Could retirement living communities tackle later-life loneliness?

Loneliness is often called the “silent epidemic.” Though it can affect anyone, older adults are especially vulnerable. Extended loneliness increases risks of depression, dementia, and heart disease.

In Canada, nearly 20 % of seniors 65 and over reported feeling lonely in 2019-2020. In the U.S., about one-third of adults aged 50-80 say they feel lonely at least some of the time. These aren’t small numbers, they point to something urgent.

Retirement communities and senior centres are in a unique position to help combat the issue which is a problem for many. Here are some stats to show how widespread the problem is in Canada, and the USA.

In Canada, about 19.2 % of older adults aged 65+ reported feeling lonely in 2019-2020. Statistics Canada

More generally in Canada, 43 % of people aged 50+ are at risk of social isolation, and up to 59 % have experienced loneliness. Government of Canada

In the United States, recent data (aged 50-80) show about 33-34 % of older adults feel lonely some or often in the past year. JAMA Network+2University of Michigan Health+2

On social isolation in the U.S., roughly 29 % of people age 50-80 report feeling isolated “some of the time or often.” healthyagingpoll.org+1

These figures suggest that loneliness and isolation are widespread among older adults in North America, not just the UK.

In the posts that follow, I will explore what the world’s longest-living communities can teach us about belonging, how shared activities bring people together, and how independence and connection can exist side by side.

Stories: pass your legacy on.

 Now it’s your turn to pass that legacy on.

Think of the questions they might have one day: What was it like growing up then? How did you and grandpa meet? What was your first job? What was the biggest risk you ever took? Your stories are the answers they will treasure long after you are gone. You are the keeper of a unique history that no one else can tell.

You don’t have to be a professional writer or storyteller. Start small. Pick a moment that made you proud, or one that changed you. Maybe it’s the day you learned to drive, your first job, your wedding day, a trip that surprised you, or a lesson that came the hard way. Tell it the way you remember it, in your own words. Don’t worry about perfect grammar or whether the story has a “point.” Just speak from the heart.

If writing feels daunting, there are other ways to capture your memories. You can record yourself speaking into your phone or computer, or ask a friend or family member to interview you. You might even turn your stories into short videos. Imagine your grandchildren years from now hearing your voice or seeing your face as you talk about your life, the laughter, the sparkle in your eyes, the way you pause before saying something wise or funny. Those moments will mean more to them than you can imagine.

And remember, stories aren’t just about the past. They can also help you shape your future. Reflecting on your life can bring clarity, healing, and inspiration. It can remind you of the strengths that carried you through hard times and the joys that made life beautiful. Sharing those reflections might even encourage someone else who’s facing their own crossroads.

So, take the time. Tell the stories of your life, the triumphs and the stumbles, the surprises and the lessons, the laughter and the love. Capture them while they’re fresh in your heart and mind.

You’ve lived through times of remarkable change, seen the world evolve, and adapted in ways that future generations can learn from. Your story is not just a record of the past—it’s a roadmap for resilience, courage, and hope.

Start today. Write it down. Record it. Share it. Your life is a novel only you can write, filled with chapters of adventure, love, learning, and growth. Don’t let it go untold. Share your laughter, your lessons, your heart. Give your family the gift of your story, the whole, beautiful, authentic story of you. They are waiting to listen.

Let your story live on, not only as a memory, but as an inspiration. Because no one else can tell it quite like you.

Strories we love stoires

You may have noticed a variation on a theme in the last few posts. Stories. We love stories. They are how we understand the world and one another. When we hear a story that is persuasive, we take notice. It lingers. It connects us. Each of us finds different aspects of a story compelling, courage, humor, resilience, kindness, and that is why I’ve tried different approaches to the themes that I thought were interesting and important over the last few days.

We all want to be the heroes or heroines of our own story, which is only natural. After all, each of us has faced moments of challenge, triumph, and change. But when we look back on our lives, we sometimes tend to tidy up the details a little. We gloss over mistakes, minimize disappointments, and rearrange events so we come out looking a bit better in the telling. That’s understandable, who wouldn’t want to highlight their proudest moments?

Still, it’s important not to change or omit too much of the narrative. The person you are today is the sum of everything that came before, both the moments when you were the hero or heroine, and those when you played a supporting role in someone else’s story. Those supporting roles, the ones that may not have seemed important at the time, often hold deep meaning for others. The friend you encouraged, the family member you forgave, the time you showed up when it mattered most, all of these moments weave together to form the full story of you. The person we are today is a result of all the events in our lives, even those where we stumbled and fell.

Your story isn’t just about what happened; it’s about what you learned, how you felt, and how you grew. It’s about how you kept going when life threw challenges your way. And it’s about what you found joy in, big or small, along the way.

Memories are more than nostalgia. They are the threads that connect generations. They help us make sense of who we were, who we are, and who we are becoming. When you share your stories, you offer your family, and the wider world, a precious gift. Your children and grandchildren want to know who you were before they knew you. They want to understand where they come from, and how your choices, values, and dreams helped shape their lives too. For your children, grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren, your life narrative is a precious inheritance. Your story is their origin story. In a world that moves at a dizzying pace, your stories provide them with an anchor, a sense of belonging, history, and identity that they can carry forward

Think of the stories your grandparents or parents told you, the ones that stuck with you long after the conversation ended. Maybe it was about how they met, how they got through tough times, or a funny misadventure from years gone by. These stories don’t just entertain us; they root us. They remind us that we come from people who lived fully, who loved, who persevered.

Now it’s your turn to pass that legacy on.

The Dream-Wright’s Workshop: An Open Letter to the Masters of Time

 Let me let you in on a secret, one they don’t print in the manuals or the morning papers. It’s a truth so simple, so powerful, that it can feel like finding the hidden key to a forgotten garden:

People believe what they want to believe. And this, alone, explains what they have or don’t have.

Let that simmer for a moment. Does that make your entire flipping day or what?!

It means the world is not a fixed, immovable sculpture, but a lump of the most wonderful, pliable clay. And you, my friend, with a lifetime of fingerprints upon your hands, are the master potter. You have seen dreams take shape and you have seen some fall away. But the workshop is still open. The wheel is still spinning. The clay is still moist and waiting.

Some will tell you that the time for dreaming is behind you. They will speak of retirement as a finish line. But they have forgotten the oldest magic of all: Dreams come true, if you believe. That’s what they do. The only variable is when. And my goodness, what is time to a soul that has already collected so much of it? You have the profound advantage of knowing that "when" is a flexible, friendly concept, not a demanding tyrant.

Now, you have a choice of two paths to your dream. Think of it as two different recipes for the same magnificent cake.

There is the recipe for delay. It reads like this: Resist the first step. Attach yourself to every reason it might not work. Insist that it’s too late. Deny your own capabilities. Stop before you begin. Second-guess every single idea. Whine about the obstacles. Argue with your own inspiration. Defend your limitations. Protest that it’s just not the way things are done. Cry over spilled milk from decades ago. Struggle mightily against the current. And finally, ask others when you already know the answer yourself.

It’s a tiresome, familiar dance, isn’t it? You’ve probably seen this recipe before. It makes a very dry, unsatisfying cake.

But then, there is the other way.

This recipe is for the nimble of heart. It goes like this: Visualize your dream so clearly you can smell the sawdust of your new workshop or taste the tomatoes from your garden. Pretend you are already there, just for a moment, and feel the joy of it. Prepare one small thing today, buy the seeds, call about the class, check out the book. Dodge the naysayers, even the one in your own head. Roll with the small setbacks. Serpentine! Zig when they expect you to zag. Be unpredictable in your pursuit of joy.

Do not waver over intentions. A dream either is, or it isn’t. Alternate your approaches. If the paintbrush feels heavy, try the pen. If the wood is stubborn, try the clay. Release your doubts like old balloons, watch them float away and disappear. Show up, even when nothing happens. Sit in the chair, look at the garden plot, hold the instrument. Your presence is a promise. And most importantly, keep giving thanks in advance. Thank the universe for the beautiful painting not yet finished, for the thriving garden not yet harvested, for the melody not yet perfectly played. Gratitude is the fertilizer for dreams.

You need to believe in yourself not with the brash confidence of youth, but with the quiet, unshakable certainty that comes from having survived, adapted, and loved through decades. You have already built a life. You have already navigated storms. What is a dream but the next, most delightful project?

So, what will it be? The garden, the novel, the reconciled friendship, the learned language, the volunteer project that changes a life. That dream isn’t a ghost from your past; it’s a patient friend waiting in your future, tapping its watch with a smile, wondering what on earth is taking you so long to arrive.

The workshop is open. The clay is in your hands. Believe, and begin.