When Decline Becomes the Conversation

How I am learning to notice aging without letting loss become the whole story.

New growth emerging from old growth (pexels)

Welcome to Age with Attitude, where I explore one question:

What sustains a life as we age?

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Since turning 70, I have started to notice decline more.

Before then, some form of bulletproofness kept it from me. Even through numerous injuries in my sixties, I did not think of myself as declining. I was injured, interrupted, inconvenienced perhaps — but not declining.

Then came the shock of the osteoporosis diagnosis. And now, perhaps because I have crossed some invisible threshold, I see, hear, and sense decline all around me.

I hear it in conversations about retirement villages and aged care packages.

I hear it in conversations about long waiting lists for surgery.

I see it in lost posture, walking sticks and mobility devices.

I feel it with my dad’s recent shoulder injury.

I read about it on Substack.

I sense how easily aging can become organised around what is being lost.

I know these things matter. I know planning matters. I acknowledge that aged care packages, retirement villages, walking sticks, medical systems, and support structures are not wrong. They may become necessary. They can be practical, even lifesaving.

But I also notice something about the centre of gravity.

For some people, the dominant conversation has become:

What will happen when decline accelerates?

Where will I go when I can’t manage?

What aged care package can I get?

What support will I need?

Those are legitimate questions. But they are not the only questions.

When decline becomes the main topic, the main lens, the main expectation, I feel myself mentally re-orient.

In that moment, I sense gratitude for what I have built.

And then afterwards, I check in with myself.

What can I still build?

What can I maintain?

What can I train?

What can I adapt?

What capability can I protect now?

I look to my role models for inspiration.

Joan McDonald, known online as @trainwithjoan, is still working out while discussing her upcoming knee reconstruction.

My 94-year-old dad is focused on returning to golf and booking his bi-annual beach fishing trip after a recent shoulder injury.

In my Peloton Over 60s Facebook group, I see this same orientation.

One person asks how soon others were able to get back on the bike after a hip replacement.

Another is slowly adding riding back into her routine after back trouble, while holding off strength training until she is ready.

Another celebrates getting back on the bike exactly six weeks after a total knee replacement. She moved the seat back, adjusted her shoes so she could lift her surgery leg out safely, and rode for ten minutes at low resistance. “It’s not much,” she wrote, “but felt like a big victory for me.”

That is what I notice.

Their orientation is not only toward what has been lost, but also toward what is still possible.

What can I do?

What can I try?

What can I return to?

What needs to be adapted?

My key organising principle has become: Capability

Strength training. Mobility. Adaptation.

But also: Attention. Truthful contact. Kindness. Compassion.

I do not want to turn aging into another performance project. I also do not want to become harsh with myself in the name of capability. I want to see clearly, respond wisely, and keep myself as able as I can for as long as I can.

I cannot unsee decline.

But I can choose what else I see.

I can choose what I practice.

I can choose the story I organise around while I am still able.

If I train my attention to see both decline and capability, I stay in more truthful contact with aging. I am neither denying reality nor collapsing into the cultural script that aging is only loss.

I am learning to look at aging without flinching, but also without narrowing my gaze.

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I’d love to hear how this lands for you.

Hit the Like button below, and let’s continue the conversation in the Comments.

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