I’m not entirely sure how to approach this one, so I’ll just do what I always do—air it out here like I tend to do with everything else in my life.

Since my life has increasingly become a series of memes, I’ll start with one that feels painfully accurate:

I’m at the age where my mind firmly believes I’m 29, my humor suggests I’m 12, and my body possibly died in the Civil War.

That about sums it up.

Lately, I’ve been trying to clean up the house and yard. I go into it with all these grand plans—projects lined up, motivation high—and then I manage to finish one thing… and immediately feel like I need to lie down for an hour.

There are obvious reasons for that. The strokes have absolutely impacted my mobility and stamina. And, inconveniently, time has continued to do what time does.

If I’m being honest, there are plenty of days I wish I were still 29. My body would cooperate a lot more, and I’d still be in the Army—a place I miss more often than I don’t.

One thing I think most people don’t truly understand—myself included, once upon a time—is just how significant the body’s changes are as you get older.

Some people find that realization “shocking.”

Others… live it.

Even as a provider, I don’t think I fully grasped how much those changes impact daily life until I experienced them myself.

I remember a moment a few years ago when my dad was visiting. I woke up with my shoulders on fire and casually said, “There must be a storm coming.”

He laughed.

Then he reminded me that years earlier, he had said the same thing—and I had laughed at him.

That was my welcome-to-the-club moment.

To be clear, it was all in good humor. And looking back, it still is. But it also highlights something real: everyone experiences age-related changes. It doesn’t matter how fit you were, how active you’ve been, or how well you took care of yourself.

The body was never designed to last forever.

I was asked recently—very kindly—why I’ve had so many surgeries. The answer is simple: I lived a very active life early on. A lot of physical activity, a lot of wear and tear. Add in the reality that age quietly works against your joints, and eventually things start to break down.

And yes—let’s be honest—ignoring all those ergonomics lectures over the years probably didn’t help.

We tend to think we’re the exception. We’re not.

That’s probably why “get off my lawn” becomes less of a stereotype and more of a lived experience.

As we get older, we also start to recognize missed opportunities—things we wanted to do but can’t anymore. I can think of a few myself. But I wouldn’t call it regret. These days, I’m pretty content just being able to function relatively independently.

That’s not defeat.

That’s perspective.

One thing I think medicine doesn’t always handle well is how we talk about aging. I remember speaking with my Aunt Pat about “age-related changes,” and she stopped me mid-sentence.

“Don’t say ‘as we grow older.’ I hate that phrase.”

At the time, it caught me off guard. Now, I understand it completely. It can feel dismissive—like a blanket explanation instead of an individual experience.

The reality is, people don’t just “grow older” in a neat, clinical sense. They adapt. They struggle. They adjust. And they deserve to be met where they are, not summarized in a phrase.

That’s something we, as providers, can do better.

Sometimes the best care isn’t pushing someone to do more—it’s helping them understand what they can do, and how to pace themselves doing it.

One of the most helpful tools I’ve been given came from speech therapy after my strokes: spoon theory.

The idea is simple. Every day, you wake up with a limited number of “spoons,” each representing energy for tasks. Some activities take one or two spoons. Others take far more.

On a good day, maybe you’ve got plenty to work with.

On a bad day, maybe you’ve only got five.

The key is choosing carefully. Prioritizing what needs to get done. And understanding that when you’re out of spoons… you’re out. And that’s okay.

It sounds simple, but it’s not easy.

What it teaches—if you let it—is acceptance. Not the kind that says you have to like your limitations, but the kind that reminds you you’re still doing the best you can with what you have.

And honestly, that might be some of the best advice anyone ever gave me.

On a slightly more ironic note, I recently purchased an exoskeleton.

Now, before anyone gets too excited, no—it does not turn me into some kind of parkour-performing superhero like the advertisements would suggest. I couldn’t do a backflip when I was young. That hasn’t improved with age.

What it does do is help.

It allows me to walk through places like Costco or the grocery store without relying on a cane or walker most of the time. And while I hate to use the phrase… it really has been a bit of a game changer.

More importantly, I’ve noticed something unexpected: it’s improving how I walk even when I’m not wearing it.

So that’s something.

And for now, that’s enough.

I’ve still got a few spoons left today, and a couple more projects I’d like to get done. So I’ll leave it there.

Both my dog and my mom know the realities of age-related changes and do their best to work through them. I have that as the example I need to work for.