Finding Peace with Food

 Let me explain something I've learned through my own struggles and through watching others navigate the same battle.

When you stand in front of the refrigerator at midnight, or find yourself reaching for another handful of something you don't even taste, or feel that familiar shame settle over you after eating more than you intended, you are not weak. You are not broken. You are not a failure.

You are a human being who has discovered, somewhere along the way, that food can temporarily silence the things you don't want to feel.

And that discovery? It made perfect sense. Food is always there. Food doesn't argue back. Food offers a moment of comfort in a world that often offers very little. Of course, you turned to it. Of course, any of us would.

But here's what I want you to know today. That pattern, as understandable as it is, is also something you can gently, lovingly, and permanently shift. Not through shame. Not through harsh rules. But through understanding what's really happening and offering yourself better ways to respond.

Understanding What Lies Beneath the Bite

Before we talk about solutions, we need to honour the truth of what's happening.

Overeating is very rarely about hunger. Real, physical hunger is a gradual thing. It builds. It can wait. It is satisfied by almost any food.

The kind of eating that leaves us feeling ashamed afterward is different. It comes on suddenly. It demands specific foods, usually sweet, salty, fatty. It feels urgent, almost desperate. And it is almost always connected to something happening in your inner world.

A stressful day at work.
An argument with someone you love.
A lonely evening with nothing to distract you.
A memory that rises up and hurts.
A fear about the future that you can't quite see.

These are the real reasons we reach for food when we're not hungry. We aren't feeding our bodies. We're trying to feed something in our hearts that feels empty.

And here's the kindest thing you can do for yourself: stop judging that impulse. Of course, you want comfort when you're hurting. Of course, you want relief when you're anxious. The problem isn't that you want those things. The problem is that food is a poor long-term solution for emotional pain.

It works for a moment. And then the pain returns, now accompanied by shame about having eaten. It's a cycle that never leads to where you actually want to go.

A New Way Forward

So, what do you do? How do you break a pattern that has become automatic, that feels almost like breathing?

You begin with gentleness. You begin with curiosity. You begin with the understanding that this will not be solved by another diet, another set of rules, another way to measure your failure.

1. Invite Compassion In

The next time you notice yourself reaching for food when you're not hungry, pause. Just for a moment. And instead of the usual voice that says, "Stop it, you know better, what's wrong with you," try a different voice.

Try: "Something is hurting right now. What is it?"

Ask yourself gently: What happened just before I wanted to eat? What was I feeling? What was I trying not to feel?

You may not have an answer right away. That's okay. Just asking the question, with kindness, begins to shift something. It begins to separate the eating from the emotion, and that separation is where your freedom starts.

2. Find Your People

You were never meant to do this alone. None of us were.

If there is a support group in your area, Overeaters Anonymous, a church-based program, or a therapy group, consider giving it a try. Walk in the door. Sit in the back. Listen. You will almost certainly hear your own story in someone else's words, and that recognition is medicine.

If formal groups aren't for you, identify two or three people in your life who can be your anchors. People you can call when the urge to eat hits. People who will not judge, who will simply listen, who might even say, "Let's go for a walk instead."

This is not a burden to them. This is what love does. This is what community is for.

3. Replace the Ritual

Eating when you're emotional is a ritual. It has steps. It has comfort. It has a predictable outcome.

You cannot simply remove that ritual without replacing it with something else.

So what could that something else be?

A cup of tea, held in both hands, sipped slowly.
A short walk around the block, feeling the air on your skin.
A phone call to someone who makes you laugh.
A few minutes of writing down everything swirling in your head.
A warm bath.
A prayer, if that's your language.
Five minutes of sitting still, just breathing.

None of these things will give you the same immediate rush that food does. But they also won't leave you feeling ashamed afterward. And over time, they will become new rituals, new pathways for your heart to travel when it needs comfort.

4. Practice the Smallest No

Self-control is not something you either have or don't have. It is something you build, one tiny choice at a time.

Start impossibly small. When you want the second helping, pause for thirty seconds before deciding. When you're reaching for the snack, take three bites instead of the whole thing. When you're eating, put your fork down between bites and actually taste what's in your mouth.

These are not about deprivation. They are about waking up. About being present. About reminding yourself that you are the one choosing, not some automatic impulse.

And when you succeed, even in the smallest way, acknowledge it. Say to yourself, "I did that. I chose. That matters."

5. Understand the Deeper Hunger

Here is a question worth sitting with: What are you really hungry for?

Is it rest? You've been running so long without stopping.
Is it connection? You feel alone even in a crowded room.
Is it meaning? You're not sure why you're doing any of this.
Is it peace? Your mind never stops churning.
Is it love? You're not sure anyone truly sees you.

Food cannot answer these hungers. It can only distract you from them for a little while. But the distraction is not the solution. The solution is naming the real hunger and finding ways to feed it that actually work.

That might mean therapy. It might mean deeper conversations with the people in your life. It might mean spiritual exploration. It might mean finally making a change you've been avoiding for years.

Whatever it is, it is worth pursuing. Because you are worth pursuing it.

A Word About Relationships

You mentioned that overeating affects relationships, and you're right. But let's be clear about how.

It is not your weight that strains your connections with others. It is your attitude toward yourself.

When you are caught in the cycle of shame and overeating, you become smaller. You pull back. You assume others are judging you. You snap at people because you're already angry at yourself. You isolate because it feels safer than being seen.

This is the real damage. Not the eating itself, but the disconnection that follows.

And here's the hopeful truth: when you begin to treat yourself with compassion, everything else shifts.

You become easier to be around because you're not constantly at war with yourself. You become more present because you're not lost in shame. You become more loving because you have love to give, rather than needing all your energy to hate yourself.

This is not about losing weight. This is about gaining yourself.

There will be days when you fall back into old patterns. Days when the urge is too strong, the pain too sharp, the comfort of food too tempting. On those days, I want you to remember something.

One meal does not define you. One day does not undo your progress. One choice does not make you a failure.

You simply begin again. That's all. You breathe, you forgive yourself, and you make the next choice differently.

This is how change happens. Not in dramatic, overnight transformations. But in the quiet, persistent act of choosing yourself, over and over, even when you've just chosen against yourself.

You can do this. Not because you're perfect. But because you're human, and humans are capable of remarkable change when they're offered the right combination of truth and grace.

Start today. Start now. Start with one small choice.

And know that someone out there, many someones, are cheering for you.

You are not alone in this. You never were.

 

Why Your Reaching Matters More Than You Know

I want to talk with you today about something the research on volunteering does not say directly but implies in every finding. Something we have danced around in our previous conversations but have not yet named plainly.

The people you will serve through volunteering may not be ready to receive you.

They may be suspicious. They may be ungrateful. They may be closed off, walled in, convinced that no one really cares and you are just another person passing through. They may reject your help, ignore your presence, or treat you with indifference.

And none of that matters. None of it changes the truth of what happens when you show up anyway.

The research review I told you about found something fascinating about what amplifies the benefits of volunteering. Feeling appreciated matters. Altruistic motivations matter. Reflection on what you are doing matters. Religious volunteering, for those who are inclined that way, matters.

But here is what the research does not say. It does not say that the people you help have to be grateful. It does not say that they have to welcome you with open arms. It does not say that your efforts must be met with appreciation in order for you to receive the benefits.

Why? Because the benefits are not dependent on them. The benefits are dependent on you. On your reaching. On your showing up. On your willingness to be responsible toward life, regardless of how life responds.

This connects deeply to what we have been exploring together. The idea that living itself means nothing other than being questioned. That our whole act of being is a response, a way of being responsible toward life.

Volunteering is one of the purest forms of that response. It is answering the question that the world asks, not with words, but with presence. Not with promises, but with action. Not with conditions, but with open hands.

And the beauty of it, the profound and liberating beauty of it, is that you do not need the world to be ready for you. You just need to be ready for the world.

I think about the volunteers I have known over the years. The ones who read to prisoners who stared at the floor and never said thank you. The ones who fed people who smelled of alcohol and muttered insults. The ones who visited nursing homes and sat with residents who did not know their own names, let alone the names of the strangers who came to see them.

Why did they keep doing it? Why do any of us keep doing things that seem to go unnoticed, unappreciated, unreturned?

Because the doing is not about them. It is about us. It is about answering the question that their existence asks. "Will you see me? Will you acknowledge that I am here? Will you treat me as human, even if I cannot treat you as human in return?"

That question does not require them to be ready. It only requires us to be willing.

The research confirms this in an indirect way. It found that social support, the connections we make through volunteering, has protective effects against negative outcomes. It found that positive social outcomes encourage other positive health and wellbeing outcomes. It found that the sense of community we build through service creates a foundation for everything else.

But that sense of community is not built only on the people who welcome us. It is built on the practice of showing up. On the habit of reaching out. On the discipline of being present even when presence seems pointless.

Think about the volunteers who staff crisis hotlines. They sit for hours, often in silence, waiting for calls that may never come. And when the calls do come, they are often from people who are angry, confused, not ready to receive help, not sure why they even called. The volunteers do not get thanked. They do not get appreciated. They do not get the satisfaction of seeing lives transformed in front of them.

And yet, study after study shows that crisis line volunteers report higher levels of purpose, connection, and life satisfaction than the general population. Not because the people they help are ready. But because they themselves are ready. Ready to answer. Ready to reach. Ready to be responsible toward life, regardless of how life responds.

This matters for us, my friends. This matters because so often we wait for the right conditions. We wait until we feel appreciated. We wait until someone asks. We wait until we are sure our efforts will make a difference.

And while we wait, the questions keep coming. And we keep not answering.

The research found that people of lower socioeconomic status may actually benefit more from volunteering than those of higher status. Think about what that means. The people who have less, who face more challenges, who might reasonably focus all their energy on surviving, these are the people who may gain the most from giving.

Why? Because giving connects us to something beyond our struggle. Because reaching out lifts us out of our own concerns. Because being responsible toward life, even when life is hard, reminds us that we are still part of something. Still needed. Still able to matter.

And if that is true for those who have less, how much more true might it be for us who have more? More time. More wisdom. More perspective. More freedom from the demands that once consumed us.

The research also found that religious volunteering amplifies the benefits of service. Not just because of altruistic motives, but because it provides a space to enact identity, to live out what we believe, to strengthen our connection to something sacred.

But I want to suggest that this is not limited to religious volunteering. Any volunteering that connects you to your deepest values, that allows you to enact the person you want to be, that gives you space to live out your beliefs about what matters, any volunteering like that will amplify the benefits.

Because the question is not whether the people you serve are ready. The question is whether you are ready. Ready to become the person you claim to be. Ready to live out your values. Ready to answer the call that has been waiting for you all along.

Here is my invitation to you today. Stop waiting for the perfect opportunity. Stop waiting to feel appreciated. Stop waiting for someone to ask.

Find something. Anything. A place where need exists, where your presence might matter, where you can show up and be present. And then show up. Not because you will be thanked. Not because you will see results. Not because the people you serve are ready.

Show up because you are ready. Show up because answering the question is what you were made for. Show up because being responsible toward life, regardless of how life responds, is the deepest source of meaning there is.

The research proves you will live longer. It proves you will function better. It proves you will find purpose and connection and joy.

But more than the research, more than the studies and statistics, there is the quiet truth you already know. The moments you have felt most alive are the moments you have forgotten yourself in service. The peace you have known deepest is the peace that came after you reached out, even when no one reached back.

That is the question asking. That is the answer waiting.

Even if they are not ready. Especially if they are not ready.

With hope and determination,
Every day I am learning to show up anyway

What We Always Suspected Is Finally Proven

I want to share something with you today that made my heart smile. Not because it is new news to most of us who have lived a while, but because it is wonderful when science catches up with what our grandmothers told us all along.

A comprehensive review of decades of research on volunteering has just confirmed what we have always suspected in our bones. Giving our time, our attention, our presence to others does not just help them. It helps us. It helps us in ways that are measurable, significant, and frankly, rather remarkable.

Let me translate some of that research language into something we can sit with over coffee.

The study found that people who volunteer live longer. Not just a little longer. Significantly longer. They found reduced mortality, which is a fancy way of saying that the act of reaching out to others adds days and years to our own lives. Think about that. The very thing that asks something of us, that requires us to get up and go and do, is the very thing that keeps us here longer to keep doing it.

They also found that volunteers have better physical functioning. That means we can keep doing the things we love. We can keep gardening, keep walking, keep lifting grandchildren, keep moving through the world with strength and purpose. Volunteering does not just add years to life. It adds life to years.

But here is what really struck me as I read through the findings. The benefits that showed up most strongly were not the physical ones, although those matter. The benefits that shone brightest were the ones we cannot always measure with machines or tests.

Pride. Empowerment. Motivation. Social support. Sense of community. Purpose.

These are the things that make life worth living. These are the answers to the questions that every single day asks of us. "Do I matter anymore?" "Is there a reason to get out of bed?" "Am I still part of something?"

And the research says yes. Yes, you matter. Yes, there is reason. Yes, you are still part of something, especially when you reach out and become part of something bigger than yourself.

Now, I know what some of you are thinking. "I am too old." "I am too tired." "I have nothing to offer." "They do not need me."

The research says otherwise. In fact, it found something rather beautiful. Those of us in older age actually receive greater health benefits from volunteering than younger people do. The older we are, the more we gain from giving.

Why might that be? Well, I have my theories, and I suspect you do too. When we are younger, we are busy building, accumulating, striving. Volunteering is something we do, but it is one of many things. When we are older, when the building is mostly done and the striving has quieted down, volunteering becomes something different. It becomes a way of mattering. A way of staying connected. A way of answering the question that retirement and loss and change keep asking, which is, "Who are you now?"

The research suggests that volunteering compensates for the loss of the health and wellbeing benefits we used to get from our work. It eases the adjustment to this season of life. And while the studies are not entirely sure whether retirement itself explains this, they do know that the benefits of volunteering are distinct from work. They come from something deeper. From altruism. From self-actualization. From the simple human truth that we are wired to help one another.

Here is another finding that stopped me. The social connections we make through volunteering have a knock-on effect. They lead to other benefits. They protect us from negative outcomes. They create a web of support that catches us when we fall.

Think about that. When you volunteer, you are not just doing a task. You are building a net. A net that will hold you when you need holding. A net that connects you to others who will become part of your life in ways you cannot predict.

And here is the part that really matters for our conversation about answering life's questions. The research found that volunteering predicted self-reported health, functioning, and mental wellbeing much better than it predicted objective measures like medical conditions or frailty.

What does that mean? It means that how we feel about our lives, our sense of purpose and connection and meaning, may matter as much or more than the physical indicators we usually focus on. It means that flourishing mentally, feeling alive, engaged, and useful, predicts how long we live even when controlling for physical disease.

This is not small. This is huge. This is permission to stop obsessing about every ache and pain and start focusing on what makes us feel alive.

Here is what I am asking you to consider today. What question is life asking you right now? Through the news that makes you sad. Through the loneliness that creeps in on Sunday afternoons? Through the sense that maybe your best days are behind you?

What if the answer is not something you buy, take, or acquire? What if the answer is something you give?

What if the question is answered by showing up at a school to read to children who need someone to listen? What if it is answered by delivering meals to people who cannot get out? What if it is answered by sitting with someone who is dying, or planting a garden in a neglected lot, or answering phones at a place that helps people in crisis?

The research says it works. The research says you will live longer, feel better, function more fully, and find meaning you thought was lost.

But more than the research, more than the studies and statistics, there is the quiet truth that you already know. The times you have felt most alive are probably the times you have given most freely. The moments you have treasured longest are probably the moments you forgot yourself entirely in service to someone else.

That is the question asking. That is the answer waiting.

And the beautiful thing is that it does not require grand gestures. It does not require perfection or training or endless energy. It just requires showing up. Reaching out. Being present.

The research proves it. But I suspect you already knew.

There is something magical about

 There is something magical about the moment we wake up from a dream.

Perhaps you have had one of those nights. You are walking along a quiet path, and suddenly the scene changes. A friend appears who you have not seen in years. A door opens onto a landscape you have never visited. In dreams, the rules are wonderfully loose. Anything can happen next.

And here is the remarkable part. When the morning light comes through the window, you are not trapped by whatever you dreamed the night before. Last night you might have been climbing a mountain. Tonight, you might be sailing across an ocean. Each dream begins fresh.

Life works much the same way.

Many people today are feeling the weight of dark headlines and uncertain times. Younger people often speak about the future as if it has already been written in gloomy ink. They worry about the economy, the world, the climate, and a thousand things that feel outside their control. Sometimes they look around and struggle to see hope.

That is where seniors carry a quiet superpower.

You have lived through enough seasons to know something important: tomorrow has never arrived exactly the way people predicted it would. Wars ended. Recessions passed. Technologies appeared that no one imagined. Communities rebuilt themselves again and again. The world has always been a place where the unexpected can open doors.

Think of an older neighbour named Margaret sitting at the kitchen table with her grandson. The news is on in the background, and the young man sighs. “Everything seems broken,” he says.

Margaret smiles gently and pours another cup of tea.

“You know,” she says, “when I was your age, people were certain the world was heading in the wrong direction too. And yet here we are. New ideas, new inventions, new opportunities. The story didn’t end where people thought it would.”

That small conversation matters more than we realize.

Because seniors carry living proof that life keeps unfolding. Your memories are not just stories about the past. They are evidence that the future is still wide open.

Just like a dream.

Every night the mind creates entire worlds—cities, oceans, conversations, adventures. It invents bells ringing in distant towers, whistles echoing across train stations, and sparrows flying through bright morning skies. And who created all that?

You did.

The same imagination that paints those nighttime stories is alive during the day. It shows up when someone decides to volunteer at a food bank, start a walking group, write a blog, help a neighbour, or organize a community event. It appears whenever someone chooses curiosity instead of fear.

In that sense, each of us is still the Creator, the Manifestor, the quiet Genius behind what happens next.

Age does not take that power away. If anything, experience strengthens it. Seniors know how to build friendships, solve problems, and laugh at things that once seemed overwhelming. They know that storms pass and that small actions can ripple outward in surprising ways.

There is also an interesting reminder waiting for us in the calendar this month.

On March 15 comes the ancient Roman day known as the Ides of March. Many people remember it because of the dramatic story surrounding the assassination of Julius Caesar in 44 BCE, a moment made famous by the warning “Beware the Ides of March” in the play Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare.

But the original meaning of the day was far less ominous. In the Roman calendar, the Ides simply marked the middle of the month, a time when debts were settled and people paused to take stock of where they stood. It was a moment to reflect, adjust, and begin the next part of the journey.

That idea fits beautifully with the stage of life many seniors are living today.

The middle of the month is not the end of the story. It is the moment when you look around, consider what you have learned, and decide what comes next. Seniors are wonderfully positioned for that role. You have the experience to reflect honestly and the freedom to choose new directions.

Age does not take that power away. If anything, experience strengthens it. Seniors know how to build friendships, solve problems, and laugh at things that once seemed overwhelming. They know that storms pass and that small actions can ripple outward in surprising ways.

A retired teacher might begin tutoring children after school. A volunteer might organize a neighbourhood breakfast. Someone else might simply make a habit of greeting people with warmth and humour. None of these things will appear on the evening news, yet they shape the world just the same.

Younger people notice.

They watch how seniors move through life, with steadiness, humour, and a bit of stubborn optimism. When an older adult says, “Let’s see what we can build next,” it sends a quiet but powerful message: the future is still under construction.

And that is the heart of the dream.

Each morning, we wake up inside a story that has not finished yet. The plot twists are still coming. The new characters have not all appeared. The surprises are waiting just around the corner.

When times feel heavy, remember the lesson of the dreamer.

Last night’s dream never limits tonight’s dream.

And yesterday’s worries never have the final say over tomorrow.

Seniors understand this better than most. You have already lived through chapters that no one could have predicted. You have watched grandchildren grow, communities change, and new possibilities appear out of thin air.

That makes you something very special in today’s world.

You are living proof that hope is practical.

Keep dreaming during the day as well as at night. Keep creating small moments of kindness, laughter, and courage. Keep reminding those around you that life is not finished surprising us.

Because somewhere, even now, the next bell is ringing, the next whistle is sounding, and a sparrow is lifting into the sky.

And the next chapter of the dream is just beginning.

Be in the moment, but it is so much easier to just... not.

 I have been thinking about what I wrote yesterday, about life being a question and our job being to answer. And I have been thinking about the emails and phone calls I have received since, from people my age who nodded along but admitted something I think we all feel sometimes.

"I know I should answer," they say. "But I am so tired. And it is so much easier to just... not."

And I understand that. Lord knows I understand that. There are mornings when the question arrives at my door and I pretend I am not home. When the phone rings and I let it go to voicemail. When the newspaper comes and I set it aside because I just cannot face one more piece of news that makes me feel helpless.

There is a part of us that believes, deep down, that if we can just avoid the hard things, we will find peace. That if we pull back far enough, close enough doors, turn off enough noise, we will finally be left alone with the quiet we have earned.

Funny, isn't it? Not ha-ha funny. Strange funny. The kind of funny that makes you shake your head at yourself.

Because if we are honest, really honest, we know that the peace we have now, the moments of contentment we actually treasure, did not come from avoiding anything. They came from walking through. They came from the challenges we faced, the ones that felt impossible at the time, the ones that made us wonder if we would make it.

Think back with me for a moment.

I remember The first job I lost, it felt like the end of the world. I remember the feeling well. The panic, the shame, the fear that I would never find my footing again. And then I remember what happened next. I got up. I made calls. I took something less than I wanted just to keep going. And eventually, I found your way. And now, decades later, that loss is just a story I tell, a chapter that gave me compassion for others who lose their way.

The marriage that struggled. The child who worried you. The health scare that stopped your heart for a moment. The parent you had to care for even as you were raising your own. The friend who drifted away. The dream that died.

Every single one of those things was a question. A hard question. A question you did not want to answer. And every single time, you answered. Maybe not perfectly. Maybe not gracefully. But you answered. You showed up. You were responsible toward the life that was asking something of you.

And now here you are. Still standing. Still breathing. Still able to read these words and think about what they mean.

So why, after all of that, do we still believe that avoiding the next question will finally bring us peace?

I will tell you why. Because we are human. Because the memory of pain is real, and the fear of more pain is real, and the body gets tired in ways it did not used to, and the mind gets weary, and there is a voice that whispers, "You have done enough. You have earned the right to rest. Let someone else carry it now."

And that voice is not entirely wrong. We have done enough. We have earned rest. There is no shame in stepping back, in saying no, in protecting our limited energy for what matters most.

But here is what I have learned, and I say this gently because I am saying it to myself as much as to you.

Rest is different from hiding. Peace is different from silence. And the kind of rest that actually restores us is the kind that comes after we have shown up, not the kind that comes from staying away.

I have a friend, Harold, 82 years old, lost his wife of 58 years, three years ago. For the first year, he barely left the house. He told me he just wanted peace, wanted to be left alone with his memories, wanted to stop having to answer questions he did not know how to answer. And I understood. We all understood.

But something happened. The peace he wanted would not come. The quiet just got quieter. The memories, instead of comforting him, started to feel heavy, like stones he was carrying instead of light he was holding.

Then one day, his granddaughter asked him to teach her how to bake his wife's famous apple pie. And he said no at first. Too hard. Too many memories. Too much.

But she kept asking. Kept showing up. Kept being the question he did not want to answer.

And finally, he said yes.

He told me later that the first time they baked together, he cried the whole time. Could barely see the flour through the tears. But his granddaughter just kept mixing, kept handing him ingredients, kept being there.

And somewhere in that mess of flour and tears, something shifted. The question he had been avoiding, the question of how to keep living after losing the person he loved most, got answered. Not completely. Not forever. But enough. Enough to get through the next day. Enough to find a sliver of the peace he had been looking for.

That is the funny thing. He found peace not by avoiding the question, but by walking right into the middle of it. By being responsible toward the life that was standing in front of him in the form of a granddaughter who needed to learn how to make pie.

When I say we need to be motivated to answer the questions asked of us, I am not saying we need to go looking for trouble. I am not saying we need to take on every burden, fight every fight, carry every weight. I am saying we need to pay attention to the questions that are already there, the ones knocking softly, the ones we have been pretending not to hear.

The friend who calls less often now because you stopped calling back. That is a question.
The grandchild who stopped asking you about the old days because you seemed too tired to answer. That is a question.
The project you used to love, the hobby that gave you joy, the garden you let go because it felt like too much work. Those are questions.
The news that makes you angry, the injustice you read about and then scroll past because what can you do anyway. That is a question.
The quiet hour in the morning when you sit with your coffee and wonder if any of it mattered. That is the biggest question of all.

And here is the hope I want to leave with you today. You have answered hard questions before. You have faced things that would have broken people half your age. You have walked through fire and come out the other side. Not unscathed, but here. Still here.

That is not nothing, that is everything.

The peace you are looking for, the peace that actually lasts, is not the peace of avoidance. It is the peace of having answered. It is the peace that comes from knowing you showed up, you did what you could, you were responsible toward the life that was given to you.

It is the peace my mother had at the end, when she told me, "I made mistakes. Lots of them. But I never walked away from anything that mattered." It is the peace my mother had, holding her grandchild for the first time, smiling at the continuation of something she helped start.

That peace is available to us. Not all at once. Not without effort. But every single time we choose to answer instead of hide.

Today, this morning, right now, there is a question being asked of you. Maybe it is small. Maybe it is just deciding whether to call someone back. Maybe it is just deciding to get dressed and go outside and let the sun hit your face. Maybe it is just deciding that today, in this one small way, you are going to be responsible toward life.

Answer it. Not because you have to. Not because anyone is keeping score. But because answering is what you have always done. Because answering is how you got here. Because answering is the only path to the peace you seek.

And if you forget everything else, I have said, remember this. The challenges you face today are the peace you will know tomorrow. They are not the obstacle. They are the way through.

Funny, huh? How we keep needing to learn the same lesson over and over. Not ha-ha funny. But maybe, just maybe, the kind of funny that makes us shake our heads and smile and get on with the business of living, with hope and affection. As I like you, am still learning to hear the questions and to answer.

Reflecting on the year that was...

 As the final day of 2024 unfolds, many of us find ourselves reflecting on the year gone by and imagining the possibilities ahead. For some, this season brings the annual debate about New Year's resolutions: to make a list or not to make a list? 

Instead of resolutions, consider a Past Year Review (PYR) a simple yet powerful exercise introduced by Tim Ferriss. It’s perfect for retirees who want to live with intention, focus on joy, and make room for what truly matters.

How to Do a Past Year Review

Take some quiet time to review your past year. List the activities, experiences, and moments that brought you the most joy, and those that drained your energy or caused stress.

Identify the top 20% of your joyful experiences and the top 20% of your unpleasant ones.

Use your findings to create two lists: a "Not-to-Do List" for avoiding the negatives and a "Priority Fun List" for embracing the positives.

My reflection over the past year gave me a list of things to cut back on and some ideas of what to do more of in the year. I realized I was giving too many workshops on Zoom and spending too much time online. On the positive side, I realized that I want to watch my grandchildren, play sports and get out more on the golf course with my friends. Little things but I have found that it is the little things that bring joy and sometimes sadness, not the big things.

The beauty of this approach is its simplicity. Instead of focusing on daunting goals, it empowers you to avoid what doesn’t work and lean into what does without the pressure of sweeping resolutions.

Now that I have a "Priority Fun List," I have put them on my calendar! I find that if it’s not on the calendar, it’s easy to let it slip away, but when it’s scheduled, I will follow through.

By prioritizing fun, you’re investing in happiness and creating memories to cherish. And here's the best part you're not only building memories, but you're also building your own happiness, Whether it’s a lunch with friends, a stroll in the park, or a new hobby, these moments will bring lasting joy and fulfillment.

So, as you look back on 2024 and ahead to 2025 take the time to reflect on your past year, create memories, and schedule fun. You might just find that it's the key to a happier, more fulfilling retirement.

Remember, retirement is a time to enjoy the fruits of your labour and pursue your passions and a time to celebrate freedom and possibility. But without intention, it’s easy to drift into routines that don’t spark joy, like spending too many hours in front of the TV. Scheduling fun means taking control of your happiness and ensuring your days are filled with meaningful experiences.

As you close out 2024, take time to reflect on the year gone by and intentionally plan the year ahead. Focus on what brings you joy, avoid what doesn’t, and create memories that will make you smile for years to come. Here’s to 2025! Make it your most joyful year yet!

Anticipation

This time of year is brimming with anticipation, seen most vividly through a child’s eyes. It’s the kind of excitement that makes their whole being buzz—the anticipation of Christmas Day, with presents under the tree calling out to be unwrapped. The waiting is almost unbearable, no matter what age you are.

As adults, and especially as seniors, we may have forgotten that particular spark. But what if we recaptured it, turning our gaze to the future with a childlike sense of wonder? Most years, we anticipate life in predictable ways: marking milestones, looking forward to holidays, or welcoming the changing seasons. This year, though, many of us have learned to anticipate more deeply—to look toward a time when things might feel "normal" again.

But here’s a question: What are we missing when we focus too far ahead? Are we overlooking the joy, the beauty, and the quiet miracles of today by being so fixated on tomorrow?

As we look ahead with hope, let’s also expect to find joy in the here and now. Let’s live with the suspense of creating moments that uplift others—whether it’s a kind word to a neighbour, a thoughtful gesture, or a call to someone who needs it. Let’s lean into that childlike wonder not just to wait for good things to happen but to be part of the joy and peace we long for in the world.

Anticipation doesn’t have to fade with age. Seniors can use it to reimagine their future—a new adventure, a passion to discover, or simply the delight of reconnecting with loved ones. With a heart full of hope and a mind open to possibility, the waiting becomes part of the magic. As we look to the future, let's remember to bring joy to those around us and live in suspense, bringing hope to the hopeless. By cultivating a sense of anticipation and excitement, we can find peace and fulfillment in the present moment.

The road ahead is full...

I came across this quote by  Muriel Rukeyser  "All the poems of our lives are not yet made". When we retire, some of us want to continue to write the poems of our lives, but others only want to read the poems they have already written. Retirement is a time of reflection and renewal, a chance to honour the past while embracing the possibilities of the future. Yet, it’s easy to hold too tightly to what has been, forgetting that the road ahead is still full of untapped potential. I encourage you to embrace the following truth that all the poems of our lives are not yet made. There is still time to create, to grow, and to shape a legacy that reaches beyond the present moment.

The past is rich with lessons, memories, and meaning. It has shaped who we are, but it does not have to confine who we can become. Those wounds we carry, the laughter of youth, and the dreams we once held—they are not merely echoes; they are seeds. Each carries the possibility of growth, renewal, and creation. They call out to us, urging us to redefine peace in our lives and in the world around us.

Retirement is not the end of purpose but the beginning of a new chapter. We are the architects of its meaning. The young—our children, grandchildren, and all those who follow us—look to us for guidance, inspiration, and hope. The unborn—the future itself—waits for the stories we will create, the wisdom we will share, and the love we will leave behind.

This is the time to take the lessons of our past and use them to forge something beautiful. It’s the time to fight for the birth of new ideas, new connections, and new adventures. It’s the time to build meanings that resonate with the life we’ve lived and the dreams we still hold.

And yes, it’s the time to sing. To sing the songs of gratitude for all we’ve experienced, to sing of hope for what lies ahead, and to sing of love—for ourselves, our families, and the world.

Let’s embrace this season of life with open hearts and minds, knowing that the best poems are yet to be written. The stanzas we create now, with the wisdom of age and the fire of experience, can be the most profound of all. So let us listen to those cries from within and beyond, and answer them with courage, creativity, and compassion. The future waits for us to shape it—let’s make it extraordinary.

Kindness Eases Change

 I’ve seen how much power kindness holds, especially during times of change. Retirement often brings new beginnings, but it can also come with significant transitions—shifting routines, changing roles, or even redefining relationships. It’s during these times that kindness becomes an anchor, offering stability and warmth not only to us but also to those we love.

Kindness is the universal language of love, and it has an incredible way of softening life’s transitions. When we take a moment to express our care and love to family and friends, it reminds everyone involved of the deep bonds that hold us together, no matter how life evolves. Whether through a heartfelt conversation, a handwritten note, or small acts of generosity, kindness creates a ripple effect of connection and reassurance.

Change can be unsettling, not just for you but for your loved ones too. A kind word or gesture during this time can provide a sense of security and remind your family of the enduring love that sustains you all. It’s not always about grand displays—it’s the simple moments that speak volumes.

The following are gifts of love that show you care, bridging the gap between generations and keeping relationships strong. A phone call to share a fond memory. A note telling someone what they mean to you. An offer to teach your grandchild something you’re passionate about.

Your acts of kindness become a part of your legacy. They demonstrate how much you value your family and friends, setting an example for how they might express love and care in their own lives. These gestures help solidify the bonds that hold families together, creating memories your loved ones will carry forward.

Let your loved ones know how much they mean to you. Share your stories, your wisdom, and your time. By doing so, you’re not just easing the changes in your own life but also helping your family navigate their own journeys. In offering kindness, you strengthen connections and remind everyone that, no matter the changes ahead, love remains constant.

In the end, kindness isn’t just a gift you give to others—it’s a gift you give yourself. It brings joy, reinforces relationships, and ensures that as life changes, you and your loved ones remain grounded in what truly matters.

We are here for a good time not a long time.

The idea that each person in our lives is there for a reason, and that reason always has something to do with love, is a powerful reminder of the interconnectedness and purpose of our relationships.

When we think about the people in our lives, we often focus on the surface-level reasons why they're there. We might think about the practical benefits they bring, like financial support or emotional support, or the ways they make us feel, like happy or fulfilled. But the truth is, the reasons why people are in our lives run much deeper than that.

Each person in our lives is there for a reason, and that reason is always rooted in love. Whether it's a romantic partner, a family member, a friend, or even a stranger, every person in our lives is there to teach us something about love, to help us grow and evolve as individuals, or to provide us with a sense of connection and belonging.

Here are a few ways that this thought can be applied:

Recognize the love in every relationship: When we think about the people in our lives, we often focus on the ways they make us feel or the things they do for us. But the truth is, every relationship is rooted in love. Whether it's romantic love, platonic love, or familial love, every connection we make with another person is a manifestation of love.

See the purpose in every person: When we're struggling to see the purpose in someone's life, it's often because we're not looking at the bigger picture. Every person in our lives is there for a reason, and that reason is always related to love. Whether it's to teach us something, to provide us with support, or to help us grow as individuals, every person has a purpose that is connected to love.

Practice gratitude and appreciation: When we focus on the love in every relationship, we begin to see the people in our lives in a new light. We start to appreciate the ways they love us, the ways they support us, and the ways they help us grow. And we begin to feel grateful for the presence of these people in our lives.

Cultivate love in every relationship: When we recognize the love in every relationship, we're more likely to cultivate love in those relationships. We start to see the people in our lives as sources of love and support, rather than just as people who do things for us. And we begin to treat them with the love and respect they deserve.

See the interconnectedness of all relationships: When we recognize the love in every relationship, we start to see the interconnectedness of all relationships. We realize that every person in our lives is connected to every other person, and that every relationship is a manifestation of love. And we begin to see the world as a web of love and connection, rather than as a collection of separate and disconnected individuals.

By applying these principles, we can transform our relationships and our lives. We can see the love in every person, every situation, and every moment. And we can cultivate love in every relationship, no matter what form it takes

Your never too old

You're never too old for personal growth. Instead of sitting on the couch watching TV, embrace your inner strength. 

Many seniors retire and waste their potential, but you can choose differently. 

Get out, exercise, set goals, and work on self-development through visualization. 

Meditate to become the person you aspire to be, make better decisions, and reduce stress. Focus on your future while staying present. 

Tap into your strengths, address weaknesses, and build confidence through positive thinking.

 Don't delay self-development; take action today and use visualization to advance your skills.

 Your effort will lead to a brighter future.

Why did my mom say these things?

Many of these sayings were passed down through generations as pieces of wisdom and guidance for children. Here's one explanation for why parents or older generations might use these sayings with their children:

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree: This saying implies that children often inherit traits or qualities from their parents, emphasizing the importance of family values and behaviours.

Like two peas in a pod: This saying emphasizes the similarity between two people often used to describe close friendships or siblings.

Children are meant to be seen and not heard: This reflects a more traditional and authoritarian parenting style, where children are expected to be well-behaved and not interrupt adult conversations.

Blood is thicker than water: This saying stresses the importance of family bonds and relationships, suggesting that family comes before other connections.

You lay with dogs you get fleas: This is a cautionary saying, warning children to be careful about the company they keep to avoid negative consequences.

Where there's smoke, there's fire: This proverb encourages children to pay attention to signs and warning signals, as problems often have underlying causes.

You can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make him drink: It teaches children that you can provide opportunities, but you can't force someone to take advantage of them; it's about personal responsibility.

Patience is a virtue: This encourages children to develop patience and understand that good things often come to those who wait.

A farting horse is a working horse: This might be used humorously to teach children that hard work can sometimes be messy but is essential.

What goes around comes around, chickens come home to roost: This saying teaches the concept of karma, where the consequences of one's actions eventually catch up with them.

These sayings served as a way to pass down values, life lessons, and cultural wisdom from one generation to the next. They often carry a mix of practical advice, moral teachings, and cultural norms that parents want to impart to their children. I have only selected a few to make a point, but you may want to add your reasons why your parents used the sayings. Please do so in the comments.

Do we gain wisdom as we age?

 I recently had the privilege of conducting a workshop at a gathering of Aboriginal Elders, an experience I found both captivating and enlightening. In the promotional materials for the event, the organizers articulated a philosophical sentiment:

"Our Elders possess an accumulation of age-old wisdom, an amalgamation of knowledge and experiences indispensable for guiding younger generations through the labyrinth of life. Ensuring the perpetuity of this event is paramount, as it serves as a conduit for transmitting the legacy of our revered Elders to subsequent generations."

As I engaged with the workshop attendees, most of whom were in my age bracket or slightly younger, I couldn't help but contemplate whether they truly believed they possessed "all the wisdom of the ages."

At my stage of life, I recognize that the pursuit of wisdom is an ongoing journey, and it often eludes us even when others perceive it within us. The nebulous nature of wisdom leaves me questioning whether I have indeed attained it or remain on the path toward its realization. It appears that defining wisdom is as puzzling for experts as it is for me.

I started to investigate the concept of wisdom and encountered the notion of crystallized intelligence, a cognitive ability enabling us to harness our knowledge and experiences to solve problems and gain insights into life's complexities.

Some contend that the ability to swiftly resolve issues is a hallmark of wisdom, while others emphasize the indispensable role of introspection in the pursuit of wisdom. In addition, experts in the field of wisdom suggest that compassion and empathy serve as foundational cornerstones for an individual to be conferred the title of "wise."

Over the years, I have been sought out for advice on myriad subjects, and I have consistently offered my perspectives, believing that those who sought my counsel were in search of my wisdom. However, I have often found that my well-intentioned advice was received politely and subsequently disregarded. 

Consequently, I have evolved into a more attentive listener, refraining from dispensing guidance, even when solicited. It is only when I am persistently asked for my viewpoint that I harken back to the guiding principle of the quiz show "Jeopardy": "Respond in the form of a question." Perhaps, this marks the initial stride on my journey toward the attainment of true wisdom.

On the day I die by John Pavlovitz

On the day I die, a lot will happen.

A lot will change.

The world will be busy.

On the day I die, all the important appointments I made will be left unattended.

The many plans I had yet to complete will remain forever undone.

The calendar that ruled so many of my days will now be irrelevant to me.

All the material things I so chased and guarded and treasured will be left in the hands of others to care for or to discard.

The words of my critics which so burdened me will cease to sting or capture anymore. They will be unable to touch me.

The arguments I believed I’d won here will not serve me or bring me any satisfaction or solace.

All my noisy incoming notifications, texts and calls will go unanswered. Their great urgency will be quieted.

My many nagging regrets will all be resigned to the past, where they should have always been anyway.

Every superficial worry about my body that I ever laboured over; about my waistline or hairline or frown lines, will fade away.

My carefully crafted image, the one I worked so hard to shape for others here, will be left to them to complete anyway.

The sterling reputation I once struggled so greatly to maintain will be of little concern to me anymore.

All the small and large anxieties that stole sleep from me each night will be rendered powerless.

The deep and towering mysteries about life and death that so consumed my mind will finally be clarified in a way that they could never be before while I lived.

These things will certainly all be true on the day that I die.

Yet for as much as will happen on that day, one more thing that will happen.

On the day I die, the few people who really know and truly love me will grieve deeply.

They will feel a void.

They will feel cheated.

They will not feel ready.

They will feel as though a part of them has died as well.

And on that day, more than anything in the world they will want more time with me.

I know this from those I love and grieve over.

And so knowing this, while I am still alive I’ll try to remember that my time with them is finite and fleeting and so very precious—and I’ll do my best not to waste a second of it.

I’ll try not to squander a priceless moment worrying about all the other things that will happen on the day I die because many of those things are either not my concern or beyond my control.

Friends, those other things have an insidious way of keeping you from living even as you live; vying for your attention, competing for your affections.

They rob you of the joy of this unrepeatable, uncontainable, ever-evaporating Now with those who love you and want only to share it with you.

Don’t miss the chance to dance with them while you can.

It’s easy to waste so much daylight in the days before you die.

Don’t let your life be stolen every day by all that you believe matters, because on the day you die, much of it simply won’t.

Yes, you and I will die one day.

But before that day comes: let us live.