DOES GETTING OLD GIVE YOU THE HEEBIE-JEEBIES?
By Carol Purroy
Let’s get one thing straight right out of the gate:
Getting old is not for the faint of heart.
It’s also not for the meek, the timid, or the “Guess I’ll just sit here quietly and disappear” crowd.
Getting old is for the audacious.
This is the season of life when you stand up, plant your feet, and announce to the universe:
“Hey! I’m still alive. And I’m still very much in the game.”
Yet something curious happens to a lot of people at a certain age—not the same age for everyone. They begin to fade. Shrink. Dim their own lights. They start to feel… diminished.
Here’s the deal. Some things are changing.
A word vanishes mid-sentence, only to reappear triumphantly at 2:00 a.m. like, “Oh, there you are. Great timing.”
We may no longer sprint up the stairs two at a time or sling a 50-pound backpack over our shoulders without negotiating terms first.
That’s normal. It’s called being human.
But here’s where people go wrong: they confuse change with the end.
NEWS FLASH: Change has been happening to you since the instant of conception.
For decades it felt like a sweet upward climb—you were growing bigger, stronger, faster, smarter, cuter. It’s easy to be optimistic when everything is expanding.
The downhill part? That takes attitude.
And attitude, my friends, changes everything.
Some people hit a physical setback, a diagnosis, a limitation, or just an age (a number, for Pete’s sake!)—and turn sour. Others turn silent. Some get feisty. (I’m a big fan of feisty.)
What makes the difference isn’t the circumstance—it’s how you meet it.
If you believe, “It’s over. I’m done.”
Well… congratulations. You’re right.
If you shuffle around like a sad sack, half-dead, just waiting to lie down in your coffin—fine, that’s how you’ll spend whatever time you’ve got left. You may as well be already pushing up daisies.
But if you believe,
“There’s still life in me. Fun in me. Curiosity, laughter, mischief, and adventure in me,” then that becomes your reality.
You’ll make plans.
You’ll do things.
You’ll feel fulfilled—and gloriously, unmistakably alive.
As for me? I’m 90.
And yes—there’s a quiet awareness that many experiences may be “the last time.”
That leaves me with two choices:
- Be sad and nostalgic and drain the joy right out of the moment.
- Or decide, “All right then—let’s make this one count.”
Take Christmas, for example.
It’s easy to live in the past—to mourn what no longer looks the way it once did. No excited children. No mountain of presents. No prime rib feast.
You can grieve what’s gone and miss the present entirely.
Or you can pivot.
You can say:
“This may be my last Christmas so I’m going to celebrate the heck out of it.”
Maybe that looks like you and your beloved snuggling before a crackling fire, so grateful to have another Christmas together.
Or maybe it’s a small tree, lit and decorated, and a gift you bought yourself (excellent taste, by the way).
Maybe it’s a hot buttered rum and singing Christmas carols at full volume, accompanied by Andre Rieu’s symphony orchestra.
Maybe it’s serving dinner at a shelter, or going to church on Christmas Eve and belting out the carols you adore.
Maybe it’s inviting another solitary soul to share the day.
That’s audacity in action.
And then, a week later, there’s New Year’s—a perfect time for gratitude.
One Christmas, a friend gave me a “Nice Bits Jar” starting a new tradition in our family. The rule is simple: once a week, write down something nice that happened that week and drop it in the jar. (Add others during the week if you wish.) On New Year’s Day, empty the jar and read them. I recommend reading them aloud—if possible, with a fellow nice-bits practitioner.
What a revelation!
Some of the lovely moments of the previous year I’d forgotten entirely. Others came rushing back, warm and glowing.
The real magic wasn’t the jar— any rinsed-out marinara sauce or pickle jar will do. It was the noticing.
When you expect to record something good, your antennæ go on high alert. You start catching the small things:
Someone holding the door for you.
A driver practicing road-courtesy.
Dandelions.
A phone call from a grandchild.
A sunrise that stops you mid-step.
A friend calling to say, “Hi, how’re you doin’?”
A compliment from a stranger.
Hot chocolate on a cold day.
Once you start looking, there are a million nice bits—a million things to be grateful for. I like to call them, “gladitudes”.
And here’s the sneaky truth: gratitude rewires your brain.
The more you notice what’s good around you, the more good you see.
The happier you become.
The more alive you feel.
And the more good appears to you.
So whether you keep a Nice Bits Jar or not—start noticing. Stay present. Pay attention to what’s happening now.
Awareness changes your thoughts.
Thoughts change your attitude.
Attitude changes your life.
I recommend that you do keep a Nice Bits Jar. I’m going to start a new one on New Years Day, right after I’ve read through the bits from 2025.
And remember this: It’s never too late to be who you’re supposed to be. Clue: You’re supposed to be the very best version of yourself—the kind, sweet, thoughtful, considerate, compassionate you. But don’t forget to be kind, sweet, thoughtful, considerate, and compassionate toward yourself, too. The nicer you are to yourself, the nicer you will be to others.
If you woke up on this side of the grass today, you’re still in the game.
So act like it.
Live like you mean it.
*******
This is not an excerpt from Audacious Aging – the book. It’s a stand-alone piece, just another thought along the same line. If you liked this, you’ll also enjoy the book, available at Amazon: bit.ly/3W7ghpz
About Me
I’m a retired therapist, former senior-magazine publisher, and lifelong champion of older voices. For more than 30 years, I’ve encouraged and taught seniors to write their life stories, claim their lived wisdom, and give themselves well-earned pats on the back.
I’m the author of Your Legacy: The Stories of Your Life, and That’s Life: Many Mini-Memoirs, and Audacious Aging, along with its companion book, 100 Days of Bold, Sassy, Unapologetic Joy.
My message is simple—and non-negotiable:
Be grateful.
and
Age like you mean it.