Dealing with Your Failures to Be on Time

Let me start with a confession. Since retiring, I have not worn a watch. Not because I can't tell time anymore, but because time itself has changed. There is "clock time", the thing the rest of the world uses, and then there is "retiree time," which is governed by different laws entirely. Retiree time asks questions like, "Is it too early for a nap?" and "What day is it anyway?" and "If I show up sometime today, doesn't that technically count as on time?"

But here's the thing. Even those of us who have graduated to this flexible relationship with clocks still need to show up somewhere occasionally. Doctor's appointments. Grandkids' recitals. Breakfast meetings that actually start at breakfast time. And when we fail at those, we miss out. Not just on the appointment itself, but on the opportunities, relationships, and dignity that punctuality quietly protects.

So, let's talk about why some of us struggle to be on time, and how to fix it, with or without a watch.

The Real Reason You're Late

There are plenty of surface reasons for lateness. Traffic. The car keys playing hide-and-seek. That sudden realization that you cannot possibly face the world without a second cup of coffee. But underneath those excuses, there is often something deeper.

Sometimes we're late because we're overwhelmed. Because we didn't sleep well. Because stress has us moving slower than we realize. Because some part of us doesn't actually want to go where we're going, and lateness is the one rebellion we can still manage.

If this sounds familiar, here's the kind truth: you're not broken. You're just carrying something heavy. And until you address what that something is, no alarm clock in the world will fix it.

Practical Tricks That Actually Work

The Clock Trick (Retiree-Approved)

Set every clock in your house 10–15 minutes ahead. Then forget you did it. When you glance at the kitchen clock and see you're "running late," that gentle panic will light a fire under you. You'll move faster, leave sooner, and arrive right on time, all while believing you were behind schedule.

This is not deception. This is using your own brain against itself, and it works beautifully.

The Night Before Rule

Decide what you're wearing. Pack what you're taking. Know where you're going and how long it takes to get there, add 15 minutes because traffic has a personal grudge against you. Do all of this the night before. Morning, you will thank evening you, possibly out loud.

The Punctuality Partner

Find someone who expects you. Not just an appointment on paper, but a real person who will notice if you're late. A friend is waiting for coffee. A volunteer shift where someone needs relief. Knowing that someone is counting on you is a powerful motivator.

When You Need More Than Tips

Sometimes being late is a symptom of something deeper. If you've tried every trick and still find yourself rushing, apologizing, and losing opportunities, it might be time to talk with someone. A counselor can help you uncover the hidden reasons, anxiety, avoidance, overwhelm, that keep you stuck in the lateness loop.

This is not weakness. This is wisdom. It's you saying, "I want my life to work better, and I'm willing to understand why it doesn't."

Health, Stress, and Time

Here's something we don't talk about enough. When your body is tired, your mind is scattered. When you're stressed, your judgment is off. When you haven't moved in days, your whole system slows down.

Eating well, sleeping enough, and moving your body are not just about health. They are about punctuality. A well-rested, well-nourished person is simply better at being on time. They notice the clock. They feel the urgency. They have the energy to get out the door.

And for retirees especially, here's a secret: staying active keeps you connected to clock time at all. If you let yourself drift too far into retiree time, the real world becomes harder to re-enter. So, move. Rest. Eat. Take care of yourself. Your schedule will thank you.

You have to want to change. Not because your boss will fire you. Not because your spouse will be annoyed. But because being on time is a way of honouring your own life. It says, "This matters. I matter. The people waiting for me matter."

And if you're retired, and time has taken on that lovely, hazy quality where every day feels like Saturday, remember this: even Saturday has a schedule sometimes. The grandkids still perform. The doctor still expects you. The world still runs on clock time, even if you've happily retired from it.

So set those clocks ahead. Prep the night before. Take care of your body. And if all else fails, remember that showing up five minutes late with a genuine smile and a good excuse is still better than not showing up at all.

Unless it's a funeral. Then definitely be on time. They start without you, and trust me, you don't want to walk in late to that.

The Things We Don't Say

 Sometimes, when people say they aren't worried, they really are.

I have learned this over years of sitting across from people, listening to what they say and trying to hear what they don't. It happens in living rooms and coffee shops, at community centre tables and on park benches. Someone will lean back in their chair, wave a hand in the air, and say, "Oh, I'm not worried about it."

And if you know how to listen, you can hear the worry hiding underneath.

It is in the slight hesitation before the words. The way the eyes drop for just a fraction of a second. The too-bright smile that doesn't quite reach the corners. The subject change comes too quickly.

I'm not worried.

But they are. They are worried about their health, their money, their kids, and whether they will be a burden. They are worried about the future, about the world, about whether anyone will notice when they are gone. They are worried about all the things that keep people awake at 3:00 a.m. when the house is quiet, and the mind won't stop.

And yet, they say they aren't.

Why do we do this? Why do we coat our deepest fears in the language of indifference?

Because worry feels vulnerable, feels weak. Worry means admitting that there are things in this life we cannot control, and that is a terrifying thing to say out loud. So, we dress it up in denial. We put on a brave face. We tell ourselves and anyone who asks that we are fine, we are fine, we are fine.

But fine is a small word that carries a lot of weight.

Sometimes, when people say they don't care, they really care.

I think about the senior who insists it doesn't matter if his daughter calls. "She's busy," he says. "She has her own life. I don't need to hear from her every week." And maybe he even believes it, for a moment. But then the phone stays silent, and his eyes drift to the window, and you can see that it does matter. It matters a great deal.

I think about the woman who says she doesn't care about her birthday. "It's just another day," she says. "I don't need a fuss." But when the card arrives in the mail, when the neighbour stops by with a small cake, when someone remembers, her face changes. The walls come down. And you realize that the not caring was always a shield, never a truth.

We say we don't care because caring leaves us open to disappointment. If you don't care, you can't be hurt. If you don't care, you can't be let down. If you don't care, you are safe.

But safety is lonely. And most of us, deep down, would rather risk the hurt than spend our lives alone. We don't know how to admit it.

And sometimes, when people say they don't know, they do, but they'd rather not.

This is the one I hear most often. It comes up in conversations about the future, about difficult decisions, about things that feel too heavy to carry.

"What do you want to do?"
"I don't know."

"What do you think about that?"
"I don't know."

"How are you feeling about all of this?"
"I don't know."

But they do know. They know exactly what they want, what they think, how they feel. They know because they have been turning it over in their minds for weeks, for months, for years. They have examined it from every angle. They have imagined every outcome. They know.

Knowing is not the problem. The problem is that knowing means having to act. Knowing means having to decide. Knowing means having to say something out loud, and once it is out loud, it is real.

And real is scary.

So we take refuge in not knowing. We hide behind uncertainty. We tell ourselves that if we haven't decided yet, we haven't failed yet. If we haven't chosen, we haven't closed any doors. If we don't know, we can't be held responsible for what happens next.

But the not knowing is its own kind of weight. It sits on your chest while you try to sleep. It follows you around like a shadow. It drains the colour out of the days because you are always waiting, always postponing, always holding your breath.

I was talking to a senior recently about a decision he needed to make. It was a big one, the kind that changes things. He kept circling back to the same phrase: "I just don't know what to do."

I sat with him for a while. We talked around it. We talked about other things. And then, somewhere in the middle of a sentence about something else entirely, he stopped. He looked at me. And he said, quietly, "I know what I want. I've known for months. I don't want to say it."

There it was. The truth, hiding in plain sight.

He knew. He had always known. He just needed permission to admit it.

Most of the time, we know. Most of the time, we care. Most of the time, we are worried. We just don't know how to say it. We haven't found the words. We haven't found the right person to say them to. We haven't given ourselves permission to be honest about the things that matter most.

And that is where the rest of us come in.

If you are reading this and you have someone in your life, a parent, a friend, a neighbour, a spouse, who might be carrying things they aren't saying, here is what I want you to know:

You don't need to fix them. You don't need to solve their problems. You don't need to have the right words or the perfect advice.

You just need to be there.

You need to sit with them in silence. You need to ask questions and then wait long enough for the real answers to surface. You need to make it safe for them to say the things they have been holding inside. You need to let them know, without saying it directly, that you can handle their worry, their caring, their knowing.

Because most of the time, that is all anyone really wants. Not answers. Not solutions. Just someone who will stay in the room while they figure it out.

And if you are the one carrying the things you aren't saying—the worry, the caring, the knowing—here is something to consider:

You don't have to carry it alone.

The people who love you, the people who show up, the people who ask how you are and mean it—they are not looking for perfection. They are not expecting you to have it all figured out. They are just looking for you. The real you. The one with the fears, the feelings, and the things you'd rather not say.

You can tell them. You can trust them. You can let them in.

It won't solve everything. But you might be surprised at how much lighter the load feels when you don't have to carry it by yourself.

Sometimes when people say they aren't worried, they really are.
Sometimes when they say they don't care, they really care.
And sometimes when they say they don't know, they do.

Most of the time, actually.

Most of the time, we know. We care. We worry.

We just need someone to remind us that it's okay to say so.

The Quiet Victory of What Didn't Happen

Look around you.

I mean it. Stop for a moment, right where you are, and just look.

If you are reading this in your home, look at the walls that have held steady through countless seasons. Look at the photographs on the shelf, the frozen moments of laughter, of gatherings, of people you have loved. Look at the window and the light coming through it. Look at your hands holding this screen.

Now, think about everything those hands have done.

They have held newborns. They have waved goodbye. They have cooked thousands of meals, turned thousands of pages, and reached for someone else’s hand in the dark. They have built things, fixed things, and sometimes just held on when holding on was all you could do.

And here you are. Still here. Still holding on.

We live in a time when the world feels intent on convincing us that everything is falling apart. Turn on the television, and the news is a relentless scroll of disaster. Pick up your phone, and the notifications deliver fresh anxiety in neat little rectangles. War, division, climate, cost of living, loneliness, it all arrives at once, demanding our attention, demanding our despair.

It is easy to look at that wall of noise and feel like the world has never been darker. It is easy to forget that the news has never been very good. It has never been loud.

But here is a truth worth sitting with: in every life, there will always be challenges that have manifested, and dreams that haven't. That is simply the deal we all make when we show up for this thing called living. We sign up for disappointment. We sign up for loss. We sign up for the plans that go sideways and the people who leave too soon.

But here is the part we forget, the part the news will never tell you:

Those challenges, as real and as painful as they are, will always pale in comparison to the number of dreams that have manifested, and the challenges that haven't.

Think about that for a moment.

The challenges that haven't.

How many disasters did you spend sleepless nights worrying about that never actually arrived? How many worst-case scenarios played out in your mind but never played out in your life? How many times did you brace for impact, only to find that the impact never came?

We carry those invisible victories with us every single day, and we never give them a second thought.

We are alive. That alone is a statistical miracle, given everything that had to go right for any of us to be here. We woke up this morning. We drew breath. For most of us, there was food to eat, water to drink, and a roof that kept the rain off our heads.

These are not small things. They are everything.

I think about the seniors I have had the privilege of knowing over the years. The ones who lived through wars, through depressions, through loss that would flatten most of us. And the ones who made it to the other side with something intact, something that looked a lot like gratitude.

I remember one woman in her nineties who told me she counts her blessings every night before she falls asleep. Not the big ones, she said. The small ones. The fact that her tea was hot that morning. The fact that her neighbour waved. The fact that she woke up at all.

"At my age," she said with a wink, "waking up is not guaranteed. So every morning I beat the odds. That feels like a win."

She was right. She beats the odds every single day. And so do you.

We spend so much time focused on the dreams that didn't work out. The job we didn't get. The relationship that ended. The move we never made. The health that failed. And yes, those things hurt. They leave marks. They deserve to be acknowledged and mourned.

But what about the dreams that did work out?

What about the child who grew up, found their way, and still calls on Sundays? What about the friendship that has lasted fifty years? What about the morning you woke up and decided to take a chance on something, and it actually paid off? What about the times you were lost and found your way home?

What about all the ordinary, beautiful, unremarkable days that somehow added up to a life?

They count. They all count.

Look around you again.

If you are lucky enough to have people in your life, look at them. If you are alone right now, look at the evidence of a life lived, the books on the shelf, the well-worn chair, the view from the window that has changed a thousand times and somehow stayed the same.

You have survived 100% of your worst days. That is  not nothing. That is a track record of resilience that would be the envy of any athlete or CEO.

And here is the other thing: you are still here. Which means you still have the chance to add to the list of manifested dreams.

Your dreams may look different now than they did at thirty. They may be smaller. They may be quieter. Maybe they are simply: I want to see my granddaughter graduate. I want to plant tomatoes this spring. I want to sit on the porch and watch the sun go down without rushing to the next thing.

Those are not small dreams. Those are the dreams of someone who understands what really matters.

The world will always sell you on its chaos. It profits from your fear, your outrage, your sense that everything is slipping. But you don't have to buy what it's selling.

You can look around instead.

You can notice the neighbour who still waves. The barista who remembers your order. The friend who sends a card, not because they have to, but because they were thinking of you. The volunteer who shows up at the community centre every Tuesday, rain or shine, because there are people who need to see a friendly face.

You can notice the small, stubborn goodness that keeps showing up, day after day, refusing to be defeated by the headlines.

And you can remind yourself: for every dream that didn't make it, a dozen others did. For every challenge that arrived, a hundred others passed you by.

That is not denial. That is not toxic positivity. That is just math. And it is the math of a life that has made it this far.

So if you are feeling the weight of the world today, if the negativity feels like it is pressing in from all sides, try this:

Put down the phone for a while. Step away from the noise.

Look around you.

And take a quiet moment to marvel at everything that went right, everything that held steady, everything that worked out, just well enough for you to be here, reading these words, still in the game.

The challenges are real. The disappointments are real. The losses are real.

But so is everything else. And there is so much more of it.

The sun came up again this morning. You were here to see it.

That is a dream manifested. Don't let it go unnoticed.

Who are you going to be in this moment?

 As seniors, we have lived through more seasons than we can count. We have seen the world through war and peace, through depression and prosperity. I, like you went through times when the newspaper landed on the porch with news that made my father sigh, and times when it brought stories that made my mother cry with joy. And here I am, still here, still watching, still wondering.

And I must tell you honestly that these past few years have tested me. The constant churn of negativity, the anger that seems to echo from every screen, the sense that the world I helped build is somehow crumbling or worse, was never any good to begin with. It weighs on me. It settles in my bones like a damp chill.

But here is what eighty years of living has taught me. Living itself means nothing if we don’t question. Our whole act of being is a response, a way of being responsible toward life.

Let me say that again because it took me most of these years to truly understand it. We are not here to simply exist, to eat and sleep and pass the hours until we are gone. We are here because we ask question and are asked questions. Every morning the sun rises and asks us, "What will you do with this day?" Every headline shouts a question at us, "How will you respond to this?" Every person who crosses our path, whether they are rude or kind, is asking us, "Who are you going to be in this moment?"

And here is the beautiful, liberating truth. We get to choose the answer.

When I was a young man, I thought life was about accumulating. A good job, a nice car, a house with a lawn, a retirement fund. And those things are fine. They are comfortable. But they are not the answer. They are just the furniture we arrange while we are figuring out what to say.

The answer, the only answer that has ever mattered, is how we show up for one another.

I watch the news some days and I want to turn it off. The world seems so angry, so divided, so certain that everyone on the other side is the enemy. And I understand why people my age pull back, close the curtains, and wait for it all to pass. But I have come to believe that is the wrong response.

If living is about asking and answering questions, then withdrawing is refusing to answer. And I believe seniors have too much wisdom, too much experience, too much living behind us to stay silent now.

Do you remember what it was like before all of this? Before the Internet taught us to fear one another? I remember a time when we knew our neighbors by name, when we left our doors unlocked, when a stranger on the street was met with a nod and a hello, not suspicion. That world is not gone. It is just hiding. And we are the ones who can call it back.

Not through grand gestures. Not through protests or speeches or social media posts that disappear in an hour. But through the small, stubborn act of being responsible toward life exactly where we stand.

I have a neighbor, younger fellow, probably 50, works too hard, always in a hurry. For months he would walk past my house with his head down, earbuds in, lost in his own world. And one day I decided that his indifference was a question. "Are you going to let me disappear into my screen?" it asked. "Or are you going to remind me that I am human?"

So, I started waving. Just a simple wave from the porch. The first few times, he didn't even see me. Then he started glancing up, surprised. Then he started nodding. Then, one day, he took out the earbuds and said, "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

That is responsibility toward life. That is answering the question.

We worry so much about the state of the world, about politics, about the economy, about whether the young people are going to be okay. And those are real concerns. I am not suggesting we ignore them. But I am suggesting that we cannot fix them from a distance. We can only fix what is right in front of us.

The checkout clerk who looks exhausted. The grandchild who needs to hear a story about when you were young. The friend who lost a spouse and doesn't know how to fill the silence. These are the places where the question meets us. These are the moments where we get to answer.

And here is the hope. When you answer in those small ways, when you choose kindness over complaint, presence over withdrawal, hope over despair, something shifts. Not in the world, not all at once, but in you. And a changed person changes the people around them. And changed people change the world. It is slow. It is almost invisible. But it is the only way it has ever worked.

I think about the darkness I have lived through. The Cuban Missile Crisis when we truly believed the world might end. The assassinations. The riots. The wars that sent boys over and brought them back different. The fear of disease before we understood it. And through all of it, what carried us was not politics or policies or promises from people on television. What carried us was one another.

It was the neighbor who brought soup when you were sick. It was the friend who sat with you when you couldn't stop crying. It was the stranger who smiled at you on the worst day of your life and reminded you that you were still here, still breathing, still part of something.

That is what it means to be responsible toward life. Not to fix everything, but to tend to what is yours to tend. To answer the question that each day asks you with the only thing you truly have to give, which is yourself.

If you are feeling the weight of the negativity, if the world seems too loud and too angry and too far gone, I understand. I feel it too. But I want to offer you something I have learned in my 80 years.

The darkness is loud. It always has been. But the light is persistent. And persistence wins.

You do not have to solve everything. You do not have to argue with everyone. You do not have to carry the weight of the whole world on your shoulders. You just have to answer the question that is right in front of you today.

Maybe that question is, "Will you call your sister who is lonely?"
Maybe it is, "Will you smile at the teenager who looks lost?"
Maybe it is simply, "Will you get out of bed and put your feet on the floor and decide that today, in this small corner of the world, you are going to be kind?"

That is enough. That has always been enough.

We are being questioned, every one of us, every single day. And the beauty of being 75, 80, 85 and older is that we have spent a lifetime learning how to answer and to ask our own questions. We have the wisdom they cannot teach in schools. We have the perspective that only comes from watching seasons change and people come and go and the world keep turning.

Let us use it. Let us be responsible toward life, not by fixing everything, but by loving what is ours to love. By tending what is ours to tend. By answering the question with the only thing that has ever mattered, which is a heart that refuses to stop hoping.

The world needs us. Not our worry, not our fear, not our resignation. It needs our hope. It needs our stubborn, hard-won, seventy-years-in-the-making belief that morning always comes, that people are basically good, that love is stronger than fear.

That is our answer. Let us give it generously.

 

Yes to Life

As the years go by, many of us are noticing a quiet, sobering truth: more and more of our friends are passing away. It’s a fact of life that I, and so many of you, are slowly getting used to. Yet, within this undeniable reality lies a profound and powerful secret. The very fact that we are mortal, that our time here is finite, our possibilities limited, our days numbered, is precisely what gives our lives meaning. It is the background against which our existence becomes a responsibility. It compels us to act, to seize a possibility and make it real, to occupy our time with purpose and passion. Death is not an end to fear, but a call to live fully.

Everything depends on the individual human being, no matter how small our circle of like-minded friends may seem. It rests on each of us to creatively make the meaning of life real through action, not just words, in our own being. We are not here to simply sit back and let things happen. We are here to question, to learn, and to make ourselves useful, to our families, our friends, and our community. Life is for champions, heroes, and lovers. And we are here because we prevailed. We won an ancient race over fear, doubt, and uncertainty, and we did so in realms long forgotten. We saw clearly. We remained strong in spirit, deep in character, and quick to fall in love. Because of these extraordinary qualities, anything we can now imagine, we have already earned the right to pursue.

It is easy to think that the little things we experience alone, the arrival of spring, the flutter of a sparrow, the delicate dance of a dragonfly, are just random moments. But they are not by chance. They are gifts, whispers from the world inviting us to pay attention. The song of a bird, the beauty of a lily, the warmth of a shared laugh, these are the textures of a life fully lived. They remind us that we are still here, still capable of wonder, still able to connect.

As we age, we may find ourselves haunted by questions. It is not only the young who wonder; we do too. Questions like, “What can I expect from life?” or “What does life still expect from me?” or “What task is still waiting for me?” may linger in our minds. But here is a shift in perspective: perhaps we have been asking the question the wrong way. The true question of meaning is not one we ask of life; it is life that asks the questions of us. Every day, life directs its inquiries toward us through the people we meet, the challenges we face, and the opportunities we encounter. Living itself means nothing other than being questioned. Our whole act of being is a response, a way of being responsible toward life.

With this mindset, nothing can truly scare us anymore, not the future, and not even the apparent lack of one. Because now, the present becomes everything. It holds the eternally new question of life for us, waiting to be answered. Each morning brings a fresh opportunity to respond with courage, curiosity, and care.

So, what does this mean for us today? It means we are not done. We are not finished. There is still work to do, still love to give, still wisdom to share. Whether it is volunteering for a local program, mentoring a younger person, joining a  seminar program like our Tuesday Talk, or simply being a listening ear for a neighbor, we have a role to play. We are contributors, not spectators. We are builders of community, keepers of stories, and champions of connection.

At our upcoming events, we are creating spaces for exactly this kind of engagement. Play Bingo and share a laugh with old friends and new. Join a bus excursion and rediscover the joy of adventure. Attend a seminar and let your curiosity lead the way. Bring your ideas, your questions, and your energy. Let us show one another, and ourselves, that aging is not about stepping back, but about stepping forward with purpose.

Life is asking something of you. The only question is: how will you answer?

The Truth from the whimsical story from yesterday

 In a world that often feels like it’s spinning a little too fast, with headlines that shout and days that demand, it’s easy to believe that the loudest voice, the hardest heart, or the sharpest word is the one that gets things done.

But I am here to tell you a secret, a wonderful, whimsical, and stubbornly true secret that I have learned over my 80 years of living on this wonderful planet.

Love always wins.

Not in a fairy-tale, no-conflict-ever way. Love wins like a determined vine creeping up a concrete wall. It doesn’t smash the wall with brute force. Instead, it patiently, gently, weaves its way through the cracks, until one day, the wall is no longer a stark grey barrier, but a living, breathing tapestry of green. Love wins the long game. It’s the quiet understanding after a fiery argument, the steady hand held in a hospital room, the forgiveness offered when it isn't deserved. It’s the memory that outlasts hatred. While anger exhausts its fuel and fades, love simply settles in, making a home in the heart. It is, and always will be, the final, most powerful word.

And kindness? Kindness always prevails.

Think of it not as a weakness, but as a superpower. Kindness is the secret currency of the universe that never depletes. It’s the cup of tea made for a frazzled friend, the door held open for a stranger with full hands, the genuine “how are you, really?” asked and meant. It’s the compost for the soul, turning rot into richness. A single act of kindness sends out ripples we may never see, changing the atmosphere of a room, a home, a community. It might not always prevail in the moment, a cruel word may seem to land harder, but over time, kindness is the water that wears down the stone of cynicism. It builds bridges where logic says there should be chasms. It is the quiet, persistent force that heals the world, one gentle moment at a time.

And then, there is the most disarming weapon in our entire arsenal: a smile.

A true, crinkly-eyed smile is a universal language of peace. It’s a tiny, silent revolution. You cannot maintain a full-blown grudge while being genuinely smiled at. It’s nearly impossible. A smile short-circuits hostility. It disarms the defensive, comforts the lonely, and connects two strangers on a crowded street. It costs the giver nothing but a moment of courage, and yet for the receiver, it can be a lifeline, a spot of sunshine on a cloudy day. In a standoff, the one who smiles first isn’t surrendering; they are offering a different way forward.

So, on the days the world feels heavy, remember your role in this whimsical, wonderful story. You are a bearer of these three greats magics. You are a gardener of love, a practitioner of kindness, and a wielder of disarming smiles.

Go forth and be a little relentless with your gentleness. Weave your vine of love. Spend your currency of kindness. Unleash your arsenal of smiles.

For in the grand, chaotic, and beautiful tapestry of life, these are not just nice ideas. They are the undeniable, whimsical, and triumphant truth. Love wins. Kindness prevails. And a smile? A smile can change everything.

Turning Post-Holiday Blues into Optimistic Anticipation

The holidays often come with a mix of joy, planning, and creativity, providing us with something to look forward to. As the decorations are packed away, you might feel a void. The good news is that you can harness the same sense of anticipation and optimism by setting meaningful goals or planning events that inspire excitement. Here’s how:

Plan Micro-Goals That Spark Joy

Instead of waiting for big events, focus on smaller, achievable goals. These could be as simple as learning to bake a new recipe, reorganizing a room, or taking on a hobby like painting or gardening. Each milestone gives you something tangible to anticipate.

Example: Sign up for a beginner’s class in a skill you’ve always admired, like photography or knitting. Websites like Skillshare or Coursera offer a variety of courses to explore.

Transform Less-Desirable Events into Opportunities

Not all events in life are inherently fun, but you can change your perspective by attaching a reward or positive twist to them.

Example: If you dread tax season, plan a celebratory dinner or day out for when you’ve completed the paperwork. Or, if you dislike your morning commute, turn it into a time to listen to engaging audiobooks or podcasts. Check out Audible for inspiration.

Create a Personal “Bucket List” for the New Year

Having a bucket list doesn’t have to mean grand adventures like skydiving. Focus on small, meaningful goals. Write them down and actively plan for them.

Example: Decide to visit a local museum, hike a nearby trail, or explore a cultural event in your area. Apps like Eventbrite can help you find activities near you.

Plan for Seasonal Celebrations

The New Year is full of lesser-known celebrations you can look forward to. These events can provide fun themes for activities, gatherings, or personal challenges.

Example: Plan a Valentine’s Day craft project, or participate in a National Library Week event. Mark your calendar with quirky holidays like National Cat Day or Pi Day to plan lighthearted celebrations.

Engage in Giving Back

Focusing on helping others can provide purpose and fulfillment. Volunteering gives you a sense of contribution but helps build anticipation for events like food drives, charity walks, or community projects.

Example: Volunteer at a local shelter, or organize a neighborhood cleanup. Websites like VolunteerMatch can help you find opportunities nearby.

Visualize Your Goals with Creative Planning Tools

Use tools like vision boards or digital planners to map out your aspirations and events for the year. Seeing your plans come together visually can boost motivation.

Example: Create a digital vision board on Pinterest, or use apps like Trello to organize your ideas and goals.

By finding ways to anticipate meaningful activities, you can fill your post-holiday lull with excitement and purpose. Whether through micro-goals, creative projects, or community engagement, there’s always something to look forward to—and every step can help shape a positive outlook for the year ahead.

Anticipation as a motivator

 Having something to look forward to now that Christmas is over, can be a powerful motivator and mood-booster. Here are some ideas on how to use this sense of anticipation to change our perspective on less-than-desirable events:

Instead of dreading a task or event, try to see it as a chance to learn, grow, or achieve something new. For example, if you have a big project deadline looming, instead of feeling overwhelmed, focus on the sense of accomplishment you'll feel when it's completed. Resource: "The Power of Reframing" by Dr. Carol Dweck (TED Talk)

Break down a daunting task or event into smaller, manageable steps. Celebrate each small victory along the way to build momentum and anticipation for the next step. Resource: "The Pomodoro Technique" by Francesco Cirillo (article on Medium)

Identify the positive aspects of an event or task, no matter how small they may seem. Focus on those aspects to shift your perspective and build anticipation for the benefits that will come from it. Resource: "The Power of Positive Thinking" by Norman Vincent Peale (book)

Develop a pre-event routine that signals to your brain that something exciting is about to happen. This could be as simple as making a favourite snack, listening to a specific playlist, or doing a quick workout. Resource: "The Power of Rituals" by Dr. Dan Ariely (TED Talk)

Close your eyes and vividly imagine yourself successfully navigating the event or task. Visualize the sense of pride, relief, or accomplishment you'll feel when it's over. Resource: "The Power of Visualization" by Dr. Denis Waitley (article on MindTools)

Share your goals and plans with a friend or family member and ask them to hold you accountable. This can provide an added motivation to stay on track and build anticipation for the event. Resource: "The Power of Accountability" by Dr. John C. Maxwell (article on Inc.com)

Set small rewards for yourself after completing a task or event. This could be something as simple as a favorite meal, a relaxing bath, or a fun activity. Resource: "The Science of Rewards" by Dr. Alfie Kohn (article on Psychology Today)

By using these strategies, you can harness the power of anticipation to transform your perspective on less-than-desirable events and build a sense of excitement and optimism for the future.

Anticipation of a full year 1

 Christmas is over, and the anticipation of the day was a key driving force in motivating you as you looked forward to something that gave you a sense of optimism. Planning for the holidays gives people a goal and meaning. For most of us, it gives us an outlet to use our creative energy and look forward to an event that’s fun or meaningful. 

So, as we settle in for the upcoming new year, think about having something to genuinely look forward to as doing so stimulates your brains in positive, dopamine-releasing ways We can use this sense of new anticipation to strategically to change our perspective on less-than-desirable events. Over the next two posts, I will share some ideas and resources to help rebuild a sense of anticipation

More anticipation

Children eagerly await Christmas is tomorrow, and they look forward to new experiences and milestones. As seniors, we can learn from this sense of anticipation and apply it to our own lives. Instead of focusing solely on the past or dwelling on what's been lost, we can look to the future with hope and excitement. Here are a few ways we can cultivate this sense of anticipation:

Just like children set goals for their future, we can set goals for ourselves, whether it's learning a new skill, travelling, or pursuing a hobby. Having something to look forward to can give us a sense of purpose and excitement.

While it's natural to look ahead, we shouldn't forget to appreciate the present moment. Take time to enjoy the little things, like a beautiful sunset, a good book, or a warm cup of coffee.

Reflecting on what we're grateful for can help shift our focus from what's lacking to what we have. This can help us appreciate the present and look forward to the future with a sense of hope.

Just as children look forward to sharing special moments with friends and family, we can cultivate meaningful connections with others. This can bring joy and anticipation to our lives.

Instead of focusing solely on the destination, we can find joy in the journey itself. This might mean taking time to appreciate the little things, practicing mindfulness, or finding beauty in the everyday moments.

 

The future is not set in stone

 This is a time when forgiveness, love, and hope shine brightest, even amidst the challenges and uncertainties that life may bring. For many, it is a season filled with high expectations for the future, and while it can be joyful, it can also feel heavy for those who see only darkness ahead. Yet, this season offers an opportunity to pause, reflect, and rediscover the light that resides within each of us.

During the holidays, you may find yourself thinking about what gifts you can give to your loved ones, especially your grandchildren. Perhaps the most enduring gift you can offer is teaching them to love the world—not just its beauty and joy but also its imperfections and struggles. This kind of love is a powerful legacy, shaping their ability to find hope and meaning even in challenging times.

When I feel the weight of defeat, despair, or the sense of "So-what-ness," I draw inspiration from those around me who face tremendous hardships. I think of friends battling chronic pain or devastating illness who, despite their struggles, continue to affirm life with courage and grace. Their resilience reminds me that if they can hold onto hope, there must be something worth affirming in this world.

The meaning of life is not handed to us; it is something we create for ourselves. Each of us must determine what gives our lives purpose and significance. And at the heart of it all lies love—the love we feel, the love we share, and the love we nurture. What and whom we love shapes our days and our dreams, becoming the foundation of a meaningful existence.

Let us remember, especially during this season, that the future is not set in stone. It is a canvas, ready to be shaped by the love we give today, the aspirations we dare to hold, and the courage we summon to nurture what matters most. Change is inevitable—it often comes unbidden and unforeseen. But when love is our compass, we can embrace change with open hearts, confident in our ability to create a brighter, more compassionate tomorrow.

You are loved and needed

During the holidays, it’s easy for some people to feel disconnected or doubt their place in the world. But there’s something we can learn from dogs wagging their tails or cats purring, even when life hasn’t been kind to them. They seem to know deep down that they’re loved, needed, and capable of making a difference just by being themselves.

This is a powerful truth for all of us, though sometimes people forget it. Life’s challenges, disappointments, or feelings of isolation can cloud that awareness. But like those animals who instinctively trust that brighter moments are always possible, we, too, are surrounded by opportunities to change things for the better—not just for ourselves, but for others.

Your presence matters.
During the holidays, your kindness, a warm smile, a thoughtful gesture, or even just your company can brighten someone else’s day in ways you might not realize. Whether it’s reaching out to a lonely neighbour, spending time with family, or volunteering for those in need, every action, no matter how small, ripples outward.

You are loved and needed.
Holidays remind us of the importance of connection. Someone, somewhere, needs your presence—your unique energy and love—to feel whole. It could be a close friend, a stranger you haven’t met yet, or even a pet who looks to you for comfort and joy.

Life can change fantastically in an instant.
Just like a wagging tail or a purring cat, you hold the potential to spark joy and healing. Your actions can help others remember their worth, just as you can rediscover your own. Together, we make the world warmer, brighter, and better—not just during the holidays, but all year round.

So, as you celebrate or reflect on this season, remember that you’re part of something bigger. You’re not just loved—you’re needed. And by embracing that truth, you can inspire hope in others and yourself.

 

Make life meaningful this holiday season

The holidays are coming up fast, and this should be a joyous time, and it is for many, but for some, it is not. Life events make it hard to keep ahead of the isolation, loneliness and sorrow that visit some of us during the holiday season.

In times when the world feels weighed down by turmoil, and individuals find themselves questioning fairness, respect, and the very fabric of humanity, it’s natural for self-doubt and despair to take root. Yet, even in the darkest moments, there are forces within us that keep despair at bay and make life meaningful.

When the mind—the profound meeting place of body and spirit—feels overwhelmed, what sustains us? It is the recognition of something greater, something deeper and more enduring than fleeting thoughts or wavering beliefs. This is the inextinguishable power of affirmation within us: the quiet, unwavering force that urges us to persist, to hope, and to love.

The meaning of life is not handed to us; it is something we must create for ourselves. It’s a question that invites us to dig deep, to reflect on what truly resonates, and to shape a sense of purpose unique to our journey. For many, the answer lies in love—not just as a feeling, but as a way of being.

Love is at the core of what makes life meaningful. It is the bond that connects us to others, the bridge that helps us move beyond fear and self-doubt. To love deeply and authentically is to affirm the value of another and, in doing so, affirm our own. It is through love that we find clarity, courage, and purpose, even in uncertain times.

Love manifests in many ways:

• Love for others inspires compassion, generosity, and the desire to build connections.
• Love for oneself is vital for overcoming doubt and embracing our own worth.
• Love for the world drives us to care for our communities and the planet.

When we choose love as our guiding principle, we remind ourselves that we are part of something greater than our individual struggles. Love is a force that transcends barriers, heals wounds, and brings light to even the darkest places.

For those feeling lost or doubting themselves, love offers a path forward. Begin by nurturing small acts of love—toward yourself, toward others, and toward life itself. These acts, no matter how small, remind us of our inherent ability to create meaning, to connect, and to grow.

Ultimately, life’s meaning is not about grand answers or definitive truths but about the choices we make to bring light into our lives and the lives of others. It is found in the moments when we allow love to guide us—when we reach out, hold on, and give freely of ourselves.

In a world that often feels fractured, love has the power to mend, to uplift, and to affirm that even in the face of uncertainty, life is worth living, and we are worthy of living it well.

The elderly

My thoughts for the boomers still going strong after all these years. 

You know, they call us “The Elderly” ' but I think we deserve a better title. How about 'The Time Travelers'? Born in the 40s, 50s, and 60s, we've lived through more decades than some people have lived through relationships. Yeah, I got my Canadian Association of Retired Persons, card in the mail, and suddenly people are looking at me like I might break a hip just from checking my email. It’s wild, right? So, apparently, we’re ancient! I’m just waiting for some kid to ask if I fought in the Civil War.

But let’s talk about it—we’ve been through eight decades, two centuries, and two millennia! You know, the good old days when 'social media' meant talking to your neighbour over the fence. And if you wanted to 'like' something, you actually had to say it out loud. We went from using rotary phones where you had to call the operator just to reach Grandma three states over, to Face Timing the grandkids while they send you dancing cat memes. I used to get excited when the phone rang because it was either a friend or someone selling encyclopedias. Now when the phone rings, I panic like it’s a bill collector or a scammer trying to steal my Social Security!

And remember vinyl records? Yeah, we had to physically walk over to a machine to hear music. And flip the thing over halfway through! Now my entire record collection fits in my pocket. I don’t even know what half the buttons on my phone do, but I can carry gigabytes of data! Back in the day, “byte” meant someone was stealing your sandwich!

And the fashion, don’t get me started. Shorts as kids, long trousers as adults, then there was those unfortunate flares phase. Oh, and shell suits—who else looked like a shiny burrito in the '80s? Now I’ve reached the point where if it’s got an elastic waistband, it’s my new favourite thing. Comfort first, style second! And you better believe I’m not giving up my jeans. I’ve been wearing denim since the '70s, and I’m going out wearing it, too.

And remember when we used to go to a video store? I’m talking about a place where you actually walked in, browsed the shelves, rented a VHS tape, and prayed the person before you rewound it. I used to be thrilled picking up the latest release for movie night. Now, with Netflix, I spend three hours scrolling and then just end up watching a rerun of something from the ‘90s. It’s like the modern version of staring into the fridge—endless options, but you’re still not sure what you want.

Remember those slide projectors and filmstrips? It was like watching a PowerPoint presentation but without the PowerPoint. And if you were lucky, you might even get to use a computer with punch cards. Yes, punch cards – the original “Ctrl+Alt+Delete'."

We were dating in the 60s, 70s, 80s, and 90s. The era of mixtapes and handwritten love letters. If you wanted to break up with someone, you had to do it in person or over the phone. No ghosting or blocking – just good old-fashioned heartbreak.

We stabilized in the 2000s and got wiser in the 2010s and by now we are practically gurus. We figured out how to use smartphones without accidentally calling the emergency services. However, I still remember my mom trying to Facetime me and ending up taking a selfie of her ear.

We've lived through eight different decades, two different centuries, and two different millennia. That's like being a character in a time-travel movie but without the DeLorean. 

Here’s the thing: We’ve adapted. We went from handwriting letters, licking stamps, and walking them to the mailbox to sending emojis and GIFs with a tap of the finger. We've gone from telephones with operators for long-distance calls to video calls anywhere in the world. From slides to YouTube, from vinyl records to online music, from handwritten letters to email and WhatsApp. And let's not forget the evolution of TV – from black and white to color, to 3D HD. It's like our eyes have been on a technological rollercoaster. We’re the generation that’s seen it all. And let’s be real; half of us still don’t know the difference between 4K and “what’s on cable,” but hey, we’re surviving!

"We've seen it all – from infantile paralysis, polio, meningitis, tuberculosis, swine flu to COVID-19. We dodged it all. And now, we're navigating the world of masks and vaccines. , I’m starting to feel like I’ve been playing dodgeball with diseases for the last 70 years. But you know what? We're still here, and that's something to celebrate. But what a great life we've had They could describe us as 'exennials' – people who had an analog childhood and a digital adulthood. We've kind of 'Seen-It-All! 

To all the members of this very special generation, here's to us – the Time Travelers, the Adaptation Champions, the Survivors of Shell Suits. Let's give ourselves a big round of applause for making it through all these decades and still managing to laugh about it."

Consider the following

"Life" is a gift to you. How you live your life is your gift to those who come after you. Make it a fantastic one.

Live it well! Enjoy today! Do something fun! Be happy! Have a great day!

Remember:

· Health is real wealth, not pieces of gold and silver.

· Live happy this year and every year!

Lastly, consider the following:

·  Today is the oldest you've ever been, yet the youngest you'll ever be so enjoy this day while it lasts.

·  Your kids are becoming you...

·  Going out is good. Coming home is better!

·   You forget names... But it's ok because other people forgot they even knew you!!!

·   You realize you're never going to be really good at anything

·   The things you used to care to do, you no longer care to do, but you really do care that you don't care to do them anymore.

·   You sleep better on a lounge chair with the tv blaring than in bed. It's called "pre-sleep".

·    You miss the days when everything worked with just an "on" and "off" switch.

·   You tend to use more 4 letter words ... "what?"..." when?"... "what?" . ???

·   Now that you can afford expensive jewelry, it's not safe to wear it anywhere.

·   You notice everything they sell in stores is "sleeveless"?!!!

·   What used to be freckles are now liver spots.

·   Everybody whispers.

·   You have 3 sizes of clothes in your closet.... 2 of which you will never wear.

·   But old is good in some things: old songs, old movies, and best of all, old friends!!

·   Stay well, "old friend!" send this on to other "old friends!" and let them laugh in agreement!!!

                           ·  It's not what you gather, but what you scatter that tells what kind                                 of life you have lived 

Joy comes in small things

 Indeed, perfect happiness often lies in the small, everyday moments, rather than grand events. Remember, happiness is not a destination, but a journey. It's the accumulation of small, joyful moments that add up to a life well-lived. Just as a beautiful sunset is made up of individual rays of light, a grandchild's giggle is a collection of tiny, adorable sounds, and the first snowfall is a gentle accumulation of flakes, so too is happiness built from the small, everyday experiences we have.

It's easy to get caught up in the idea that happiness requires grand, dramatic events, but the truth is, it's the little things that bring us the most joy. It's the way the morning light filters through the blinds, the taste of a favourite coffee, the sound of birds singing outside your window, or the feeling of a warm hug from a loved one.

So, instead of waiting for the big, grand moments to bring us happiness, let's focus on cultivating joy in the everyday. Let's take time to appreciate the small things, to savour the sweetness of life, and to find joy in the simple moments.

And remember, joy doesn't have to be a big, overwhelming feeling. It can be a gentle, warm sensation that settles in your heart, a sense of contentment that comes from being present in the moment. It's okay to take things one sip at a time, to enjoy the small pleasures, and to find happiness in the everyday.

So, the next time you're feeling sad or down, take a deep breath and look for the little things that bring you joy. It might be a beautiful sunset, a grandchild's giggle, or the first snowfall. Whatever it is, let it fill your heart with happiness, and remind you that joy is always within reach, no matter what life brings."