You’ve retired after more than five decades working as a nurse and with a degree in gerontology. You know how society treats old folks, especially elderly Black women. You’ve done your fair share, perhaps more than your fair share. 

Isn’t it time to slow down? Find a nice beach, buy a condo and live the good life? 

Most folks might settle comfortably in just that kind of existence. After all, most of us slow down as we age, right?
Who would want to be in a place where, if you had to pee, it would be outside in -30F? 

Most folks aren’t Barbara Hillary. 

After retiring, despite her health challenges, Hillary began exploring. She chose some of the world’s coldest regions, which found her dogsledding in Quebec and photographing polar bears in Manitoba, Canada.  

Hillary developed a taste not only for adventure but also for the physical exertions that those adventures demanded of her.  

The more she explored, the more she discovered she could explore, despite the limitation of her lungs. She was charmed and energized by the people she met during her travels and moved by how the changing world was affecting them. Her passion for the wild outdoors and its people led to a deep concern for climate change, which threatened the landscapes she loved.  

Hillary wanted to do something that would bring more attention to the survival challenges she saw firsthand. 

At an age when many retirees might prefer a warm, sandy beach and an umbrella drink, Hillary decided to hike to the North Pole.  

She prepared hard for a year, secured funds, worked out on weights with a personal trainer, and learned to ski. She had to learn how to pull her own heavy sled.  

The first really bad moment was when the guide evaluated her before she could ski to base camp.  At that point, after all the training, the investment of time and effort, the guide could give you the once-over and decide, nope, you can’t go. 

He did allow her to go and history was made.  

According to Hillary, “The worst of it was having to pee when the temperature was below 30 F.”   

Finally, Hillary raised her hands in triumph after planting her ski poles near the door to Santa’s workshop. She was the first Black woman ever to do so.  

In that moment of euphoria, all the doom and gloomers that she had encountered, all the naysayers were washed away, she said. 

That was April 23, 2007. She was 75.  

After her record-breaking accomplishment, the awards and accolades flowed in.  

The U.S. House of Representatives passed a resolution acknowledging her achievement in 2007. 

The National Organization for Women awarded here the Woman of Courage Award.  

Isn’t that enough?  

What’s enough for someone like Barbara Hillary? 

Most folks might happily settle down after such a crazy-mad successful adventure and rest on their laurels. Write articles, write a book, speak about it. After all, no other Black woman had done it.  

Most folks aren’t Barbara Hillary. 

Four years later, at the age of 79, she hiked to the South Pole. On January 6, 2011, Hillary once again raised her ski poles in triumph in the cold isolation at the bottom of the world. She had come a long, long way from the swampy, humid South Carolina lowlands where she had been born. 

But wait, there’s more.  

Armed with the knowledge and education of what her preparation for these incredible excursions had given her, Hillary used her newly acquired legendary status to become a sought-after speaker. She founded and became the editor of The Peninsula Magazine in New York. She worked tirelessly to raise awareness about climate change. 

Hillary dedicated her trips to her mother, Viola Jones Hillary, who had moved her family from Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, to New York City. It was the Depression, yet Viola believed that the city would afford her two daughters a better chance for success.  

Barbara Hillary has long credited her determined mother with teaching her that the world didn’t owe her anything. The lesson to go after what you want and to do the hard work to get you there is woven throughout Hillary’s life.  

Perhaps above all, Hillary didn’t believe that the aged should simply be a profit source for the nursing home industry, as she put it. As a result, Hillary did far more than just crush these notions—she rose as a symbol of what could be achieved as we age into our final years, what determination and will could accomplish.  

Saddled with ailing health, Hillary made a final trip to Mongolia in 2019 to visit the nomadic tribes famous for herding wild reindeer. This would be her final adventure, before passing at the age of 88. 

Shortly after she died, Hillary was inducted into The National Women’s Hall of Fame.  

Funny, smart, focused, and fierce, Barbara Hillary continues to be an example of what you can do no matter the limitations placed on us by society, by naysayers, and by ageist beliefs—how to finish strong. 

Julia Hubbel is a prize-winning journalist and author of two books. An adventure traveler, she thrives on exploring the boundaries of the heart, soul, spirit, and humor. Horizons beckon for Hubbel, who launched her passion to take on challenging sports in the world’s greatest places in earnest at age 60. 

Scouting for an Outing? It Might Be Time for an Adventure …

Alene Moris is Ready for Action

Running Down Boston

The post How to “Finish Strong:” The Incredible Journey of Barbara Hillary appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.

“The unexamined life is not worth living.” 

In the 4th century BCE, the Greek philosopher Plato wrote these words spoken by his teacher, Socrates, in a work called “The Apology.” In it, the 70-year-old Socrates, having been condemned to death by Athenian officials for corrupting the city’s youth with his philosophy, justifies his beliefs and values and his decision to share them with others as a teacher. In short, he was leaving a legacy by making a public statement about his authentic self. 

Socrates’ lofty impulse is actually one that many of us can relate to as we age. More often we may find ourselves reflecting on our own lives, the choices we’ve made, and the lessons we’ve learned––and wanting to share them with our family and others we love in the hope that they might benefit from our insights. 

One way we can do this is through the creation of an Ethical Will (EW). While not a legal document requiring witnesses or notarization, an EW can be as powerful and meaningful as a Last Will and Testament in clarifying our wishes for others’ lives.  

A Centuries-Old Tradition  

The concept of an EW goes back centuries and spans civilizations. The Ancient Greek tradition of writing an Apology, or explanation, of one’s life was later adopted by the Romans and continued throughout Medieval Europe. At the same time, Islamic culture promoted the idea of the Spiritual Will to record personal principles for determining how best to disperse one’s money for charitable purposes. In modern times in Japan, with the rise of a very large elder population, some older adults are writing “ending notes” as a way of leaving a moral legacy for their descendants. 

The most notable and sustained EW tradition can be found among the Jewish culture of speaking to one’s children or writing them Legacy Letters detailing the best way to live a life. Such examples are found in the Hebrew Bible and throughout Jewish literature. 

What all these traditions have in common is the impulse for self-examination and self-evaluation of one’s experiences for the ultimate benefit of others.  

Some Elements of an EW 

What ideas might you include in this precious document? The answer: Anything that you hold dear.  

For example, you can describe your memories, secrets, regrets, funny stories, accomplishments, and mistakes. You can offer to others advice, encouragement, acceptance, and forgiveness. You can summarize your core beliefs, express your gratitude, and challenge others to achieve their potential.  

To accommodate such a variety of possibilities, an EW can take many forms and include such elements as lists, drawings, photos, and even scrapbook mementos. Moreover, it doesn’t even have to be a written document but can be audio- or videotaped. 

And, most important of all, legacy writing needn’t be shared only after its creator is gone—it can be handed down right now.  

The “Forever Letter” 

That last point is the focus of the work of Rabbi Elana Zaiman, author of The Forever Letter: Writing What We Believe for Those We Love. She describes this form of Jewish Legacy Letter as one “that is meant to deepen, heal, or uplift our relationships.” 

What makes her approach so original is that a Forever Letter (FL) doesn’t limit the interaction being strictly generational but rather can be intergenerational. 

As Zaiman explains, it’s “a letter anyone can write to anyone. Parents to children. Children to parents. Grandparents to grandchildren. Grandchildren to grandparents. Mentees to their mentors. Mentors to their mentees. Students to their teachers and teachers to students. Siblings and spouses to one another.”  

Because an FL’s nature is fluid, its value lies in acknowledging the present moment rather than some future, post-mortem discovery. 

“A Forever Letter is meant to be shared now,” Zaiman says. “Anyone can write an FL at any time, for any occasion and for no occasion…. [It] is about connecting deeply with the people we love more than it is about passing on what we deem we need to pass on. 

“It’s important to say what we want to say before it is too late,” Zaiman continues. “No matter how old or young we are. It’s not just an elder that can die suddenly. It is any of us. And why wait to share how we feel about the people we love and care about? Why wait to repair what is broken? We must act now. We never know how much time we have.” 

Imagine surprising a recipient with your Ethical Will, Legacy Letter, or Forever Letter. Or choosing to share it on an important occasion such as a birthday, graduation, or wedding and creating a ritual around presenting or reading it. The act itself can emotionally impact everyone involved. 

“Why not be in the relationship now?” Zaiman asks. “Why leave important words that we want to share for after we die?” 

That being said, she believes that we needn’t be intimidated and stymied at the thought of such important personal sharing. 

“I encourage people to be themselves,” she says. “To not expect themselves to be Shakespeare. To write the way they write, in their own voices. To talk about themselves, the person they are writing to, and their relationship with the person they are writing to, to be honest and real and present.” 

Some Important Caveats 

No matter what language we use, Zaiman cautions us to think not only about what we share but also about our motivations for doing so. 

“We must be careful as we write legacy letters. To not command from the grave. And to not write a letter essentially asking that others live the lives we never did. We must remember that the people we are writing to are their own people with their own lives and interests and they must live their own lives, not the lives we had hoped to live and never succeeded at living, not even the lives we succeeded at living.” 

Living Your Legacy, Too 

There’s one additional value in recording your moral legacy, and in a way it can be the most important one of all. As Zaiman puts it, the act can be “a transformational experience, taking us to our ultimate truth, our authentic self.”  

In other words, this formal process of reviewing and explaining our lives can be the catalyst for revealing who we have been and who we are, not only to others but also to ourselves. And this revelation can inspire us to make some changes in the goals we pursue and the ways in which we spend our time pursuing them. 

In other words, as Socrates might agree, the examined life is worth living—and sharing. 

[Sidebar] Want to Get Started? 

Consider answering these questions: 

What was the most wonderful moment in your life? 

What was your most difficult moment and how did you deal with it? 

Who has/have been your greatest teacher(s)? 

What quality do you most value in a relationship? 

How would you describe “meaningful work”? 

What is the most important lesson you’ve learned so far? 

What would you want to be remembered for? 

Jeanette Leardi is a Portland-based social gerontologist, community educator, and author of Aging Sideways: Changing Our Perspectives on Getting Older. She promotes older adult empowerment through her popular presentations and workshops in journaling, memoir writing, ethical will creation, brain fitness, creativity, ageism, intergenerational communication, and caregiver support to people of all ages. Learn more about her work on her website. 

The Importance of Legacy Planning

Letter Writing: A Lost Art

The post Leaving––and Living––a Legacy appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.

When Mountlake Terrace Mayor Kyoko Matsumoto-Wright and I were children, the voters of our region rejected light rail. Twice. Federal funds earmarked for mass transit, as we called it then, were redirected to Atlanta. For the rest of our lives, the impact of those votes cast in the car-loving 1960s and 1970s has weighed ever more heavily on Seattle and its burgeoning suburbs.

Matsumoto-Wright, who is 74, was born in Japan. Her father, who served 20 years in the Army, was born in Hawaii. The family went back and forth between Japan and Hawaii until Matsumoto-Wright was 12, when they moved to Bothell, Wash. She is a graduate of Inglemoor High School and the University of Washington School of Drama. Her theatrical training has served her well during her long dual career in real estate and local government. She dyes her hair purple. She is not shy about speaking up, especially on the issues that matter most to her and her constituents—transportation and growth. When Link light rail was in its infancy, she made the case for a Mountlake Terrace station and for the building of apartments, townhomes, stores, and restaurants near where the future station would be.

For 41 years, Matsumoto-Wright has been a real estate broker for Coldwell Banker Bain. “I have history here,” she deadpanned. “I got to sell people their house, then I sold them another house, then I sold their kids a house, and then I sold their grandkids a house. All because I didn’t move around. I stayed right here and they all know where to find me.”

In 2000, she was elected president of the Snohomish County-Camano Association of Realtors. She went on to serve on the state’s Real Estate Commission where, she says, it was once customary for people to “show up, vote, and leave.” She chose to stick around and ask questions.

Mountlake Terrace asked her to serve on its planning commission. After a brutal series of arsons decimated the suburb’s tiny business district, a new town center plan was finally underway. It took five years of cutting through red tape and keeping the peace at meeting after meeting. “I wasn’t doing it for my resume. I was already at the age where I’m going, ‘what resume?’ but I really, really cared.”

People noticed how much Matsumoto-Wright cared. She was appointed to the City Council in 2008, and elected in 2009. When former mayor Jerry Smith died in 2018, she moved up.

Being mayor of Mountlake Terrace means being part of a whole network of city governments in north King and south Snohomish counties. It means attending many, many meetings. And it doesn’t pay much: $1,100 a month. (Matsumoto-Wright has also served on the Snohomish County Housing Authority.)

So why do it? Why should any of us get involved in local government?

Much as Matsumoto-Wright loves solving transportation and planning problems, that is not the #1 reason why she finds meaning in being the mayor. What really drives her, she says, is forming friendships with young people. And thinking about their future.

“We need to start listening to people in their 20s because they’re our future. And we are in the (transportation) pickle we’re in right now because the people before us decided not to do anything. They decided to vote against rail in 1968 and 1976. And the reasons why they did that are because it would not happen in their lifetime and it was too expensive. So now it is too expensive, and it’s not going to happen in (many) of our lifetimes, but we need to do it for the future. And for people in their 20s today. Because we need this.”

Meanwhile, Matsumoto-Wright tells her colleagues in government, “You’re not going to take away cars from the Boomers, so don’t even try. But we’re not going to be around forever.”

Matsumoto-Wright finds that speaking frankly about mortality is a good way to get people’s attention. “Many of my friends don’t even want to talk about the fact that they’re going to die. And many of my friends have already died. And I miss them. Terribly. But again, you’ve got to make new friends. Younger friends.”

Of the seven people on the Mountlake Terrace City Council, two, including the mayor herself, are baby boomers, three are Gen-xers, and two are millennials. “Many local elected officials at the city council level are older because the younger people don’t have the time. They have careers and kids to raise. So we’re lucky we have two millennials on our city council.”

It’s healthy and meaningful, she contends, for council members of all ages to focus on the future that lies beyond their own life spans. But it is also meaningful to learn from the past. “One thing about being on the planning commission and the council and all the other commissions is that I’m learning about history, and I’m learning about how life was lived before. Before cars and so forth, you didn’t have people living in suburbs, and they only had trains. Greenlake was all summer cabins. Alderwood Manor used to be egg farms. They got rid of the streetcar lines just before they decided we were going to need it back for rail.”

One of her pet peeves—how many people in local government never actually ride a bus or a train. “People don’t realize, if you drive a car, you have a choice. You don’t realize how many people have to take public transportation because they don’t have a choice. They don’t have a car.”

As a real estate agent, Matsumoto-Wright spends plenty of time behind the wheel. But she also values her senior Orca card ($1 a ride) and the freedom it gives her. And she is genuinely excited about the opening, at long last, of the Mountlake Terrace Link Light Rail Station, which opened on August 30, 2024, along with two other stations in Shoreline and the northernmost station in Lynnwr and that’s issuing proclamations. One of her most recent ones was honoring Grammy-winning composer and fiddler Mark O’Connor, who grew up in Mountlake Terrace. Her next one, she hopes, will go to Lily Gladstone, just as soon as the actor’s busy schedule permits it. Gladstone, a 2004 graduate of Mountlake Terrace High School, starred in Martin Scorsese’s Killers of the Flower Moon, for which she was the first Native American to win the Golden Globe for best actress and to be nominated for an Academy Award for best actress. Her parents still live in Mountlake Terrace, so Matsumoto-Wright is hopeful that Gladstone will be able to receive the proclamation in person.

It will be a poignant moment for Matsumoto-Wright, who was one ofood.

Just in time, you might say. The current population of Mountlake Terrace is 24,260. In 20 years, it is expected to climb to nearly 36,000.

There’s one more thing Matsumoto-Wright loves about being mayo the first Asian Americans to attend the UW School of Drama. And poignant, too, for her many younger friends in local government, to see one of their hometown peers stepping into a bright future.

Ann Hedreen is an author (Her Beautiful Brain), teacher of memoir writing, and filmmaker. Hedreen` and her husband, Rustin Thompson, own White Noise Productions and have made more than 150 short films and several feature documentaries together, including Quick Brown Fox: An Alzheimer’s Story. She is currently at work on a book of essays and is a regular contributor to 3rd Act Magazine, writing about topics including conscious aging, retirement, mindfulness, and health.

A City for Everyone

How to Build a Better Old Age

The post Kyoko Matsumoto on Why We Should All Get Involved in Local Politics appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.

I have a death wish: That we may all leave this world knowing how much we mattered, that everyone hears their own eulogy and can savor how it feels to be radically seen. And that, as a result, we can all live into the legacies that others see possible in us before it’s too late.

After all, why should eulogies only be for dead people?

Why are the truest feelings said about loved ones when they can’t hear, savor, or bask in them? And how might we honor all those around us who are very much alive?

My term for these “living eulogies” is Gracenotes®. Like musical gracenotes, they’re an embellishment to pieces of our lives that makes life even better. Gracenotes® are actions we take to say, “I see you. Here’s why and how you matter …”

The importance of mattering isn’t just some feel-good idea, either. Let’s look at a few examples from science that reinforce the power and importance of mattering. I like to call this data “the math of mattering.”

The U.S. Surgeon General in 2022 named Mattering at Work as the Fourth Essential in his Framework for Workplace Mental Health & Well-Being, noting: “People want to know that they matter to those around them and that their work matters. Knowing you matter has been shown to lower stress, while feeling like you do not can raise the risk for depression. This essential rests on the human needs of dignity and meaning.”

Another proof point for mattering? Famed Harvard psychologist Ellen Langer and her team gave plants to two distinct groups of senior-living residents. Researchers told the first group that they were directly responsible for keeping the plant alive. They told the second group that the staff would take care of each of their plants. After 18 months, twice as many patients who were told they were responsible for keeping the plants alive were still alive themselves. They knew they had a valuable role to play. Turns out, mattering matters to plants and to people—and can even extend our lives.

And then there’s what psychologist Gordon Flett calls “anti-mattering.”

In his book, The Psychology of Mattering: Understanding the Human Need to be Significant, Flett shares the eye-popping story of a man in prison who tried escaping just to see if anyone would notice. He felt that invisible. (Then what happened? He was seen. And recaptured.)

So, it’s a deep, human need to know we matter and are making meaningful, visible contributions. Yet, too many of us die not knowing how much we’ve made a difference.

How many times have you heard a beautiful eulogy at a funeral and wondered, ‘Did this person, this person who’s no longer here with us, know how others felt about them while still alive?’

That’s why Gracenotes® are so powerful. They help you, family, friends, and community members intentionally navigate life and loss differently. Make meaning from disillusionment. Amplify the voice of elders. Boost gratitude and belonging, which are proven to boost resiliency. Navigate grief, change, and loss with more ease. And get our emotional assets in order, alongside our financial assets.

Imagine, for example, a Gracenote® that reads, “You display continual integrity—I see how you consistently stick to your ethical principles and are reliably trustworthy, time and time again.”

How might this observation inspire the recipient to live more deeply into their integrity?

Or “Whenever you walk into a room, there’s so much more positivity and possibility.”

How might this simple comment affect how someone shows up in a room?

Indeed, Gracenotes® reflect our true, authentic selves back to us. They show us what we cannot see. It’s a bit like the title of the blockbuster book, We’re All the Light We Cannot See.

When we know how we are seen—when we know how we matter—we can do more of those things.

It’s that simple—and that profound.

So, what do you think keeps us from “gracing” one another? In polling hundreds of adults across generations, I have learned that the primary reason people cite is a fear of feeling awkward.

It may be quite human to think that the recipient will feel it’s weird that you’re reaching out with a note after a long time. But Dr. Peggy Liu from the University of Pittsburgh ran a 2022 experiment to explore this. Study participants sent a short note to someone in their social circle with whom they hadn’t interacted in a while. Then researchers asked recipients about how they felt to receive such a note. Turns out, they’re generally not thinking, ‘Well, this is awkward.’ Instead, they’re thinking, ‘Someone took time to reach out. They thought about me. What a lovely surprise.’

Another reason people may not write a eulogy for the living is that some say they’re not sure what to say.

As an antidote, I offer this simple roadmap. Think about one or two key words that embody your “Grace-ee.” Be you. Remember, you’re not trying to get a job at Hallmark. Know that you can’t “write wrong.”

And try one of these prompts if you still feel stuck: I always laugh when …You are the only person I know who …  You’re the best at … I turn to you when I need mentoring around …

Sometimes, though, the most compelling and important gracenote for any one of us to write may be the one we pen to ourselves. Where might we give ourselves some grace? Or what author Elizabeth Gilbert calls, “a cloak of mercy”?

Now, if writing’s not your thing, try a drawing, a video, a word cloud, or a photo collage. Can you write or even text a grace sentence? The medium doesn’t matter—what matters is the doing. A participant in one of my workshops said, ‘Most procrastination involves viewing a task as monumental. … But in the case of writing a gracenote, the impact is monumental—not the task.”

So that’s my death wish: That you see how your gracenote—no matter what form it takes—can be an oasis in a desert of people who are dying to know how they matter in this world. Before they pass out of it.

Andrea Driessen’s funny and poignant TED Talk about Gracenotes® (tinyurl.com/grace-notes) has been viewed almost 2 million times. A hospice volunteer with Providence in Seattle, she speaks and writes about topics relevant to older adults. She also delivers pro-bono interactive Gracenotes® workshops to qualified nonprofits via funding from The Unlikely Foundation.

How to Eulogize Your Loved One

Immortal Me

Allowing a Natural Death at Life’s End

The post Mattering Matters—Gracenotes® and The Power of Living Eulogies appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.

In six short months I will vote in my third presidential election cycle. As a relatively recent voter—my first election was 2016, which feels like a long-forgotten memory rather than eight years ago—I have only two full presidential elections under my belt. Both of those elections included candidates nearly 50 years my senior. And two of those candidates—Joe Biden (81) and Donald Trump (77)—are again on the ballot. I would not be considered one of the more experienced voters.

Age is clearly on the ballot. Headlines in The New York Times, The Washington Post and other major outlets have put candidates’ ages under the microscope. Age has been the subject of opinion pieces, polls, and President Biden’s own speeches. But not everyone has such minimal voting context as I to pull from. Many voters today have been eligible to vote more than double the time I have been alive.

In our last (spring) issue, I asked younger voters what they thought of age in politics. But what about experienced voters? How do experienced voters feel about older candidates? Does voting longevity influence views on age and experience? What would they say to their younger voter selves?

Remembering Their First Time Voting

Curtis Graf, 68, is a general contractor living in Park City, Utah. The first time he remembers thinking about age during an election was when Ronald Reagan was on the ballot. “He wasn’t that old, comparatively,” Graf recalled thinking of Reagan at the time. Older age was something he remembers associating with local government officials only.

Donna Kelleran, 69, from Bellingham, Wash., first remembers voting when she was 18. Except for her time at college, she doesn’t recall ever missing voting in an election at either the national or state level.

Age isn’t an issue for Kelleran when voting for a candidate. “I’m looking for the quality of the person and their ability to get the job done,” she says. “Age plays no role anymore, in anything.”

In 1972, Randy Suhr, 70, of Seattle cast his first vote in a presidential election. At that time, Suhr doesn’t recall thinking about age. “I don’t think we thought of people being too old to govern based on their biological age. I think, if anything, we just thought they were all too old and out of touch with what we, the younger generation, were interested in.”

Suhr thinks that age is partially obscuring potential conversation around policy today. If people weren’t discussing age as a factor in the election, “then maybe we would be talking more about issues,” he says.

Focusing on Age vs. Experience

Kelleran notes that experience is the top priority for her when voting. “I’ll vote for you if you’re young, old, or whatever if I think you’re qualified,” she says.

The difference between biological age and experience is something that came up often while interviewing voters for this article. “I think you need a certain amount of age to have experience,” Graf says. But he is not exactly confident that a lifetime in the political sphere leads to better candidates. Career politicians risk being out of touch with everyday voters, which Suhr also mentions.

“I don’t want someone who’s had a lifetime in politics,” Graf says, “but I do want someone who’s had enough experience to know how the system works.” As a solution, Graf suggests implementing both age and term limits on candidates, an idea younger voters also suggested to me.

Kelleran describes the difference between younger and experienced voters as an issue of scope. “When you’re younger, you only have one or two policies that you’re interested in. I have a broader vision of what I need out of a candidate,” she says.

“One good thing age does is give you a broader view of what happens,” Suhr notes, of voting and seeing change (or stagnation), compared to voters who have less experience to draw from. My two election cycles don’t provide nearly as much context as Suhr’s 13.

While she did not express support for term limits like Graf, Kelleran advocates for a change in the way we see voters around her age.

Experienced voters—and politicians—are often viewed from an ageist perspective as “your grandparents, in the walkers,” Kelleran says. “That’s certainly a percentage of the population. But there are a lot of us out here who are not that way,” she adds. “So why are you focusing on, you know, that half or that third of the population? The rest of us, we’re not going down without a fight, and it’s not an easy fight.”

Looking to the past to see the intergenerational future

Graf has never declared for a political party in all his years as a voter. But looking back on his younger voter self, he sees room to have “work[ed]a little harder to educate myself.” Coming from a family of liberal voters, Graf says he discounted other sides of the political spectrum early on.

Suhr echoed that statement: “Looking back, I think what I would have said is get more involved.”

Graf also suggested becoming more active in politics earlier on. “Sooner is always better in politics. You don’t like the way things are going, why wait?”

Kelleran advocates for a wider acceptance of voters across the age spectrum. As a person growing up in the 1970s, she says her generation has been advocating for many of the same issues we face today since she cast her very first ballot. While she has “no problem passing the torch” to younger generations, Kelleran would like to see more intergenerational appreciation. “I think it’s about loving and honoring the younger generation for what they will bring to the party,” she says. But she also feels that the younger generation should “honor me for what I have brought to the party.”

“I think it’s smart of young people to question the age of their leaders. I have no problem with that,” Suhr says.

I also have no problem with that. But as a younger voter I think it’s still important to seek out guidance from those who have experience voting in elections—especially in elections beyond the past two cycles. But it will take voters of all ages—those who are new like me to those who have been voting for years— to change how we think about age in politics.

Kelleran advocates for a similar type of intergenerational thinking: “The generation that is alive today paved the road. We paved the way to openness, to voting rights, to women’s rights. Hell, the road now has potholes. It’s the younger generation that needs to fill them in and continue down the path.”

My Takeaway

In addition to encouraging early political involvement by younger voters, the experienced voters I interviewed all advocate for something important: context. Voting in the upcoming election is a small but important drop in the electoral bucket. Seeing how each vote lands throughout one’s electoral history—as these individuals have since their first vote at 18—is an important part of the process. Younger voters like me don’t have this decades-long perspective.

The candidate’s age is not what these seasoned voters are looking at. Experience and a candidate’s position on issues won out easily in our conversations. Maybe that’s because these voters have electoral comparisons to draw from over numerous election cycles. My context is based on just two very fraught elections. This made me reflect on how early in this process I am. These experienced voters showed me where it was possible to go—and how important it is to see one election within a broader scope. Until we gain more context, young voters like me might do well to consider the perspective experienced voters offer, and to listen and follow their lead.

Zachary Fletcher is a freelance journalist covering aging and other news, most recently for The Kitsap Sun/USA TODAY. His work has appeared in PBS’s Next Avenue and The Sacramento Bee, among other publications. He lives in Seattle with his partner. Learn more about him at https://fletcherzachary.weebly.com/.

Young Voters, Old Candidates

The post Experienced Voters, Older Candidates appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.

By MICHAEL C. PATTERSON

On a bright November day in the year 2038, the family gathers to celebrate Bobby Fitzgerald’s 95th birthday. The temperature is in the upper 80s and the air quality is bad, so they gather in Bobby and Jasmine’s climate-controlled living room.

Bobby’s son, Josh (70), and daughter Liz (75), “the kids,” are clearly excited as Bobby opens his gift card from them. As he carefully breaks the seal and pulls out the enclosed card a shimmering, rainbow-colored message emerges. A female voice says, “Congratulations, Bobby! This is your ticket to immortality!”

After a moment of stunned silence, the room explodes with noisy shouts from Bobby’s extended family. “Oh, my God!” “Is that the thing where they create an avatar of you?” “Not an avatar, a freaking hologram. A hologram!” “Holy shit.” “Hologram of whom?” “That is so cool.” “Of Bobby!” I heard about that!” “No way!”

Bobby and his wife Jasmine exchange raised eyebrows. Jasmine gives Bobby a, “Well, I wasn’t expecting that!” expression. Bobby nods in agreement.

“Thank you,” Bobby says. “I think I know what this is, but what exactly does this mean—my ‘ticket to immortality?’”

With a dramatic flourish of his arms, Josh announces, “We signed you up for an afterlife hologram service, IMMORTAL ME. You get to create a hologram of yourself that will live on, you know, after . . . you know. . . You’ll be immortal.” Then more quietly, to his dad: “We will all be able to be with you and talk with you whenever we want.”

“It’s a present as much for us,” explains Liz, “as it is for you. I mean all of us.” She gestures to everyone in the room. “And, we thought you should have the chance to work on it before you die, you know, so you can have some input about what information can be accessed.”

“You mean,” Jasmine asks, “you can create these hologram things after a person dies, without their permission? Is that even legal?”

“No, no! Josh answers. Well, . . . yes. The laws are kind of vague and unenforceable, but . . . it’s possible to create a hologram without permission, you know, after a person has died, but we wouldn’t do that. We want your permission in advance of . . . you know . . . and want you to have some input into the information the program has access, too.”

“Some input?” asks Jasmine. “I’d want full control over the information. And don’t you dare create a hologram of me without my permission or I’ll kill you.”

“No Mom,” both kids reply. “We would never do anything without your express (written) permission.”

Liz adds, “You should write specific instructions into your will or your advance directive. And I really hope you give us permission. It’s your legacy! It’s a way to keep you with us.”

Jasmine frowns and shakes her head. “I don’t know. I would not be me. I might just want you to keep whatever memories are in your head. Positive memories. You can forget the bad stuff. And make sure my hair looks okay.” She looks at Bobby. “What about you?”

“What kind of information are we talking about,” asks Bobby. “What kind of data does it use, or need to create to . . . I guess, to recreate a reasonable facsimile of me? Is that what we are talking about?”

“Your hologram will be great, Dad,” says Josh. “You have so much data to input.”

“The program uses any data that is available, anything you have produced and digitized,” explains Liz. “Anything that has been written or said about you.”

You have written so much stuff,” Josh continues, “through your books, your articles, your newsletter. And you have so much writing that you never even show anyone. Right? Even to mom. It would be a waste if all those deep, profound thoughts were lost or forgotten.”

“Yeah!” Bobby rolls his eyes. “Great loss!”

“No, we’re serious, Dad,” says Liz.

“And all your podcasts and the videos,” adds Josh. “The hologram will be great at duplicating your voice, your gestures, your vocal inflections, your facial expressions. … You know, the funny slapstick movies you make.”

“No one’s very interested in my ‘profound insights’ now,” Bobby says. “Not even me. I don’t see why anyone would be interested in the future.”

“Well, you never know,” says Josh. “I mean . . . I’m too busy now, you know, with work and all, but when things calm down, you know, I might be curious about what Dad was writing about all those years.”

“And the thing is,” says Liz, “it’s not like your hologram is going to read us your full essays. It will pick and choose. I might ask you, ‘Hey Dad, what made you change your thinking on spirituality?’ And it will give me a little summary of your early writing on the subject, then summarize your more recent stuff, and give me its best guess about why your ideas shifted. You know how Chatbots work, right?” Bobby nods. “So, it would be like talking to you.”

Liz looks down, spins away, grabs a tissue, and blows her nose.

Bobby reaches toward his daughter. “Come here.” Bobby stands and they give each other a big, long hug.

“I love talking with you. I’ll miss that,” Bobby whispers.

“I know!” Liz takes a deep breath. “Me too. That’s why, I thought. . . I wanted . . .” Bobby gives her a big squeeze and a kiss on her forehead.

“Will the hologram be as silly as the real papa?” asks Lara, Bobby’s great-granddaughter.

“I’m not silly.” Bobby feigns shock at the accusation. “Who said that?”

“Me!” Little Lara puts her hands on her hips and gives Bobby her famous snake-eye look.

Bobby wags an accusing finger. “You are the silly one.”

“No, you.”

“I am never silly, never have been,” says Bobby as he grabs Lara and tickles her into screaming submission.

“The hologram won’t be able to give us a real hug, or tickle us, right?” Jasmine asks.

“Isn’t it expensive?” Bobby asks. “It’s too expensive.”

The family responds in chorus. “We all chipped in.” “Prices have really come down.” “You are worth it.” “Yeah, immortality doesn’t come cheap!” “It’s an investment in our future.”

“Is it available to everyone?” Bobby says as he looks around the room. “How long would I—would the virtual me—last?”

“You could be immortal, Dad! Forever!” Josh shouts. “And the hologram program would be available to all of us. It’s cool. You could be in two places at the same time, or more.

“Your hologram program will live for as long as coming generations decide to renew the license agreement.” Liz finds this part a bit awkward. “There’s an annual fee that is renewed automatically, until . . .”

“Until someone decides to finally pull the plug,” Bobby says.

“If you don’t want to do it, Dad,” says Liz as she reaches for the card, “we can cancel and get a refund.”

“No. I mean, it won’t matter to me. Right? I’ll be dead,” Says Bobby as he holds the card against his chest. “And, frankly, I’m vain enough to want my ideas—the few good ones—to live longer than my body, and possibly have some small influence on,” nodding to the grandkids, “your grandchildren and great-grandchildren.”

“Yeah. We’ll program your hologram to spout only pearls of wisdom. None of the nonsense,” says Josh. “No, seriously. It would be nice to have your advice and even just, you know, to hear your voice, and . . .

Liz picks up the thread, “And you’ve said there are so many questions about your mom and dad you never got to ask. The avatar would give us a chance to ask you questions we didn’t—or couldn’t ask—while you were alive.”

“If you guys really want it . . .” Bobby says with a shrug and smile.

“We do.”

“Jasmine?” Bobby looks to his wife.

“Sure. Your choice. It might be good for a laugh every now and then. I’m planning to outlive you, by the way, so who knows, I might miss you from time to time.” She turns to the kids. “Can it be programmed to focus on the best sides of his personality? Can we dial up the tenderness and dial down the cynicism, for example? Cut out the silly jokes and the stories I’ve heard a million times?”

“I think you kinda get the full package, Mom,” says Josh.

“But I could turn this hologram thingy on and off when I like, right?” asks Jasmine. “That might be refreshing.”

She leans over and gives Bobby a kiss and a pat on the cheek.

“So, it’s a yes,” asks Liz. “You want it?”

“Yes. I want it.”

As the family applauds, Bobby says in a whisper to Jasmine, “The irony is that I won’t be able to experience my own immortality.”

Michael C. Patterson had an early career in the theater, then worked at PBS, developing programs and systems to support the educational mission of public television. Michael ran the Staying Sharp brain health program for AARP, then founded MINDRAMP to continue to promote physical well-being and mental flourishing for older adults. Michael currently explores these topics on his MINDRAMP Podcast and his Synapse newsletter. His website is www.mindramp.org. 

More musings on immortality:

Striving for Immortality

How to Live Forever! Magic Formula! Fountain of Youth!

Resilience: The Simple Truth About Living to 100

How to live forever…

The post Immortal Me appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.

Some things are meant to be. About the time COVID came along I received a memoir from a friend in Australia and thought, “Heck, during COVID isolation, why don’t I write my memoir?” So, I did. At first, it was to be a little memoir I would give to my children, but then I really got into the writing and found I had a lot to say.

I had never written a book, so I took free online writing courses.

Learning how to write dialogue, the importance of simple, concise, straightforward language, and the value of description was fun and challenging. My writing kept improving, and that was satisfying.

I shared my writing with friends, who said, “This is good as well as informative.” They encouraged me, but I also learned that friends typically say that.

Working with a Professional Editor

I hired a professional—a developmental editor. He cost as much as a college course, and working with him was like taking one. I had written 55,000 words. His first action was to discard 15,000 of them, restructure my memoir to read like a hero’s journey, and have me write 6,000 new words to fill in the journey’s gap. Then, it was on to submit book proposals.

Could I find a publisher for my book, even though I was a first-time author in a challenging market?

Finding a Publisher

I read that only 2-3% of authors find a publisher, which was intimidating information, but COVID made submitting proposals easy. Instead of needing to mail out proposals to numerous agents and publishing companies, they now accept proposals as email attachments. I spent days researching where to send my proposal and set up a form to track who I emailed and the status of my replies. I sent more than 50 emails and got five replies, all negative.

I was ready to give up and consider self-publishing when I got a call.

A publishing company was interested! Oh, wondrous joy! They liked my writing. They would take a chance on a first-time, 78-year-old author. My book, Living with Inattentive ADHD, was released on August 29, 2023.

Another Learning Experience

Working with a publisher was another learning experience, but less fun.

There are two advantages to working with a traditional publisher: 

1. It increases the likelihood of having your book reviewed. Recognized, national ADHD authorities write positive reviews about my book. They wouldn’t have given my manuscript a second glance if I self-published.

2. Most publishers access huge markets for distribution. On the day of its release, my book was available on Amazon and other stores in the U.S., the UK, Canada, and Australia.

The downsides of working with a publisher:

1. You have no control over when the book will be published. It was almost two years between signing the contract and having my book published.

2. Most contracts give the author very little money. My $16.95 paperback book pays me $1.27 in royalties—talk about an unpleasant learning experience.

3. Publishers typically expect authors to market their books. So, I do lots of work, and they make most of the money. I didn’t know this when I started.

Then There’s Marketing!

I developed new skills writing a book and working with a publisher. Now I have to learn book marketing skills. But there is more. While writing my memoir, I learned that my late-in-life diagnosis of the inattentive type of ADHD continued to be a problem for others.

Helping Others

I created the website www.iadhd.org, completed paperwork to establish a nonprofit called the Inattentive ADHD Coalition, and established a board of directors. Then, I focused on educating about inattentive ADHD by writing blogs, publishing online articles, creating a presence on social media, and recording, editing, and posting videos on our YouTube channel. (Search for Inattentive ADHD Coalition)

My labors of love continue—selling my book, writing articles, doing author presentations, and leading the nonprofit where I am the executive director. My days are exciting, interesting, full, and fun. What could be better when you get ready to celebrate your 80th birthday?

Cynthia Hammer, MSW, discovered that she had the inattentive type of ADHD at age 49. She has written a memoir/self-help book, Living with Inattentive ADHD, published by HatherLeigh Press. She is also the founder and executive director of the nonprofit organization, Inattentive ADHD Coalition (www.iadhd.org)

The post At 78, I Learned Whole New Skill Sets and Am Having a Blast appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.

Author Isabel Wilkerson is not one to waste words on small talk. “We are warehousing the crown jewels of our society,” she declared, just a few minutes into her keynote address to the more than 3,000 researchers, clinicians, educators, students, journalists, and other attendees at the annual conference of the Gerontological Society of America. We are neglecting “the libraries among us,” she went on. By “libraries” she means living human beings—older Americans whose stories are a part of our history.

Wilkerson, a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, spent 15 years gathering and preserving many of those stories in the course of researching and writing The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America’s Great Migration (2010), her sweeping account of the Great Migration of six million African Americans who made the journey out of the Jim Crow South to start new lives in the North, Midwest and West. In the book, she zeroes in on three main characters, unspooling their stories in great depth and detail after hundreds of hours of interviews. Wilkerson is also the author of Caste: The Origin of our Discontent (2020), a treatise on how racism in the United States is in reality the bedrock of a deeply entrenched caste system.

At the GSA convention, Wilkerson spoke not only of the value the life stories told in The Warmth of Other Suns have had in contributing to the historical and cultural record, but the value those narratives accrued, in the actual telling, for the people who told them. They gave themselves the profound gift of chronicling and affirming the dignity of their own lives.

The Great Migration was not just about resilience—a word Wilkerson hears a lot when people talk to her about her book—it was, she assured the GSA audience, about “human beings who sought fulfilment.” It was about people who sought and found “self-agency at every stage of their lives,” who migrated to “live the dreams they had for themselves.” It was about people who insisted, against all odds, that their lives had meaning.

As Wilkerson spoke from a giant screen, I took a quick look around the huge ballroom of the Indiana Convention Center in Indianapolis. Though I was briefly disappointed that she was speaking to us live via video instead of in person, I was already over it, and it looked like everyone else was too. Wilkerson had us in the palm of her virtual hand. And by “us” I do not mean an audience of people over 50, as you might expect at a gerontological conference. Thirty percent of the registered attendees were students. Forty-two percent of all GSA members are 45 or younger.

The young researchers and clinicians who have committed to careers in gerontology, which is the study of the physical, mental and social aspects of aging—as opposed to geriatrics, which is a medical specialty focused on the care and treatment of older persons—understand the urgency of the need for their work. Over the next three decades, the number of adults 65 and older in the U.S. will grow from 561 million in 2020 to a projected 837 million by 2050. The biggest jump will be in the 80+ group, from 13.2 million in 2020 to a projected 30.9 million in 2050. We are living longer. But a longer lifespan does not necessarily mean a longer “healthspan,” as one speaker called it, meaning the amount of your life you spend in mostly good health. And health and wealth are closely tied. With these dramatic increases in the numbers of older Americans will come increases in the number of fragile Americans, many of whom are already struggling financially. One recent study of the 100 largest U.S. metro areas showed that 37 percent of single residents 65 and older are unable to afford their basic needs.

Many of us will be ok. But many won’t.

Which begs the question: is there a place for storytelling and meaning-making, for all kinds of self-expression, at the funding table—public or private—when basic needs are so pressing?

As a writer and teacher of memoir writing, I wanted to know. As a newly minted Medicare enrollee, I wanted to know. I decided to seek out seminars and presentations that focused on writing, storytelling, really any kind of creative pursuit, to see if researchers could tell me whether there was reason to believe that creativity can contribute to healthy longevity, and to the sense of meaning and fulfilment of which Wilkerson had spoken so eloquently.

Deep in the GSA schedule, I found a symposium titled, “On the Threshold: Creativity in Mid-Life,” which included a presentation on “Arts and Creativity and Their Impact on Health and Well-Being: A Systematic Review of the Evidence,” by Roger O’Sullivan of the Institute of Public Health in Ireland. The Institute’s systematic review included studies of arts programs in 18 different countries involving more than 7,000 participants, age 50 to 94. What the reviewers found was that arts programs do indeed “advance public health.” Dance, of any kind, scored very high on their multipronged evaluation scale, because it has so many different kinds of benefits:  physical, social, emotional, and cognitive (remembering steps). Instrumental music, singing, visual arts, drama, and theater all ranked highly. Writing was not specifically included in the review, though O’Sullivan speculated it may’ve been absorbed into the “visual/creative” category.

Professor Carolyn Adams Price of Mississippi State University has been doing related research into the value of what she calls “serious leisure”—a creative avocation that may have started as a hobby but has come to mean much more, including the desire to share your creative work, be it in a gallery, on stage, or as part of a local festival. Her study of more than 500 creatively active older Americans identified benefits in four areas: calming, a sense of identity, a feeling of connection to God or nature, and recognition from others. By recognition, she meant the pleasure of sharing and community, rather than fame.

Of the three people Wilkerson profiled in depth in The Warmth of Other Suns, she told us that the one who seemed most vibrant, yet content, in late life was Ida Mae Gladney, who was never rich, but who, as she grew old, had gradually become the beloved, unofficial block grandmother in her southside Chicago neighborhood. It was a role she took seriously. She knew everyone, including the drug dealers and the police. “Serious leisure” can mean many things, and this was Ida Mae Gladney’s version. And now she had the added pleasure of telling Wilkerson all about it.

Gladney, who lived to be 91, “lived in the moment, surrendered to whatever the day presented, and remained her true, original self,” wrote Wilkerson. “Her success was spiritual, perhaps the hardest of all to achieve. And because of that, she was the happiest and lived the longest of them all.”

Ann Hedreen is an author (Her Beautiful Brain), teacher of memoir writing, and filmmaker. Hedreen and her husband, Rustin Thompson, own White Noise Productions and have made more than 150 short films and several feature documentaries together, including Quick Brown Fox: An Alzheimer’s Story. She is currently at work on a book of essays. This article was written with the support of a journalism fellowship from The Gerontological Society of America, The Journalists Network on Generations, and the Silver Century Foundation.

Read more by Ann Hedreen

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As you consider our moment in history, with our democracy and planet in peril, do you struggle, like me, to find the strength to do the heavy lifting? When I hear young adults say they don’t plan to have children because they fear the future, the weight in my heart feels nearly insurmountable.

Many of us are scared. We don’t sleep well at night. We’re exhausted. We find ourselves avoiding the news. Yet, we face difficult and crucial questions. What do we owe the future? What will be the legacy of our lives?

While I don’t have all the answers, I would like to share a strategy grounded in insights from Joanna Macy, a dear friend and teacher that builds my inner strength and resilience. From her, I learned we do not live only in this present moment, but that we live in the “ongoingness of time.”  Our existence is tied to those who came before us and the choices they made just as our lives are the foundation for future generations. My ancestors made decisions that led to my current life and circumstances. In turn, I imagine the voices of my great, great, grandchildren—the “future ones”—in my ear and in my heart, urging me to consider their needs as I make choices today.

Tap Into Your Ally Superpower

When you struggle with the sometimes overwhelming yet essential task of advocating for a better future, your ancestors, future generations, and the natural world are your hidden allies. To access their strength, use this 5-minute exercise. Graba pen, paper, or perhaps your journal.  Give yourself 10 to 15 seconds to jot down what comes to your mind for each item on the list below. Don’t overthink the categories. Allow names and images to easily arise. When you’re ready, take a deep, cleansing breath and write:

• The names of three ancestors, related or not, who have impacted your life.

• Three people—alive now—who are important in your life.

• A place in the natural world that has brought you joy, serenity, or awe.

• Another place in the natural world that is important, that you treasure. It could be your backyard, a neighborhood park, or the Grand Canyon.

• An animal, domestic or wild, that you find amazing, interesting.

• A child whom you love.

Look at your list. These are your allies! They live within you and you can call upon them when you feel stuck. Don’t forget them or take them for granted for they can be a source of strength, passion, and purpose. This is your ally superpower.

During those dark nights of the soul, access this hidden strength from your ancestors and descendants, this deep time that goes beyond your personal experience. Read memoirs of people who have lived through wars, oppressions, or other difficult moments in history. Even if you are not a descendant, their experience can add to your own resilience. I sometimes restore my energy with memories of how my grandparents coped with hardships. My mother’s family came from what is now Ukraine. When they left their home in the late 1800s, they left behind their family and lives, knowing they would likely never return. Their courage made it possible for me to live where I do, in a home that is safe and secure. I keep pictures of them, and other allies around my home, that remind me that my life is much bigger than just myself.

Best of all, summoning your allies can be magical and a lot of fun. You can have conversations with your descendants. Even give them names if you choose. Call upon them to be with you as you walk into an important city council meeting and know that you are speaking for their lives, as well as your own. They have no faces, no names. Yet, the decisions we all make will affect their lives—whether they will be able to breathe clean air, drink fresh water, and enjoy the fruits of the land in that unknowable future.

Allies can be Animals and More

Our allies are not just other human beings, but as we’ve noted in our journaling exercise, they can be a special place in the natural world that provide awe, inspiration, or comfort. Or animals with whom we feel a special connection that open us to the non-human experience. Or, we can embrace our “ecological self,” recognizing we are a part of the living body of Earth. This ecological self opens us to an enduring, energetic life force that is available and can power our human selves. I sometimes take a moment when outdoors to imagine myself breathing with the trees. As I breathe in, they breathe out. Together we are life, breathing itself.

To my great, great grandchildren, I offer my hopes and my dreams, and send them my love in the form of activism on behalf of their lives. While I know that none of us are equipped to solve the world’s problems, I trust that if we join forces to advocate for the well-being of future generations, that’s the least we could and should do.

Ally Superpower and the Power of One

You may ask yourself, “Who am I to think that I can take on the problems of the world? I am only one, small person.” As Martin Luther King once wrote, “It really boils down to this: that all life is interrelated. We are all caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied into a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one destiny, affects all indirectly.”

Lynne Iser is President of Elders Action Network. Her passion is to engage elders in addressing the critical issues that keep us up at night and threaten our precious world. She previously co-founded the Spiritual Eldering Institute (sage-ing.org), with Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi. Currently, she facilitates the work of Joanna Macy’s and teaches workshops for Yerusha Sage-ing® Legacy Program

More on Allies from 3rd Act:

An Ally is a person who stands beside us and shares similar values, thoughts or experiences. Allies are colleagues or other people who share a common language or perspective with us. They are the “Oh, Honey! Been there, done that!” kind of friends.  Read “Companions, Allies and Advocates” for more.

Discover some of your descendant allies through genealogy. Read one women’s journey and how to get started in “How Genealogy Captured Me.“

The post Summon Your Ally Superpower appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.

Rev. Rick Reynolds knows what drives him. “I am who I am. I’m interested in relieving human suffering and caring for people who are not as fortunate as I have been,” he says, simply, as if it’s no big deal, as if it’s as easy to say as, “I’d like a cup of coffee.” And he says it without even a hint of holier-than-thou-ness. I can’t explain how he pulls this off, but he does, and he’s been doing it for twice as long as the two decades I’ve been lucky enough to know him.

Rev. Reynolds recently retired at 69 after 28 years as executive director of Operation Nightwatch, which, for nearly half a century, has been a port in a storm for people experiencing homelessness in Seattle. Reynolds joined the Nightwatch staff in 1994, after several years of volunteering for Nightwatch’s late-night street ministry. At the time, the organization had $30,000 in the bank and was known for giving out socks, blankets, and sandwiches.

In 1999, a sudden opportunity came up to buy a building where, late in the evening, Nightwatch could serve a hot dinner, find and dispatch people to the city’s remaining shelter beds, and—eventually, after a major renovation—open a 24-room living space for low-income seniors on the building’s second floor. Word spread among some of Nightwatch’s regular dinner volunteers, who dug deep and persuaded their friends to do the same. The building was purchased, and fundraising began for the senior housing makeover.

Meanwhile, hot meals and shelter dispatch were happening every night, 365 nights a year, as they are to this day. Reynolds is proud of the fact that Nightwatch kept right on going through the pandemic, even though dinner had to be boxed and the number of available shelter beds around the city were drastically reduced by distancing requirements.

You would think, after 28 years, Reynolds would be ready for a restful retirement. But no. “I hate it,” he says, blunt as always. “I miss my staff telling me what to do every day.”

He says he’s put on weight. (A former marathon runner, he had to give up running due to knee pain.) He sometimes feels depressed. His wife Lorri is still busy, as a teacher in a parenting skills program, and Reynolds feels the contrast. He’s writing—stories inspired by Nightwatch, perhaps a memoir—but finding it hard to stay focused. He picks up food on Saturdays for the Emmanuel Community Services Food Bank. He is active in the recovery community. He has “many homeless guys on speed dial,” and meets with several of them regularly for coffee or lunch.

But still, he misses the daily/nightly whirl of Operation Nightwatch.

The son of an elementary school principal, Reynolds grew up in Edmonds. He and Lorri both graduated from Seattle Pacific University but they didn’t meet there; they met after college, while working at the former Sears store on Aurora Avenue.

Reynolds wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with his life. He liked to sing and a friend invited him to help run a gospel singalong at the Branch Villa retirement home on Sunday mornings. Before long, he quit Sears and became a VISTA volunteer, whose job was to “work on nursing home reform” and register older voters. That led to “two half-time jobs”—one at Catholic Community Services and the other at Advent Christian Church, where he was encouraged to attend seminary.

Meanwhile, he and Lorri were living in a common-purse commune, in an old mansion at 14^th and Olive in Seattle. For several years, they pooled their money with housemates. It forever changed his relationship to money, Reynolds says.

After working his way through seminary—“it took me four years”—Reynolds became the minister of Advent Christian Church, known at the time as a “progressive evangelical” church in Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood that was decidedly “not churchy.” Reynolds heard about Operation Nightwatch and began volunteering in its late-night street ministry. “No preaching, just a loving presence,” was founding director Norm Riggins’ motto. Reynolds found he had a knack for it. In 1994, Riggins asked him if he’d like to take over.

Though the scope of Nightwatch’s mission grew dramatically over the years—as did the number of people experiencing homelessness in Seattle—Reynolds made a point of “staying close to the streets,” of getting out, in person, simply to talk. To be present. He also got to know the seniors living upstairs, where their communal kitchen is the place to hang out. “It keeps people from isolating in their room. I don’t think it’s healthy for humans to be alone,” he says, and the residents could not agree more.

But back to retirement. He’s working on it. He has nothing against people wanting to kick back. But for Rev. Rick, it’s hard to shake that lifelong desire to do whatever he can to relieve human suffering.

Even in retirement, “people need to pursue things they find meaningful. Rather than just escaping,” he says. “At the end of your life, are you really going to care about travel, fishing, and all that? Or are you going to care about what good you put into the universe, not what you got out of it? So that’s my bias about retirement.”

He really doesn’t want to sound judge-y. It’s just that, as he put it: “I have lived a life of such abundance and joy. It’s hard not to get caught up in the process of adding joy back, you know?”

Ann Hedreen is an author (Her Beautiful Brain), teacher of memoir writing, and filmmaker. Hedreen and her husband, Rustin Thompson, own White Noise Productions and have made more than 150 short films and several feature documentaries together, including Quick Brown Fox: An Alzheimer’s Story. She is currently at work on a book of essays.

Homelessness Grows

According to the King County Regional Homelessness Authority (KCRHA), 13,368 individuals were experiencing homeless in King County on March 1, 2022. This point-in-time (PIT) count, normally conducted in January, is required by the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development. Due to COVID-19, the point-in-time count was not conducted in 2021. On January 24, 2020, the PIT count was 11,751. In 2019, 11,199 and in 2018, 12,112.

The many data analyses of the PIT count, which you can study in detail on the KCRHA website, include a breakdown by age of people experiencing homelessness. Sixteen percent are 55 and older. Although this may appear to be positively disproportionate to the fact that 25 percent of King County residents are 55 and older, a recent report by the King County Medical Examiner’s Office shows that the median age of death of people experiencing homelessness is 51. For all King County residents, the median age of death is 79.

Disparities along racial and ethnic lines are notable, in both the medical examiner’s report and the PIT data. For example, Black, African American, or African people, who represent six percent of King County’s population, make up 30 percent of people experiencing homelessness. White people, who represent 58 percent of the county’s population, make up 37 percent of people experiencing homelessness.

How You Can Help

Do you want to help but don’t know how or what’s appropriate?  Here are some recommendations from Operation Nightwatch on what you can do.

Give Financially

It’s better not to give money directly to the homeless. What most need are overnight shelter and a meal. Instead of handing a few dollars to someone panhandling, donate directly to non-profit organizations like Nightwatch who can provide help.

Volunteer

To address a big problem like homelessness takes an army of volunteers. With training and guidance, you can do things like visit seniors, hand out sandwiches, listen to stories, and more. “Volunteering at Nightwatch will change you in ways you cannot imagine.”

Engage

If you are intimidated to engage with a homeless person are not alone. Nightwatch encourages we start with a smile or hello, “as every person is worthy of dignity and respect.” Give bottled water and soft, nutritious energy bars (many have poor teeth and can’t bite or chew hard foods). New socks are always appreciated.

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