Last month, I spent an afternoon with my neighbor Margaret, who’s 73.
She was repotting orchids on her back porch, and when I asked how she was doing, she paused with her hands in the soil and said something that stopped me cold: “I’ve stopped apologizing for taking up space.”
That conversation sparked something in me.
I wanted to understand what people who’ve lived full lives—with all their mistakes, victories, and quiet moments—actually think about aging well. So I interviewed 50 boomers, ranging from 60 to 78 years old.
I asked them what a life well-lived means to them now, looking back. Their answers weren’t what I expected.
No one mentioned wealth, or status. Instead, they kept returning to six phrases that capture something deeper about what truly matters.
1. I learned to stop waiting for permission
This came up again and again.
Tom, a 69-year-old former teacher, told me he spent his 30s and 40s waiting for the “right time” to travel, to write, to pursue hobbies.
“I kept thinking someone would give me permission to live my life. Then I realized I was the only one holding myself back.”
Sarah, 71, echoed this: “I wasted years wondering if I was allowed to want what I wanted. To take time for myself. To say no. To change my mind.”
The shift usually happened in their 50s or 60s, often after a loss or life change forced them to reevaluate.
They stopped asking, “Will people approve?” and started asking, “Does this feel right to me?”
2. I wish I’d worried less about what people thought
Every single person I interviewed mentioned this regret.
But here’s what surprised me: they didn’t just mean strangers or acquaintances.
They meant family, friends, even their own children.
Linda, 68, put it plainly: “I spent so much energy trying to be the perfect daughter, the perfect wife, the perfect mother. I forgot to just be Linda.”
Richard, 74, said something similar about his career: “I stayed in a job I hated because I thought quitting would make me look weak. Looking back, the only person judging me that harshly was me.”
This wasn’t about becoming selfish or uncaring.
It was about separating concern for others from constant worry about their approval.
3. The relationships that mattered took effort, and that was okay
I expected to hear that good relationships should be effortless.
Instead, nearly everyone said the opposite.
Carol, 72, who’s been married for 48 years, laughed when I brought this up: “Anyone who tells you a good marriage is easy is lying. The best things in my life required work.”
But she clarified: it’s not exhausting work.
It’s intentional work.
Showing up. Having hard conversations. Choosing to stay curious about people instead of assuming you know everything about them.
James, 65, said his biggest regret was letting friendships fade because he didn’t want to “bother” people: “I thought if someone wanted to stay in touch, they’d reach out. I know now that’s not how it works. Connection takes effort from everyone.”
Those who felt most fulfilled had maintained a small circle of deep relationships rather than a wide network of surface-level ones.
And they’d accepted that maintaining those connections required consistent, sometimes uncomfortable effort.
4. I stopped trying to fix everything
This one hit me hard.
Almost everyone mentioned learning to accept what they couldn’t control or change.
Ruth, 70, told me about her adult son’s struggles with addiction: “For years, I thought I could love him into being okay. I finally realized I can’t fix him. I can support him, but I can’t make his choices for him.”
That acceptance didn’t mean giving up.
It meant recognizing the difference between helping and controlling. Between caring and carrying.
Marcus, 67, applied this to his own life: “I used to beat myself up for every mistake, every wrong turn. Now I see that some things just happened. Not everything is fixable, and not everything needs to be.”
The people who’d found peace had released the belief that they should have been able to prevent or repair everything.
5. I learned to be kinder to myself
I noticed something while conducting these interviews.
Those who spoke most harshly about their past selves seemed the most unsettled in the present.
The ones who’d found peace had learned to extend the same compassion inward that they naturally gave to others.
Patricia, 66, described this shift beautifully: “I spent my whole life being my own worst critic. Then my granddaughter started doing it to herself, and I heard my voice coming out of her mouth. It broke my heart. I realized I needed to model self-compassion, not self-punishment.”
This wasn’t about making excuses or avoiding accountability.
It was about treating themselves like someone they cared about. Speaking to themselves the way they’d speak to a struggling friend.
I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately, especially after reading Rudá Iandê’s newly released book Laughing in the Face of Chaos: A Politically Incorrect Shamanic Guide for Modern Life.
Rudá writes: “When we stop resisting ourselves, we become whole. And in that wholeness, we discover a reservoir of strength, creativity, and resilience we never knew we had.”
His insights on self-acceptance really resonated with what I kept hearing in these conversations.
6. I made peace with not having all the answers
The final phrase that kept appearing was about embracing uncertainty.
Dorothy, 75, said it simply: “I thought by this age I’d have everything figured out. Instead, I’ve just gotten more comfortable not knowing.”
This wasn’t resignation or defeat.
It was liberation.
They’d stopped pretending to have certainty they didn’t possess.
They’d learned to say “I don’t know” without shame. To change their minds without feeling like failures. To hold their beliefs loosely enough to let in new information.
George, 70, told me: “The older I get, the less sure I am about most things. And somehow that’s made me happier. I’m not defending positions anymore. I’m just living.”
Final thoughts
After 50 conversations, I noticed something unexpected.
Those who felt they’d lived well weren’t necessarily the ones who’d achieved the most, traveled the farthest, or accumulated the most.
They were the ones who’d learned these six lessons—often painfully, slowly, through trial and error.
And here’s what struck me most: none of them said they wished they’d learned these lessons earlier, even though many of them took decades to fully understand.
They seemed to accept that this wisdom came through living, not before it.
Margaret, still with her hands in that potting soil, told me something I keep returning to: “I don’t regret the time it took me to figure things out. That time was part of figuring it out.”
Maybe that’s the real lesson.
Not that we should rush to understand everything right now, but that we should trust the process of becoming who we’re meant to be—one uncomfortable, uncertain, beautiful step at a time.
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If Your Soul Took Animal Form, What Would It Be?
Every wild soul archetype reflects a different way of sensing, choosing, and moving through life.
This 9-question quiz reveals the power animal that mirrors your energy right now and what it says about your natural rhythm.
✨ Instant results. Guided by shaman Rudá Iandê’s teachings.
