Image by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash.
The New York Times just published another article on “aging gracefully.” This time, they interviewed a geriatrician from California and introduced a shiny new term: joyspan. Supposedly, we’re moving beyond lifespan and even healthspan—now we’re supposed to be joyful, too.
At the risk of sounding like Scrooge, I think this article is yet another chirpy-cheery piece that adds little to the real experience of aging—joyfully or otherwise.
The article references people of all ages. We hear about the doctor’s brother, who became a substitute teacher at 65, and her mother, who stopped driving at 95 and now uses Instacart. These stories aren’t exactly inspirational. They’re anecdotal. And they don’t reflect the complex reality of aging for most people.
Let’s start with the brother. Transitioning to a new career at 65 sounds nice—until you realize that ageism sharply limits opportunities. Becoming a substitute teacher fits a stereotype: older people working with children for low pay and low status. It’s not a path most people can—or would want to—follow.
Then there’s the mother who gave up driving and embraced delivery apps. Personally, I dislike both shopping and driving. But replacing a trip to the farmers’ market with Instacart isn’t a simple swap. You lose the people, the atmosphere, the surprises. Most “adaptations” aren’t upgrades. They’re downgrades—settling for less.
The same holds true for exercise. If you can’t hike or dance anymore, what’s the alternative? I never learned to swim, and I have no desire to join a class for “older adults” where we slowly walk in circles. That’s not a meaningful life. That’s going through the motions.
The truth is, getting old can be brutal. Chronic pain, fatigue, social encounters—being treated like an “old person” instead of a fully adult, accomplished human. Yes, some comedians joke about this stuff. But laughter can diminish the reality. And saying “Just adapt” is often a cruel cop-out.
The deeper issue is that our society has no real role for older people. You’re either volunteering with kids or living with other “elders,” while the rest of the world keeps moving without you. You can stay sharp, active, and insightful—but still be dismissed as “hey sweetie.” You can work out daily and still be perceived as fragile. The image trumps the reality.
And what about health? Even if you do everything right—eat well, stay active, mentally engaged—genetics might come into play. If heart disease runs in your family, or if you inherit a medical condition, no lifestyle change can erase that risk. Doctors love prevention, but it only goes so far. Only 40% of cancers are preventable. That leaves 60% to fate, biology, or bad luck.
These are real losses. You don’t “get over” them. You grieve them. And at some point, some people reach a place where they ask: Do I want to live like this?
Before you write me off as pessimistic or depressed, I’ll remind you of the famous essay, Why I Hope to Die at 75, by a well-known oncologist and bioethicist. Other respected voices—authors, doctors, even scientists—have advocated for the right to die, especially to avoid dementia or drawn-out suffering. One notable case involved a 104-year-old Australian scientist who chose a medically assisted death, saying he had nothing left to live for.
In my book, I take a radical stance: after a certain age—75? 80?—you should have access to a cyanide pill, no questions asked. If that sounds extreme, remember that spies in World War II carried cyanide pills to avoid capture and torture. Honestly, many hospitals and nursing homes aren’t that different from POW camps. I’ve been in one. I know.
With staffing shortages and underfunded care, things will only get worse. People are already left alone to die slowly, in pain. Wouldn’t it be more humane to give them the choice of a dignified, private end? I would rather die at home, alone, on my own terms.
You don’t have to agree with me. But I suspect many people do—quietly or not. And we have no use for those cheery articles that promise a joyful final chapter if we just follow three easy steps.
Some of us want something more honest. Something real.
