The Tribune

THERE is something almost mystical about the phrase "three score and ten." Seventy years. It is the age mentioned in scripture as the span allotted to mankind, a milestone that countless souls never reach. To stand at the threshold of 70 is not merely to have grown old; it is to have been favoured with time itself. It is to have witnessed seasons come and go, seen children become adults, watched the world reinvent itself countless times and to have survived long enough to tell the stories.

Yet strangely, many of us arrive at this blessed milestone not with gratitude, but with resistance.

We fear what 70 represents. We mourn our youth as though it had been stolen from us. We spend precious energy trying to prove that we are still 30, still indispensable, still the centre of attention. We fight the passage of time with an almost desperate determination, refusing to acknowledge that every act has its curtain call.

The truth is that ageing is not a tragedy.

Refusing to age gracefully is.

Look around us. In workplaces throughout our society, there are men and women who should have packed their bags years ago. They cling to their desks and titles, insisting they still have more to give. They remain because they did not prepare financially for the afternoon of their lives, and that reality is understandable and often heart-breaking. During our productive years, many of us failed to put structures in place for retirement. We spent rather than saved. We lived for today and ignored tomorrow.

But beyond financial necessity lies something far more troubling: many remain because they cannot bear the thought of no longer being important. They don’t know who they are without the title, the office, the authority, or the applause. So they stay.

And by staying, they often deprive younger generations of opportunities to grow and lead. The very children we sacrificed to educate, the young professionals we trained and mentored, are left waiting in the wings because we refuse to leave the stage.

Some of us remain in positions for which we no longer have the energy. Others stay in roles that demand sharpness that our ageing minds can no longer consistently provide. Yet we insist that no one can replace us.

That’s not wisdom. That’s vanity.

There’s a painful truth we must eventually embrace: no one is irreplaceable. The world existed before us, and will continue long after we are gone.

But instead of accepting this reality, many of us spend our later years chasing relevance. We want to be consulted on everything. We want invitations to every event. We want to be honoured repeatedly for achievements that happened decades ago. We seek national awards and accolades, sometimes with an almost embarrassing hunger. We want everyone to remember who we were.

We become offended when younger people don’t know our names. We expect our accomplishments to be public knowledge. We’re wounded when the new generation fails to appreciate our former greatness.

But why should they?

Every generation creates its own heroes, writes its own story. At some point, all of us become yesterday's news, but there is no shame in that. The shame lies in refusing to accept it.

Some of us grow stale but cannot smell it. We continue to impose ourselves on conversations and institutions that have moved beyond our understanding. We torment younger people because they reject our methods. We criticise them for implementing faster, more efficient systems that replace the cumbersome procedures we once considered revolutionary.

We ridicule our children because they think differently. We dismiss their ideas because they’re not our ideas. We call them disrespectful when they challenge traditions that no longer serve a purpose. Yet every generation has a duty to improve upon the one before it.

Our parents didn’t hand us the world and demand that we preserve it exactly as they left it. They expected progress. They wanted their children to do better. Why then do we deny our own children the same freedom? Why are we so threatened by change?

The answer is often simple: because change reminds us that our time has passed. And that’s a difficult truth to swallow. But fighting it changes nothing. No amount of expensive clothing will make us young again. No amount of socialising with younger people will reverse the calendar. No trendy hairstyle, cosmetic procedure, fashionable language or carefully curated image can stop the hands of time.

We may disguise our age, but we cannot defeat it. The last act remains inevitable. The curtain will eventually fall. And because it will, wisdom demands that we begin preparing for our final recitation.

There is dignity in stepping aside. There is grace in accepting the seasons of life. There is beauty in understanding that one chapter has ended and another has begun.

The years after 70 should not be spent anxiously trying to remain relevant. They should be years of reflection, gratitude, and peace. They should be years when we gather with our contemporaries, share our stories, laugh at old memories, and celebrate the privilege of having survived this long.

After all, many of our friends never made it here. Many never reached retirement. Many never saw their grandchildren. Many never had the opportunity to complain about old age because they died before it arrived.

To receive three score and 10 is a blessing denied to countless others. Why then do we treat it like a curse? Why spend our remaining years chasing importance when peace is available?

Our insatiable greed to have more and be more important only creates unnecessary stress. We want one more promotion. One more title. One more recognition. One more award. One more opportunity to be seen.

But for what purpose? Could it be due to very low self-esteem? The pursuit never ends because ambition is a hungry beast. It’s never satisfied. It always demands more. And in the process, we rob ourselves of contentment. Stress becomes our companion. Bitterness takes root. Jealousy consumes us. Resentment grows because younger people no longer seek our approval. We become angry at a world that has simply continued doing what it has always done—moving forward.

There comes a point in life when accumulation should give way to appreciation. When ambition should yield to wisdom. When competition should surrender to contentment.

There is a season for building and a season for resting. A season for leading and a season for advising. A season for striving and a season for reflecting.

The tragedy is not growing old. The tragedy is growing old without learning when to let go.

Perhaps the greatest contribution in our later years is not to continue occupying centre stage but to cheer from the audience, encourage those who now carry responsibilities we once carried, offer guidance when asked, but not insist on control.

The world does not need elderly people pretending to be young. It needs elders. It needs men and women whose lives have taught them patience, perspective, and humility. It needs people who understand that wisdom often speaks softly. It needs grandparents who tell stories, not trying to relive their lives through their grandchildren. Retirees who mentor. Senior citizens who celebrate the success of others without jealousy. People who understand that every generation deserves its moment in the sun.

The afternoon of life can be beautiful if we allow it to be. It can be filled with friendships, family gatherings, travel, laughter, and quiet contentment. It can be a season of gratitude and peace, a time to say thank you to God for every year, every lesson, every victory, and every loss.

Most of all, it can be a season of acceptance.

Our acceptance that our bodies are changing has shifted; our sense of relevance may fade; our names may eventually fade from public memory; our final act is approaching. Whether we accept it or not, the end remains the end. No amount of pretending can change that.

And perhaps that’s precisely why we should be thankful.

Thankful not because we are growing older, but because we were allowed to grow older at all. Three score and 10 is not a punishment. It’s a privilege, evidence of grace, a reminder that we have already received a gift that many never did—the gift of time.

So let’s stop exhausting ourselves trying to remain important, fighting battles we cannot win, demanding relevance from a world that must inevitably move on.

Instead, let's celebrate each other. Let’s enjoy our children and grandchildren, and embrace the final chapters with dignity and gratitude.

And above all, let’s give thanks for being fortunate enough to receive the blessing of three score and 10.

Let’s face reality: the best thing for us to do, when we reach the afternoon of our lives, is to find ways to get together and encourage and support each other. We could find ways to celebrate what's left of our lives and use the tons of experience that we have gathered to help those who could appreciate it. But we're unwise if we think that we are relevant any more.