What Does It Feel Like to Be Old?

Embracing the freedom and wisdom that comes with age, and refusing to apologize for living life on your own terms.

The other day, a young person asked me, “What does it feel like to be old?”

The question caught me off guard—not because it was rude, but because I don’t think of myself as old. He must have seen the flicker of surprise on my face, because he immediately looked embarrassed. But it was a fair question. And after sitting with it for a moment, I realized something simple and profound:

Getting older is a gift.

Some days, I’m startled by the person in the mirror. But I don’t linger there long. I wouldn’t trade the life I’ve lived for fewer gray hairs or a flatter stomach. I don’t scold myself for leaving a chore undone or indulging in an extra treat. I’ve earned the right to be a little messy, a little extravagant, to spend an hour watching flowers open to the sun.

I’ve said goodbye to people who left this world far too soon—before they experienced the freedom that comes with age.

So who cares if I stay up all night reading or tinkering on the computer, only to sleep past sunrise? I’ll dance alone to the music of the ’50s and ’60s. If a memory moves me to tears, I’ll let them fall.

I’ll wear tight leather pants and Converse at sixty—not to chase youth, but because I never needed permission to begin with.

I’ll walk the beach in a swimsuit that hugs a body shaped by time, and I’ll dive into the waves anyway. If someone stares, so be it. With any luck, they’ll grow old too.

Yes, I’ve known heartbreak—the kind that comes from losing loved ones, watching a child suffer, or saying goodbye to a pet. But those experiences carved out space in me. Pain is what makes room for deeper joy. A heart that has never been broken may be untouched, but it is also untested. It will never know the fullness of love that rises on the other side of loss.

I’ve lived long enough for my hair to turn silver—though hair dye tells a different story—and for my face to map every lesson, every laughter line, every tear. The smile I wear now isn’t the same one I had in my youth; it’s richer, wiser, and earned.