Choosing Not To, or Being Unable To?

Golf has been part of my life for about twenty-five years. I enjoy it, though I’ll be the first to admit I’m not very good at it. and never will be, for a number of reasons.

One of those reasons is simple: I don’t spend enough time on it. I play once a week with friends, starting in May and wrapping up in September. When I first took up the game, many people offered to help me improve. At the beginning, I believed I could. I practiced. I paid attention. I worked at it.

After a few years, something became clear. Starting a new hobby at fifty-five meant I was never going to reach the level of proficiency of friends who had been golfing since their twenties. That wasn’t failure; it was reality.

At that point, I had a choice.

I could continue chasing improvement, measuring myself against standards I was unlikely to reach, or I could change my relationship with the game. I listened to my friends’ advice, adjusted my swing as best I could, but I stopped going to the driving range and the putting green to practice. I stopped keeping score.

Instead, I chose to play one hole at a time. I tracked the game, but I no longer judged it. I went out to enjoy the walk, the conversation, and the shared experience.

Something interesting happened.

I now golf with a group of friends, none of whom keep score anymore. We enjoy each other’s company and the game itself, but we never talk about numbers. Competitiveness quietly gave way to companionship. Once we made that decision, new doors opened. New friendships formed. And we still hold our heads high at the nineteenth hole.

This wasn’t giving up golf. It was choosing how to play it.

That distinction matters.

There’s a difference between being unable to do something and choosing not to do it the same way anymore. One strips you of agency; the other affirms it. Adaptive choices allow us to stay connected to what matters, even as circumstances change.

The friend I mentioned in the previous post is still wrestling with his decision to seek help. For someone who has always carried responsibility alone, allowing others in feels uncomfortable, even threatening. But I can already see the possibilities lining up; people ready to step forward, contribute, and share the load only when he’s ready to see that asking for help doesn’t close doors. It opens them.

Just as my golfing friends eventually faced their own limits. As their skills declined, they had to choose stop playing altogether or stop keeping score. They chose the latter, joined my team, and discovered a lot more joy than they expected.

Dignity isn’t found in doing everything ourselves. It’s found in deciding how we remain present, connected, and engaged. Choosing differently isn’t surrender. It’s often the clearest expression of agency we have.

When Acceptance Sounds Like Quitting

Over the years, I’ve known many hardworking, ambitious, generous people. The kind who step forward when others hesitate. Leaders who take on difficult issues, knowing full well that success isn’t guaranteed, but effort matters. They don’t always win, but they don’t walk away either.

Some of them, when they retired, simply shifted direction. New projects, new goals, fresh energy. Their sense of purpose didn’t fade; it found new outlets. Watching them, it would be easy to believe that momentum, once earned, is something you carry for life.

One of those people is a leader in our community and a friend of mine. For more than seventy years, his body had never really failed him. No long-term pain. No serious limits. Then, unexpectedly, his hip did. What followed was a slow and humbling lesson in waiting, frustration, and vulnerability.

A hip replacement doesn’t usually sound dramatic. You won’t die from it. But it can take away your mobility, your independence, and your patience. Our medical system is very good at responding to crisis. It’s less effective when the problem is ongoing pain that can technically be “managed.” His wait time for surgery was eighteen months.

Because he had the means, he chose another route. He went to Mexico, had the surgery, and stayed to recover. But something went wrong when he came home. After consultations with surgeons, he was told the operation would have to be redone.

That’s when he said something that stopped me.

“I have to find someone to replace me,” he said. “I can’t keep doing all the things I’ve been doing. I need help.”

On the surface, it sounded practical. Sensible. Necessary. But underneath it carried a heavy emotional weight. For someone who had always been capable, reliable, and driven, saying I can’t do this anymore felt dangerously close to saying I am done.

Acceptance often arrives like that. Not as relief, but as loss.

We use language with ourselves that quietly erases parts of who we believe we are. I don’t do that anymore. I’m not useful the way I was. It’s time to step aside. Each phrase sounds reasonable, even mature, but taken together they can shrink a life faster than any physical limitation.

In my friend’s case, acceptance wasn’t surrender; it was a shift in identity. His sense of invincibility was gone, replaced by something unfamiliar: dependence. He had never had to ask for help before. And yet, in doing so, something unexpected happened.

The people who worked with him had long hoped he would slow down. Not because they doubted him, but because they wanted to contribute more themselves. By accepting that he needed help to continue his mission, he didn’t abandon it. He made room for others to step forward, to grow, to show their strengths.

Acceptance, then, didn’t narrow his world. It changed its shape.

The danger isn’t acceptance itself. It’s confusing acceptance with erasure. Believing that letting go of how we do things means letting go of why we do them.

Sometimes wisdom sounds like quitting, until we listen more closely and realize it’s actually an invitation to continue, just not alone.

The Future Is Now: How New Technologies Are Quietly Changing Aging and Care

When we talk about “the future,” it often sounds distant,  something meant for younger generations or science fiction movies. But for today’s seniors and caregivers, the future has already arrived, quietly and steadily, offering new tools that can support independence, connection, and quality of life.

Many older adults hear reassuring words from their doctors: “Nothing unusual,  just what we expect at your age.” That phrase alone captures both the reality of aging, a subtle agism, and the opportunity before us. Aging brings challenges, yes, but it also opens the door for thoughtful innovation designed not to replace people, but to support them.

One of the most talked-about developments is the rise of artificial intelligence (AI), particularly tools designed to support older adults emotionally, cognitively, and physically. AI is no longer just about answering questions online. It is increasingly being shaped to understand routines, encourage healthy habits, and help people stay engaged with life.

A leading example is ElliQ, an AI companion robot developed by Intuition Robotics and now being adapted for Japan through a partnership with Kanematsu Corporation. ElliQ was intentionally designed not to look human. That choice matters. It avoids confusion and false emotional expectations, while still offering warmth, conversation, and encouragement.

Unlike typical chatbots that only respond when asked, ElliQ is proactive. It remembers conversations, suggests activities, encourages movement, supports cognitive exercises, and helps users stay connected to their daily routines. Over nearly a decade of research, developers found that consistent, gentle engagement helps stimulate both the mind and body,  something many seniors struggle to maintain when living alone.

For caregivers, these tools can be equally transformative. In the United States alone, nearly 48 million adults provide unpaid care to another adult. Intuition Robotics introduced a Caregiver App that allows family members to monitor wellness, track routines, and stay informed, without hovering or intruding. This kind of remote support can reduce anxiety for caregivers while preserving dignity and independence for seniors.

Another innovation is ElliQ’s Wellness Coach, which allows users to set and adjust goals in four areas: physical activity, cognitive stimulation, stress reduction, and sleep. The results are striking. While most wellness apps lose users quickly, this system retains the vast majority of participants. After three months, many users are still actively engaged, and a significant number have already met or exceeded their goals. The lesson is simple: when technology feels supportive rather than judgmental, people stick with it.

Of course, concerns remain. Some experts worry that robots could be misused to cut costs rather than improve care,  leading to fewer human caregivers, lower wages, and more impersonal environments. That risk is real and deserves attention. Others, however, argue that with aging populations and workforce shortages, technology will be essential,  not to replace human care, but to make it sustainable.

The key question is not whether robots and AI will be part of aging,  it is how. Thoughtful regulation, ethical design, and public input will determine whether these tools work for people or against them. The time to shape that future is now, before decisions are made without the voices of seniors and caregivers at the table.

At its heart, this conversation is not just about machines. It is about human potential. We all carry talents, wisdom, and passions,  some shared freely, others hidden by fear or habit. As Benjamin Franklin once said, “What’s a sundial in the shade?” Tools like AI can help bring what is already inside us into the light,  by supporting memory, encouraging creativity, and freeing energy for what matters most: connection.

Aging with grace does not mean slowing down emotionally or intellectually. It means adapting, staying curious, and choosing tools that help us live fully,  under pressure, with humor, and with our passions still very much alive.

The future is not something to fear. Done right, it is something we can shape, together.

New Alphabet for Mature Minds

There is an email floating around called a new alphabet for mature minds or something like that. I read it and it was funny but I thought it could be more positive. So here is my new alphabet for mature minds. Enjoy.

New Alphabet for Mature Minds

“A” is for “apple” and “B” is for “boat,”
That used to be right and hey, they mostly still float.
“Age before beauty” was once what we’d say,
Now it’s “both are still shining, just seasoned that way.”

Now here’s a New Alphabet, written with joy,
For grown-up grown-olds who still laugh and enjoy.

A is for arthritis, a bit stiff at the start,
But movement and laughter still do their good part.
B’s for the back that reminds us each day
We’ve lived a full life, and we earned it, okay?

C’s for the chest that goes up and goes down,
Still strong enough to carry us around.
D is for dentists who know us by name,
E is for eyesight, large print’s not a shame.

F’s for the freedom to laugh when we please,
G’s for good stories told over coffee and tea.
H is for health checks, we’re staying informed,
I is for insight that only comes worn.

J is for joints that complain now and then,
K is for knees that predict rain again.
L is for love, it still shows up just fine,
M is for memories, the sweet and the wine.

N is for nerves that occasionally spark,
O is for optimism, still lighting the dark.
P’s for prescriptions (a tidy small crew),
Q is for questions, we still ask a few.

R is for rest when the day’s been a lot,
S is for sleep… or a podcast at night.
T is for tinnitus, nature’s odd chime,
U is for urgency (we plan bathroom time).

V is for vertigo, spin, then we laugh,
W’s for wisdom we quietly have.
X is for X-rays that say, “You’ve been through,”
Y is for years , and we’ve used them well, too.

Z is for zest, still curious, still sound,
Still grateful each morning to be above ground.

I’ve survived all the things my body’s deployed,
And yes, I keep specialists gainfully employed.