean fading.
It means giving yourself permission... to stop giving a damn.
Mic drop. (Carefully. Don't throw your back out.)
You'll pull a muscle putting on socks.
You'll start checking the weather for your joints.
You'll say "my shows" unironically.
You'll start saying "Well, back in my day..." and mean it.
You'll celebrate bowel regularity like you won a Grammy.
You'll find deep joy in canceling plans.
And you'll forget what you were saying mid-sent—
Disclaimer
The content on this page is for informational and entertainment purposes only. It is based on the author's personal observations, experiences, and reflections on aging and is not intended to serve as medical advice. Always consult a healthcare professional for medical concerns.