What Aging is Teaching Me

I’ve always believed in lifelong learning, not as a slogan on a t-shirt, but as an actual way to live. I take classes. I read intentionally. I play mahjong, which turns out to be less a game and more a weekly reminder that the human brain can short-circuit in public.

But here’s what nobody tells you: aging itself is a second education—no application required. No orientation. Just new coursework quietly added to your schedule, whether you signed up for it or not.

I have learned, for example, that it is best to sit on the bed when putting on your leggings. Standing is an option, technically. But standing introduces unnecessary risk into an otherwise peaceful morning. If you do go down, your Apple Watch will alert your emergency contacts before you’ve even decided how embarrassed to be.

I have learned to use the bathroom before leaving the house. Every time. Without exception. Whether I think I need to or not, the dog has also learned that this is the last stop before the walk. 

I have learned to make three right turns instead of crossing six lanes of traffic. This is not timidity. This is routing optimization. There is a difference, and I will defend it.

I have learned to test a chair before I sit down. Some chairs are not designed to get back out with dignity.

I have learned the difference between nice shoes and shoes that are actively trying to hurt me. I now own footwear described as supportive and accommodating. I miss my heels; my bunion does not.

I also study luggage wheels now. There was a time I dragged a suitcase through an airport without a second thought. That time has passed. I read reviews. I searched the words lightweight and smooth rolling with the focus of someone making a significant financial decision.

I have learned not to sit on the floor without a plan for getting back up.

I have learned that recovery time is real. At twenty-five, the question was, “Will this be fun?” Now, the first question is what’s the recovery window? Pickleball sounds like it might land you in physical therapy for six weeks. I have decided there are other paths to continued growth.

I wish life had a GPS. Not for directions. For decisions. Something that would tell you what you are planning is a really stupid idea. In three hundred feet, turn around. You are going the wrong way.

I also frequently have too many tabs open. On my computer and otherwise.

The truth is, I still take classes. I still read. I still show up to mahjong fully prepared to be humbled by small plastic tiles and a new card every year. The formal learning hasn’t stopped.

But aging teaches you things no class ever covers. Mostly through trial and error. And gravity. And the mirror.

And one lesson above all others, which I offer freely, as a public service, to anyone in this particular season of life:

Never trust a fart.

Never.