Happy 80th, Baby Boomers: We haveChanged Everything

Well, it's official. The first of us (the Baby Boomers) is turning 80 this year. Born in 1946, right after the world decided it was done with war and ready for something else, we have spent the last eight decades doing exactly what we have always done: showing up, shaking things up, and leaving our mark on absolutely everything.

So, in honour of this milestone, let's take a moment to look back. Not in the history books, but at the institutions we have quietly (and sometimes not so quietly) transformed.

When we entered school, classrooms had chalkboards, wooden desks, and a strict "sit down and be quiet" policy. By the time we were done, universities had become bustling centres of debate, night school was a thing, and lifelong learning was something people actually aspired to. Today, we are still signing up for courses, learning French, mastering pottery, and generally keeping community college enrollment numbers afloat.

We made education something you do for life, not just something you survive until you're eighteen. And we proved that the only thing better than being in school is being in school with people who actually want to be there.

Remember when retirement meant a gold watch and a slow fade into gardening? Boomers took one look at that and said, "Actually, we're not done yet." We invented the concept of working past sixty-five, not because we had to (though some of us did), but because we still had things to say, projects to finish, and younger colleagues to keep on their toes.

We turned the workplace into something more than a place to punch a clock. We demanded meaning, flexibility, and the right to leave at 3 p.m. for a grandchild's recital without being penalized. And in doing so, we made things better for everyone who came after us.

Here's where we really went rogue. Prior generations accepted aches and pains as inevitable. We said, "What if we just… didn't?" We invented jogging (apologies for that), popularized yoga, turned farmers' markets into social events, and made it normal for an eighty-year-old to discuss their cholesterol levels with the same intensity they once talked about rock lyrics.

We have also transformed how we think about aging itself. Dementia, isolation, and mental health are no longer whispered about in corners. We have demanded better care, better support, and better research. And we have shown that growing older doesn't mean growing smaller.

When we became parents, child-rearing was still largely a private affair. By the time we became grandparents, we had turned it into a public institution. We were the ones who showed up at school concerts, soccer games, and dance recitals with cameras ready and snacks in our bags. We redefined what it means to be an extended family, often stepping in to help raise grandchildren in ways earlier generations rarely did.

And community? We made it clear that community is not something you passively belong to. It's something that we build. Whether through service clubs, neighbourhood groups, or simply knowing your neighbours' names, we kept the idea of local connection alive in an age that keeps trying to replace it with screens.

Let's take a quick tour of how we impacted institutions:

Houses of worship. Once rigid and formal, many have adapted to become more welcoming, more flexible, and more focused on community service, thanks in large part to those of us who asked questions and refused to accept "because that's how it's always been" as an answer.

The arts. From folk music to film festivals to community theatre, we kept culture alive at the local level. We are the ones who buy the tickets, donate to the galleries, and make sure the symphony doesn't disappear.

Volunteer organizations. The numbers are clear: seniors volunteer at higher rates than almost any other age group. We have shown that retirement isn't about stepping back from life; it's about stepping into work that actually matters.

The food bank. Speaking of which, we have also been among the most generous donors and volunteers. We remember what it was like when neighbours helped neighbours, and we made sure that tradition continues.

Of course, no retrospective would be complete without acknowledging that we have also been known to, let's say, leave our mark in ways that weren't always requested.

We popularized the open-plan office (apologies to anyone who has ever tried to concentrate). We invented timeshares (we'll leave that there). We made beige interiors a national obsession for a solid decade. And we somehow convinced everyone that a salad could be a complete meal if you added enough croutons.

But these are minor quibbles. The bigger picture is this: we have never stopped showing up.

As I said yesterday, the first Boomer turning 80 this year. However, we are not the 80 of previous generations. We:

• Debated the merits of different streaming services with the same energy once reserved for Vietnam War protests.
• Text our grandchildren with alarming frequency and surprising accuracy.
• Are more likely to be planning a trip than a quiet afternoon.
• Still work, still volunteer, still show up at the gym (though perhaps with more stretching involved).

We have rewritten the script on what it means to be eighty. And you're not done yet.

Here's to all of us Boomers hitting 80 this year. We have changed education, work, health, family, and pretty much every institution we touched. We have refused to go quietly, and we have shown that aging is not about fading; it's about adapting.

The world is different because we were in it. And it will keep being different because we are still in it.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a yoga class to get to. And yes, I'll be complaining about my knees the whole time. Some things don't change.

Happy 80th to the first of the Boomers. Here's to the next chapter, whatever we decide to do with it.

Boomers Turning 80 This Year

14 years ago I posted about Boomers turning 66. The first of the Boomers are now turning 80 and we are still making an impact. There’s been a lot of chatter lately about the first wave of Baby Boomers turning 80. The pundits are warming up, the headlines are writing themselves, and somewhere, someone is preparing a serious discussion about “the implications of aging.”

Truth is, most of us aren’t that interested.

We’ve lived long enough to know that life isn’t a report, it’s a relationship.

And that brings me to The Beatles and their song “When I’m Sixty-Four.” It wasn’t really about getting older. It was about something much more important: how do you keep love alive as time marches on?

That question doesn’t retire at 65 or 80.

The other day, I found myself in a lively conversation with three colleagues, two men and one woman. The topic? Relationships. More specifically, how do you know if you’re in a good one, and how do you keep it that way?

Simple question. Complicated answers.

What we circled back to, after a few laughs and a couple of “you’ve got to be kidding me” moments, was this: you have to be honest with yourself first.

Not just a little honest. Really honest.

What do you actually need, emotionally, physically, intellectually? Not what sounds good. Not what you think you should want. What do you truly need at this stage of your life?

That kind of self-reflection isn’t easy. It takes time. It takes a willingness to look in the mirror without flinching.

But once you get there, something shifts.

You can speak clearly. You can say to a partner, using that simple but powerful “I language,” this is what matters to me. And here’s the hard part: sometimes the person across from you can’t meet those needs.

That’s where things get real.

It’s easy to say, “move on.” It’s much harder to do, especially after years or decades of shared life. But if happiness is still the goal (and why wouldn’t it be?), then sometimes difficult decisions are part of the journey.

Now, when the conversation was getting thoughtful, one of the women dropped a line that stopped us all cold and then made us laugh.

She said, “Men your age are looking for a nurse… or a purse.”

Now, she’s a Boomer herself, widowed, with a wide circle of single friends. And she wasn’t joking, well, maybe a little, but not entirely.

Her view? Many older men are either looking for someone to take care of them… or someone who can afford to spend money on them.

I pushed back at first. It sounded a bit cynical.

But then I started asking around.

And wouldn’t you know it, there was some truth there.

Not for everyone, of course, but enough to make me pause.

Some men were clearly looking for comfort and care. Others were looking for financial stability. And a few, thankfully, were still looking for connection, companionship, and yes, even a bit of romance.

No wonder relationships can get complicated at this stage of life.

We carry history. Expectations. Habits that are well-worn and not easily changed.

And yet, the desire for connection doesn’t fade. If anything, it becomes clearer, more honest, maybe even a little less patient with nonsense.

Which brings me back to The Beatles.

I was lucky enough to see them live when they came to Vancouver in the 60s. The music, the energy, it stays with you. And even now, those songs still find their way into the present.

That’s what we do as Boomers.

We hold onto the memories, but we also keep them alive. We reinterpret them. We bring them forward into who we are today.

Turning 80 isn’t about winding down.

It’s about knowing more clearly what matters… and what doesn’t.

So, here’s the real question, not for the pundits, but for us:

At 80, are we still choosing relationships that bring life, laughter, and meaning into our days?

Or are we settling for something less?

Because whether you’re 64… or 80… the song remains the same.

Will you still need me?
Will you still feed me?

Maybe.

But more importantly, will you still know yourself well enough to choose wisely?

The future will surprise us. It will challenge us.

 It’s a funny thing about time, it doesn’t just move forward, it rushes.

Back in 2015, we were already shaking our heads at how fast things were changing. Today? It feels like we blinked, and the world rewrote itself again.

Think about it for a moment.

The internet, which began quietly in 1991, has now become the backbone of daily life. Google isn’t just a search engine; it’s how we think, find, and decide. YouTube and Twitter (now rebranded as X) helped start the social media wave, but today we’re just as likely to be scrolling, streaming, or sharing on platforms that didn’t even exist a decade ago.

And the biggest twist? We’re now talking to machines.

Artificial intelligence writes, answers, creates images, plans trips, and even helps families stay connected. Voice assistants, smart homes, wearable health trackers, technology isn’t just something we use anymore; it quietly works alongside us.

Remember when a phone was just a phone? Try finding one now. It’s your camera, your calendar, your map, your newspaper, your doctor’s reminder system, and sometimes your lifeline.

Even the idea of “going online” feels outdated, because we’re always connected.

Television? That old battle is over. Streaming didn’t just win; it took over completely. We watch what we want, when we want, wherever we are. Cable feels like a relic, something we explain to grandchildren the way our grandparents explained radio dramas.

Work has changed, too. Retirement itself has changed. Pensions aren’t as certain, and more people are building flexible lives, consulting, volunteering, creating, and contributing in new ways well into their later years.

And here’s the truth: as much as things feel uncertain, this isn’t the first time people have felt this way.

Let’s step back to 1925.

Picture it.

A world just recovering from World War I, stepping into what many called the “Roaring Twenties.” Jazz music fills the air. Cars are becoming more common, though still a luxury for many. Cities are growing, and electricity is spreading, but not everywhere.

Here’s a snapshot of life in 1925:

The average life expectancy was still under 60 years.
Many homes, especially in rural areas, still didn’t have indoor plumbing or electricity.
Radios were the new “must-have” technology, bringing news and entertainment into the home for the first time. Families gathered around them the way we gather around screens today.
Cars were becoming popular, but roads were rough, and long-distance travel was still an adventure.
Most women did not work outside the home, although that was slowly beginning to change.
Medical care was improving, but antibiotics like penicillin were not yet widely available. A simple infection could still be life-threatening.
Education was growing, but high school graduation was far from the norm.
And yes, people were already saying, “The world is changing too fast.”

Sound familiar?

Every generation stands in the middle of change and feels like it’s the most dramatic moment in history. And in a way, they’re all right.

But here’s the comforting part of the story.

People in 1925 adapted.
People in 2015 adapted.
And here we are, doing the same.

We learn the new tools. We shake our heads at the pace. We laugh a little at ourselves. And then, slowly, we make it part of our lives.

So, when we wonder what the world will look like in another 100 years, whether artificial intelligence will run everything, whether homes will think for us, whether travel will take minutes instead of hours, the honest answer is the same as it was back then:

We don’t know.

But we do know this.

The future will surprise us.
It will challenge us.
And just like every generation before us, we’ll find a way to live in it, shape it, and maybe even enjoy it.

Because in the end, it’s not just technology that defines an era.

It’s people, curious, adaptable, and always ready for the next chapter.

Do you get to shape how the curtain falls?

 There’s something both humbling and quietly amusing about the way William Shakespeare saw life unfolding, like a play where we enter, stumble through our lines, and eventually take a bow. In As You Like It, he gave us that unforgettable reminder:

“All the world’s a stage…
And one man in his time plays many parts…”

By the time we reach what he calls the “last scene of all,” there’s a touch of humour wrapped in truth, “sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.” It makes us smile, maybe shake our heads, but it also nudges us toward something deeper: awareness.

Because here’s the thing, retirement isn’t the end of the story. It’s the final act where, if we’re wise, we get to shape how the curtain falls.

And that’s where planning comes in.

Think of advanced care planning and estate planning not as paperwork, but as storytelling with intention. It’s your way of saying, “Here’s how I want this next chapter to unfold. Here’s how I want to be cared for. Here’s what matters to me.”

Many people drift into retirement having carefully planned their finances, yet leave the rest to chance. But this stage of life asks a different kind of question, not “How much do I have?” but “What do I want to happen, for me and for the people I love, and for me when I can no longer speak for myself?”

A good plan usually begins with a will. Simple in concept, powerful in impact. Without one, decisions about your belongings, your home, and even treasured personal items are left to government rules. And those rules don’t know your family stories, your values, or your intentions. That’s where confusion, delays, and sometimes painful disagreements can begin.

A properly prepared will brings clarity. It gives direction. It says, “This is what I chose.”

But a thoughtful plan doesn’t stop there.

There’s also the question of care. If illness or injury leaves you unable to make decisions, who will speak on your behalf? What kind of care would you want, and just as importantly, what wouldn’t you want? These are deeply personal choices, and putting them in writing lifts a heavy burden from those who might otherwise be left guessing.

Then there are powers of attorney and health care directives, documents that quietly stand in your place when needed. They don’t take away your independence; they protect it.

Some people also explore trusts, especially if their situation is more complex. A trust allows someone you appoint, a trustee, to manage assets according to your wishes. For certain families, this can be incredibly helpful. But it’s worth being honest here: not everyone needs a trust, and sometimes people try to control too much from beyond the curtain. Life, like theatre, still needs room for a little improvisation.

The key is balance.

A good plan is clear, practical, and respectful of both your wishes and the realities your family will face. It’s not about control, it’s about care.

Now, let’s bring this down from the legal language to something more human.

Imagine a conversation around a kitchen table. A daughter wondering, “What would Dad have wanted?” A spouse second-guessing every decision. A son feeling the weight of responsibility with no clear guidance.

Now imagine the same scene, but with a plan in place.

The tone shifts. There’s still emotion, of course, but there’s also confidence. Relief. Even gratitude.

“He told us what he wanted.”
“We know what to do.”

That’s the gift of planning.

And here’s the part many people overlook: you don’t have to do it all at once. Start where you are. Maybe it’s a conversation. Maybe it’s jotting down your thoughts. Maybe it’s making that first appointment to get a will drafted properly.

What matters is the beginning.

Because of this “last act” that Shakespeare speaks of? It doesn’t have to be something we drift into unprepared. It can be something we approach with intention, dignity, and even a bit of grace.

You’ve lived a full life of roles: teacher, parent, partner, friend, volunteer, and leader. Each one is shaped by the choices you made along the way.

This next role, the planner, the guide for what comes after, is just as important.

So, here’s a gentle challenge, the kind that lingers after a good story:

If someone you love had to make decisions for you tomorrow, would they know what you want?

And if not, what’s one small step you could take this week to make that clearer?

Shakespeare gave us the metaphor. The stage, the script, the final bow.

The rest? That’s still yours to write.