“Well… At My Age…” and Other Dangerous Phrases

It starts innocently enough.

You’re standing in the kitchen, staring at a jar. Not just any jar, one of those jars clearly designed by someone in their twenties with something to prove. You twist. Nothing. You try again, adding a grunt for emphasis, still nothing.

And then it slips out.

“Well… at my age…”

Stop right there.

That phrase is more powerful than the lid on that jar, and not in a good way.

Years ago, when I was teaching, one of the first lessons I had to learn was that I was replaceable. A bit of a humbling thought at the time. But retirement brought an even bigger realization: my body had quietly joined a different team than the one in my head.

In my head, I can still run up stairs two at a time. In reality, I now negotiate with stairs like a diplomat in tense talks.

But here’s where things get interesting.

Science, yes, actual research, not just wishful thinking, has started to poke holes in the old “everything goes downhill” story. Turns out, nearly half of older adults in one long-term study actually improved in brain function, physical ability, or both.

Let that sink in for a moment.

Improved.

Not “held steady.” Not “declined gracefully.” Improved.

Even more surprising? Around a third of participants sharpened their thinking, and many were walking faster at the end of the study than when they began. Faster! At an age when society expects you to be asking where you left your glasses, while they’re on your head.

So, what’s going on?

It turns out that what we believe about ageing isn’t just a nice thought or a motivational poster, it’s part of the machinery. Your beliefs act like instructions your body listens to.

If the message is “we’re done here,” the body tends to follow along.

If the message is “we’ve still got work to do,” well… things can get interesting.

Now, let me tell you about a friend of mine.

A few years back, his hip gave out. Completely. One day he’s walking along, the next he’s negotiating with gravity and a cane. He had surgery, and as he likes to say, the odds of something going wrong were one in a hundred.

Naturally, he won.

The first operation didn’t take. Now he’s waiting for a second one. He’s in pain, moving slower, and had his first hospital stay in over fifty years. He described it as the most frightening experience of his life.

But here’s the twist.

He still calls himself lucky.

“I guess it’s my turn,” he said. “So I’ll deal with it.”

And he will. He’s already talking about how quickly he’ll be back on his feet after the next surgery.

That’s not denial. That’s perspective.

Because none of this is about pretending ageing doesn’t exist. It does. Loudly, sometimes. Things creak. Things ache. Things… surprise you.

But the story that it’s all downhill? That’s optional.

So maybe the real challenge isn’t to avoid decline entirely. That’s not realistic.

The challenge is to catch yourself the next time you say, “Well, at my age…” and ask:

“Is that actually true?”

Or is it just a story I’ve been told so often I started telling it to myself?

Because here’s the thing.

You might not win every battle with the jar.

But you don’t have to hand it the war.