Monday Musing: The Gifts of Real Ageing
By Dr Samar Verma*
Celebrate Years Earned
In many birthday celebrations of my peers lately, I’ve begun to notice a strangely uniform refrain in the greetings. “Age is just a number,” someone says, as if they’re quickly covering a mouth that has accidentally spoken an inconvenient truth. “Fifty is the new forty,” another adds, with the bright cheerfulness of a slogan. “Sixty is the new fifty,” comes the final quip- almost a communal wink, as though we are all participating in the same harmless conspiracy: the conspiracy to pretend the number doesn’t exist.
I understand the impulse. No one wants to be reduced to a digit. No one wants to feel catalogued, archived, or gently moved to the back shelf of life. And yes- there is something deeply admirable about the discipline many people in their fifties and sixties bring to their mornings: forcing themselves out of bed, walking, lifting, stretching, watching what they eat, trimming excess, choosing better. That diligence is not vanity; it is stewardship. It is an act of respect for the body that has carried us, year after year, through work, worry, laughter, child-rearing, heartbreak, and hope.
But there is a difference- an important one- between caring for your youthfulness and refusing to acknowledge your age. The first is life-affirming. The second can become a quiet form of self-denial, as if maturity is something to conceal, like a stain.
What if, instead of apologising for age, we celebrated it?
Not with forced jollity. Not with performative “still young at heart” declarations. But with the calm confidence of people who have earned their years- and who understand that ageing, like everything else in life, carries both pleasures and pains. The point is not to romanticise age. The point is to stop treating it as an embarrassment.
The Gifts We Don’t Name Out Loud
Age is not merely “a number.” And if it is, then the number matters- because numbers always matter. Numbers mark chapters. Numbers carry history. Numbers tell you what you have survived, what you have learned, what you no longer need to prove.
There is a particular kind of wisdom that comes only with time. Not the wisdom of quoting aphorisms, but the wisdom of pattern recognition: of knowing how a situation will likely unfold because you have seen similar storms before. A greater tolerance- yes, but also a sharper discernment. Patience, not because you have become slow, but because you have learned what is worth speed and what is not. A steadier relationship with uncertainty: not the arrogance of thinking you control life, but the maturity of knowing you never did.
There is also a quieter joy that many people discover in these decades. Watching children grow up and become adults- and, if we are fortunate, become friends. The relationship changes texture. The dependence fades. The conversations deepen. The laughter becomes more equal. And if we allow it, a new companionship appears where once there was mostly responsibility.
Why do we hesitate to say this plainly? Why do we keep dressing up birthdays in the language of denial, as though admitting “I turned sixty” is the same as admitting defeat?
If you turned fifty, wonderful. If you turned sixty, wonderful. Those are not ages to dodge. They are ages to inhabit.
When Do We Actually Grow Old?
Economists sometimes use a simple yardstick: around 65, one “enters” the non-working years and becomes, in the cold language of policy, a higher “dependency” in relation to the productive workforce. That is one way to look at it- useful for national planning, pensions, and budgets.
But most of us don’t grow old on a calendar. We grow old emotionally at a different moment: when children leave the nest. It can happen at 48 or 58. It can happen gradually, in stages, if you have more than one child- one goes to college, another to a job, another to another country. Each departure is a small rearrangement of your inner architecture. The house becomes quieter. The routines that once ran on urgency- lunchboxes, schedules, school fees, late-night “Have you reached?” messages- begin to dissolve. And you realise that a huge portion of your daily meaning was built around being needed.
When that need recedes, it can feel like freedom. It can also feel like grief. And in that vulnerable space, “age is just a number” begins to sound less like a joke and more like a defence mechanism- an attempt to outrun a truth that is arriving anyway: life is changing. And we must change with it.
The Real Secret of Staying Young
Here is what I’ve experienced. Youthfulness is not about the number. It is about the company. Not company as in crowds. Company, as in connection. The kind that makes you feel seen, included, listened to- without auditioning for relevance.
The longest-running (85+ years) study of adult life at Harvard University has been pointing to this truth for decades. The quality of our relationships is a major predictor of how healthy and happy we are as we age. Robert Waldinger- one of the study’s directors, also affiliated with Massachusetts General Hospital- has repeatedly underlined the same simple, almost old-fashioned conclusion, i.e., good relationships keep us happier and healthier.
That finding should change how we interpret the empty nest. If the nest is empty, it does not mean the sky is empty. It means it’s time to fly differently.
Harbouring in the Port of Friends
For many people, the empty nest is the first time in decades that life offers a fresh canvas. It is also the first time in decades that one must answer an uncomfortable question: Who am I when I’m not constantly doing something for someone else?
This is where friendships- true friendships- become not a luxury but a lifeline. Not the networking kind. Not the “catch up soon” kind. But the friendships that have survived time and silence. Often- though not always- these are rooted in school or university years, when you were known before your professional identity hardened, before your achievements became your introduction, before your responsibilities began speaking louder than your personality.
When children leave, life quietly nudges you back toward those friendships. It is as if the soul nudges you to go back and recover parts of yourself you misplaced. Pick up the phone. Plan the reunion. Take the train. Make the visit. Laugh without needing a reason. Speak without performing competence. Sit together and let time do what it does best- soften the sharp edges.
If we want a “formula” for staying young, it is not merely the gym routine. It is this: keep your relationships warm, active, and honest.
The Second Marriage to the Same Person
And then there is the relationship we often postpone the most. The one with our spouse. In the long sprint of career-building and child-raising, many couples become efficient partners. They run a household like a well-managed institution. They solve problems, allocate tasks, coordinate calendars, and absorb crises. Love is present, but frequently tired.
When the nest empties, a strange thing happens. The noise drops. The schedule loosens. The “project management” of parenting reduces. And two people- who have been side by side for decades- suddenly have to look at each other again.
This is not always easy. The silence can feel awkward at first, like meeting someone familiar after a long gap and realising you haven’t asked real questions in years, or spent quiet time- in the comfortable silence of each other’s company- for decades. But it is also one of the most beautiful opportunities that ageing offers. The chance to renew your relationship- not by going back to who you were, but by meeting who you have become, and meeting your spouse, who too is no longer the one you knew many moons ago. In carrying out joint household and parenting responsibilities, the partnership matured, teamwork became seamless, but personalities morphed and remained unnoticed for decades.
Time for gratitude. Time for affection expressed plainly, not assumed. Time for the small rituals that make companionship feel like home again: evening walks, shared playlists, reading side by side, cooking together, visiting old places “for old times’ sake,” and- most importantly- supporting each other through the psychological tremors of the empty nest.
The world will tell you this is a period of decline. It is not. It is a period of making new choices from a different menu.
Dusting Off the Rusted Passions
There is one more pleasure of ageing that we rarely admit because it sounds indulgent: the return of forgotten passions. Most of us have a drawer- literal or metaphorical- where we stored our hobbies “until life settles down.” The guitar with broken strings. The paintbrushes that dried up. The poetry notebook that now looks naïve. The love for theatre, photography, trekking, gardening, history, volunteering, teaching- whatever it was.
In your fifties and sixties, you are finally allowed to open that drawer without guilt. Not because you have nothing else to do, but because you have done enough to earn the right to do what makes you feel alive. And paradoxically, it is often when we return to these passions that we feel most productive- not in the narrow, economic sense, but in the human sense: generating energy rather than merely spending it.
And here is the most unexpected twist: children often become allies in this second beginning. They introduce you to new music. They gift you a class subscription. They insist you travel. They become your cheerleaders. They want you to have a life beyond them- not out of detachment, but out of love. They keep you young.
A Birthday Greeting We Should Normalise
So perhaps it is time to retire the evasive greetings. Instead of “age is just a number,” what if we said “I’m glad you are the age you are. You’ve earned it. Live it fully.” Because the alternative- pretending we are younger than we are- does not make us young. It makes us anxious. Ageing, accepted gracefully, does not shrink life. It edits it. It removes what is unnecessary. It clarifies what matters. It permits you to slow down without becoming less useful, to soften without becoming weak, to choose joy without justifying it.
Yes, you turned fifty. Yes, you turned sixty. That is wonderful. Live it like a rebirth.
*Samar Verma, PhD, is a senior economist, public policy professional and an institution-builder, with 28 years of experience in economic policy research, international development, grant management and philanthropic leadership. Views are personal.
Lovely read.
Could relate to most views presented so beautifully.