Chapter 4
Digital Dinosaurs: Navigating Technology Without Becoming Obsolete
Nothing announces "I'm old!" quite like putting two spaces after a period. Everything we learned in typing class has become passe. This rule became embedded in our DNA during the typewriter age when mono-spaced fonts made that second space necessary for readability. With modern proportionally spaced fonts, there's simply no need, yet many Boomers struggle to break the habit. Similarly, writing emails in all caps or signing text messages with your full name are telltale signs of generational tech gaps.
The technology challenges don't end there. From Reply All fiascos to forwarded email threads containing sensitive information, from clinging to AOL email addresses to insisting on fax machines, these digital missteps mark us as what younger colleagues call "OPOTLOs"-old people on the loose online. Common faux pas include printing out emails to read them, taking photos of computer screens instead of screenshots, and repeatedly falling for obvious online scams that younger generations spot instantly.
I've witnessed the consequences of technological resistance firsthand. During the pandemic, my friend's father refused to learn video calling, effectively cutting himself off from family gatherings. Another acquaintance lost a job opportunity because he couldn't navigate the company's online application system. My own father's refusal to use a smartphone meant he missed countless family photos and messages in his final years. A former colleague retired early because she couldn't adapt to cloud-based systems, despite her otherwise excellent skills.
The challenge isn't just learning specific technologies but developing technological adaptability-the ability to approach new systems with curiosity rather than fear. This doesn't mean embracing every new app or device, but rather maintaining the confidence to learn what's useful and necessary. It means understanding core concepts like cloud storage, two-factor authentication, and digital privacy, which transcend individual platforms or devices. The key is developing a growth mindset toward technology, viewing each new innovation as an opportunity rather than a threat.
I won't become a Luddite, even if that means befriending Alexa and mastering new devices that sometimes seem smarter than I am. I'll remember that technology is merely a tool, not an identity marker, and that asking for help isn't admitting defeat but demonstrating wisdom. Most importantly, I'll recognize that digital fluency isn't about appearing young-it's about remaining connected to a world that increasingly conducts its business, relationships, and essential services online. This means staying current with fundamental digital skills like mobile banking, telehealth appointments, and basic cybersecurity practices. The goal isn't to become a tech expert but to maintain enough digital literacy to participate fully in modern life.
The cost of technological resistance grows steeper each year, as more services move online and digital literacy becomes as essential as traditional literacy. From grocery delivery apps to digital healthcare portals, from remote work platforms to social media, staying connected requires ongoing learning and adaptation. The good news is that many organizations now offer senior-focused tech training, and younger family members are often eager to help bridge the digital divide.
Chapter 5
Facing Fear: The Art of Falling and Rising Again
I've always feared falling, especially after two grandparents and my father died from falls. This generational trauma cast a long shadow over my relationship with physical risk, shaping my movements and choices in ways I didn't fully recognize. But during a family vacation in Hawaii-following a brutal year of deaths, illness, and separations-I learned a surprising lesson on a surfboard that would transform my perspective on fear and falling.
At sixty, I couldn't "pop up" with the elasticity of my twentysomething niece Jessie, who seemed to dance effortlessly on the waves. My joints creaked, my muscles protested, and my mind raced with worst-case scenarios. But my instructor Ossian Farmer, with decades of experience teaching seniors to surf, pointed out my real impediment was hesitation, not physical limitations. "The moment you hesitate in surfing is the moment you will find yourself in trouble," he explained, demonstrating how split-second delays throw off timing and balance. Surfing, like life, requires full commitment, focus, and being in the present moment - a lesson that resonated far beyond the beach.
When I simplified my mantra to "Jessie" (channeling my niece's fearlessness) and kept my eyes forward rather than down at my board, something clicked. Instead of overthinking every movement, I let muscle memory and instinct take over. I caught the next wave, experiencing a moment of pure joy and freedom from fear. The lesson transcended surfing: keep my focus, check my fear, learn how to fall, watch my head, go with the flow-and try to do it with some modicum of grace.
This surfing metaphor extends powerfully to how we approach aging. Many older adults develop such intense fear of falling that they limit their activities, creating a dangerous cycle where reduced movement leads to muscle weakness, which increases fall risk. Studies show that tai chi and other balance-focused exercises can reduce fall risk by up to 43 percent, yet many avoid these activities precisely because they fear falling during practice. This fear response, while natural, becomes self-fulfilling: the less we move, the more likely we are to fall.
My sister-in-law wisely noted after witnessing my magnificent final ride and subsequent tumble into the Pacific: "The next step after falling is getting up again." This applies not just to physical falls but to all of life's setbacks - failed relationships, career disappointments, health challenges. Resilience-the ability to recover from difficulties-may be the most essential skill for successful aging, more important than physical strength or flexibility alone.
I won't let fear of falling keep me from living fully, whether that means trying new activities, maintaining my independence, or taking calculated risks. Through regular exercise, mindfulness practices, and gradual exposure to challenging situations, I'm building both physical and emotional resilience. I'll remember that safety isn't found in immobility but in strength, balance, and knowing how to fall properly when necessary. Each fall becomes not a failure but a lesson in getting back up, stronger and wiser than before.
Chapter 6
The Generation Bridge: Why Friendships Across Age Groups Matter
My ninety-something friend Denise Kessler taught me the value of intergenerational friendships. When we met in 1993, she was seventy-seven and I was thirty-six-a Harold and Maude pairing that enriched us both. Denise had "little patience for old people," preferring to fill her days with water aerobics, copy editing, street demonstrations, and performing with her feminist troupe, the Last Hoo-Rahs. Her vitality challenged conventional notions of aging, as she maintained a schedule that would exhaust many people half her age.
She created her family of "logicals" rather than relying on "biologicals," recruiting younger friends who broadened her world while benefiting from her wisdom. This chosen family included artists, activists, writers, and professionals spanning four decades in age. Studies now confirm what Denise intuited: close friendships in old age predict increased longevity and happiness. Research from Harvard Medical School shows that elderly individuals with strong social connections have sharper memory and slower cognitive decline.
Following her example, I've cultivated friendships with people decades younger than me, gaining their energy, optimism, tech support, and fresh perspectives. One twenty-something friend taught me to navigate social media, while another introduced me to podcasting, transforming my communication methods. These connections require mutual respect-you can't expect young people to respect you if you belittle their values or dismiss their experiences. Active listening and genuine curiosity about their lives are essential.
Research shows intergenerational friendships improve physical health and psychological well-being, with solid friendships increasing survival likelihood by 50 percent-comparable to quitting smoking. Studies from the National Institute on Aging demonstrate that older adults with younger friends maintain better mobility, higher cognitive function, and lower rates of depression. That's why I identify as a "Perennial"-ever-blooming, relevant, and connected across generations.
The benefits flow both ways. Younger friends gain perspective, wisdom, and often practical support from older mentors. They learn that aging isn't something to fear but a natural process with its own gifts and challenges. A study from Boston College found that young professionals with older mentors showed higher job satisfaction and career advancement rates. Meanwhile, older adults who maintain connections with younger generations stay more mentally flexible, technologically current, and culturally relevant. These relationships help bridge generational divides and combat ageism in both directions.
Denise was the ultimate Perennial, putting off her "Last Hoo-Rah" until 98, leaving the stage to a standing ovation from all her younger friends. Her final performance included a monologue about embracing change and staying curious about life, delivered to an audience ranging from teenagers to octogenarians. Her legacy lives on not just in memories but in the intergenerational connections she inspired others to create, proving that friendship knows no age limits. She demonstrated that the key to vital aging isn't just about maintaining physical health, but about nurturing relationships that span generations.
Chapter 7
Honesty and Dignity: The Balance of Self-Disclosure
It happens anywhere people of a certain age gather-the dreaded "organ recital." One person mentions high cholesterol, another counters with prediabetes, and suddenly everyone's competing in a medical misery contest. At social gatherings, dinner parties, and even casual coffee meetups, conversations increasingly revolve around ailments, medications, and surgical procedures. On a first date, I became hostage to a man's health monologue covering everything from joint replacements to his post-prostate cancer erectile solutions. By dinner's end, I knew his entire medical history but nothing about his life, work, or passions. This overwhelming focus on health issues can eclipse the richness of human connection and shared experiences that make relationships meaningful.
While I believe in disclosure for serious conditions-I finally acknowledged my decades-long depression at fifty-nine-there should be a correlation between severity and discussion time. The challenge lies in striking the right balance between transparency and oversharing. Some conditions warrant immediate disclosure, particularly those affecting daily activities or relationship dynamics. Others, like routine medical maintenance, can wait for more appropriate moments. We Boomers need to remember we're more than the sum of our organs, with stories, achievements, and wisdom that extend far beyond our medical charts.
This extends to sexual health as well, perhaps the most sensitive area of medical disclosure. Studies suggest at least half of men over fifty-five experience some form of sexual dysfunction, though stigma keeps most silent. The statistics are even higher for those dealing with chronic conditions or recovering from major surgeries. My introduction came early-at twenty-five as a side effect of testicular cancer surgery, which caused "retrograde ejaculation." Young and feeling alone, I entered years of celibacy, fearing rejection from potential partners. The isolation was compounded by society's reluctance to discuss male sexual health openly.
Eventually, I found confidence and humor about my condition, describing it as offering "no muss, no mess sex." This approach helped normalize conversations about sexual health with partners and healthcare providers. Dr. Christian Nelson of Memorial Sloan Kettering confirms about 85 percent of men experience sexual difficulties after cancer treatments. When things don't work as expected, many men feel shame that leads to avoidance, creating a cycle of isolation and anxiety that affects both physical and emotional intimacy.
Today's medical practices offer numerous solutions to help men reengage sexually through medications, therapy, and other interventions-support I wish had been available when I needed it most. Sexual dysfunction isn't just from cancer-it can stem from aging, smoking, diabetes or hypertension, affecting men across all age groups and backgrounds. I've learned to be open with partners about my condition, finding that honesty often leads to deeper intimacy, which is another form of sexual satisfaction. This openness has also helped others feel comfortable discussing their own challenges.
I won't make a show of taking medications at dinner or announce routine medical appointments at parties. The challenge is finding the line between "not enough" and "too much," and knowing your audience. Context matters - a support group warrants different levels of disclosure than a business meeting. Honesty matters, but so does maintaining dignity-for yourself and others. The key is learning to share health information selectively and appropriately, preserving both authenticity and social grace.
Chapter 8
The Final Chapter: Planning for "The End" with Grace
What a difference a decade makes. For my fiftieth birthday, my parents hosted an elaborate New England clambake at their beach house. Twenty-five close friends flew in from everywhere, filling every available sleeping space. The evening was beyond lovely, my parents generous in every way.
By my sixtieth birthday, both parents had passed. At a much smaller restaurant gathering, my siblings and I toasted their memory. We had done our flawed best caring for them, and came to believe they'd done their flawed best crossing from midlife to old, then to sick.
I still want to make different choices than they did. Recently, I caught myself precariously reaching for a book on a high shelf and thought, "This is not a good idea anymore." I vowed to use a stepladder next time-one small step toward accepting an uncertain future.
Unlike my non-planning family, I'm an obsessive planner who long ago created a "Notes for SP Funeral/Memorial" folder containing specific requests: a service at San Francisco's Swedenborgian Church with its warm timber interior, playing The Mary Tyler Moore Show theme song, and a gravestone from the same Massachusetts quarry as the Kennedys'.
After multiple canceled visits, I finally brought my reluctant parents to see six contiguous plots available at Oakland Cemetery in Sag Harbor-an idyllic spot where notables like George Balanchine rest. Dad, initially ambivalent about dying, was convinced after spotting Clay Felker's grave marker: "This is a good 'hood for me." Now my parents are buried there with a towering oak between them, while the rest of us hold the deed for our future homes in eternity.
I'm also inspired by my friend Jacquie, who transformed her final weeks with terminal brain cancer into a remarkable project-canceling credit cards, distributing possessions, planning her funeral, and most touchingly, writing letters to her children for future milestones. Her son Jerry shared two letters with me: one written shortly before her death expressing love and encouraging him to support his siblings, and another for his college graduation, congratulating him and expressing pride.
Jerry admitted these letters motivated him to stay in school when he considered dropping out. Reading these eternal gifts-written while Jacquie was partially paralyzed-inspired me to finally address my own end-of-life planning. Though I've mentally listed who should receive my letters, I haven't started writing them yet. To begin is to admit I'm approaching "The End." Fortunately, I'm still here-and I won't postpone for tomorrow what matters to me today.
Chapter 9
Living Fully Until the End: The Ultimate Promise
Who knows when the bell will toll for any of us? After visiting DeathClock.com and completing their questionnaire, I received my calculated death date: Wednesday, April 23, 2031, when I'll be seventy-three. My oncologist corroborated this timeframe, estimating my survival at "around 72 to 75" and ending with an ominous "Good luck."
Instead of wallowing, I made an impulsive decision: I quit my day job. For decades I'd worked as a salaried editor while fantasizing about leaving. Financial fears, among others, had held me back. But I'd been preparing-downsizing my home, building savings, discussing meaningful life choices with my therapist who quoted Margaret Deland: "As soon as you feel too old to do a thing, do it."
I wasn't retiring-studies show early retirement can increase mortality risk by 90 percent. Just look at the famous people who died shortly after stepping down: Frank Deford, Bear Bryant, and Charles Schulz all died within weeks or months of retirement.
Instead, I planned to write full-time-what I'd been doing in bits and pieces between work obligations. My friend Peter had taken a similar leap at fifty-three after his friend died of a brain tumor at fifty-two. My neighbor Tom, exactly my age, had stepped down from his university position after watching two "bulletproof" friends pass away. Both inspired me to stop talking about doing my own work and actually do it.
The transition wasn't seamless-sleepless nights, financial uncertainties, and self-doubt followed. Then came my annus horribilis when both parents died and my husband left me. Yet I still wake at 5 a.m. excited like a child on Christmas morning, with a new sense of ownership and meaning.
I no longer see my parents' behaviors as "stupid" but self-defeating. Their choices narrowed their lives. With age, they'd embarked on a long slumber, each year bringing diminished awareness of consequences. My anger masked sadness and fear of my own gene pool.
I'm now implementing my own advice: having my hearing checked, taking medications as prescribed, and decluttering my home. I recognize that growing old differs from growing ill, and I'm grateful for the opportunity to age in good health, for as long as that lasts.
As Wendell Berry wrote: "Back at the beginning, my life was all time and almost no memory.... And now, nearing the end, I see that my life is almost entirely memory and very little time." I won't waste what time remains on regret, fear, or denial. I'll live fully until the end-whenever that may be.
