Learning to Live at Sixty - A Reflection on Aging

Aging alone…my nose twitched at the familiar smell of sliced turkey and instant mashed potatoes lying untouched on the tray before me. I was sitting in a wheelchair on the 4th floor of a busy rehab hospital—five hundred miles from home—on my 60th birthday. Not even a simple cupcake with a candle to mark a life that had once been full and fruitful…until now.

Although I had never cared much about birthdays, turning 60 felt pivotal. It was the year I retired because of my changing health. And once I left the rehab hospital, I would be heading back to my hometown to begin life again. My journey had taken an unexpected U-turn, and I wasn’t at all convinced it wouldn’t end at a brick wall.

But on this pivotal day, I was more alone than I had ever felt.

When Aging Takes a Detour You Didn’t Expect

A detour sparked by a diagnosis of minimal cognitive impairment—that foggy, confusing place most people simply call brain fog. I would no longer continue in the career I loved. The same career that once had me visiting people who often sat as I now did—alone, confused, unsure of why they were there.

I sat and smelled the cooling meal. I got good at sitting.

Sitting in a New Life I Never Asked For

The next place I “sat” was an aging mobile home at the end of a dirt road. I wondered if this was what getting old would be like. Except I wasn’t old…not exactly. But I walked with a walker. I used a magnifying glass for the little reading I could manage. My life ran on sticky notes reminding me to lock the door and pay my bills.

I took up meditation because I needed my life to mean something—even if all I could do was sit. No matter what I was losing, I needed to hang on to the belief that my life, such as it was, still had purpose.

Inside, everything felt dark. I may have been 60, but I felt 98.

A Scripture, a Shadow, and a Sudden Shift in Mindset about Aging

One day, staring into space with unfocused eyes and a weariness untouched by rest, I heard words from childhood echo through my mind: “Though you walk through the valley of the shadow…”
The shadow?

WAIT.
You cannot have a shadow without light.

I whispered it aloud.
You cannot have a shadow without light—somewhere.

My life pivoted in that moment. Everything changed.

I had believed the darkness in my spirit was total and irreversible. That there was nothing left but to sit there, alone, in the dark. It wasn’t until that moment that I began looking for the light.

My Brain Shift about Aging

That light came as a shift in mindset. I had been told all the reasons for my cognitive and mobility losses—and that nothing could be done. But then I met new thinkers and practitioners who assured me that wasn’t necessarily so.

What I saw as a brick wall might actually be another mountain.
And mountains can be climbed.

Slowly, I learned that my brain could change. Neuroplasticity became my new vocabulary word. And in that moment—sitting alone in the dark—my life began again.

I continued to sit.
But now I sat in meditation.
I sat in wonder.
I sat with hope.

Learning to Live Again, One Small Practice at a Time

Today, I bow in gratitude for the therapists and teachers who invested in my restoration. I learned to accommodate what would never improve, and I learned to stretch my brain to create new pathways.

Do I forget things? Of course. We all do.

But I will not forget the loneliness of that unseen birthday, the fear of growing old and useless, or the quiet despair of believing the light had gone out for good. I will not forget the journey that taught me how to climb mountains, how to face U-turns, and how to sit with purpose.

Eighteen Years Later: Aging With Possibility and Purpose

In the 18 years since that forgotten birthday—the birthday that made me officially eligible for senior discounts—my journey has led me through countless mountains and valleys. I worked with naturopaths, physical therapists, psychological therapists, meditation gurus, and spiritual teachers.

I walked miles—thirty feet at a time—forward and back in that tiny trailer.
I practiced Sudoku and wrote poems.
My bookshelves groan with teachers from mystics to entrepreneurs.

My years as a hospice nurse, pastor, and chaplain taught me to minister to myself.
And now I write on my blog about meaning and purpose as we age.
My passion is to help older adults see aging as something eminently doable—with the right mindset.
A mindset of possibility. A mindset of hope.

Sitting With Purpose — Then and Now

Every morning before dawn, I sink into my favorite leather chair, inhale the purity of the morning air, and let a smile surprise my face. Darkness has become a holy place for me. I sit in stillness and listen to the silence broken only by the heartbeat of my Seth Thomas clock.

I hold my sleeping neighbors in my heart.
I wait for the sun.
I trust the light will come.

When the sun rises, I know I will fear no evil—even though I still walk in the shadows of the unknown.

I pick up my journal and write three things I’m grateful for. Only three, because without boundaries I’d never get anything else done.

And when old age does come—whenever that officially is—it will find me sitting.
Sometimes alone. Sometimes in community.
But always with purpose.

For I have learned one calling that never leaves me:
to point out the rising sun to others who are sitting in the dark.

Learning to Live at Sixty – A Reflection on Aging