Last Saturday, Carol and I attended the 60th reunion of the Mainland Senior High School Class of 1966 in Daytona Beach. Hard to believe, but that’s part of what being 78 is about.  One can’t attend a 60th high school reunion without being about that old!

A classmate hosted the gathering in her barn and surrounding yard. The weather couldn’t have been better. There were perhaps 100 people there, including spouses and friends. The gathering began in the late morning and lasted until about six. Most folks hung around to visit, eat, reflect and visit some more.

Sixty years gives people a fair amount to talk about.

Leaving Early and Coming Back

My connection with my high school class was a little unusual. I left for college a year before we graduated.

The summer after my junior year, I attended an early admissions program at Stetson University and earned nine hours of college credit. I enrolled as a full-time student in the fall of 1965. By the time I attended my high school graduation in May 1966, I had accumulated 48 hours of college credit.

I was 18 and already the equivalent of a second-semester college sophomore. That first college year also brought my mother’s untimely passing. There was a great deal happening while most of my classmates were completing their senior year.

I graduated from Stetson in 1968, went on to graduate school and then served in the Army near Nuremberg, Germany. After returning to the United States in early 1975, my then wife, our new daughter and I moved to Memphis. Our daughter had been born on Christmas Day 1974 at the Nuremberg Army Hospital.

By then, high school was a distant memory.

But I didn’t forget. I attended our 10th reunion, our first, and every five-year reunion through the 45th. I missed the 50th because of business travel. It is wonderful to be in a class where a dedicated group keeps opportunities to get together coming.

Our class had more than 600 members. There were many people I didn’t know, including Carol. We graduated in the same class without knowing each other. I certainly had no idea then that we would attend our 60th reunion together.

There are some things an 18-year-old simply cannot anticipate.

Many of our classmates have passed. We remember them at each reunion, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to spend time with those who can still come.

Three Conversations

It was nice to see classmates on Saturday, both those I knew and those I still know mostly by recognition. Over the years, I have also gotten to know people I barely knew in school. The opportunity to make a friend doesn’t expire at graduation.

I had three particularly meaningful conversations with old friends.

One was with a classmate who later became a business associate. I was able to tell him that a client he referred to me more than 25 years ago is still an active client. He didn’t know that. It was a pleasure to let him know and to express my appreciation once more.

Another was with a friend who had a successful career with a large corporation and is now retired. Carol and I had dinner with him and his wife in South Florida a year or so ago. I always liked him, but we never had much opportunity to get closer in high school. It was good to have time together again.

The third was with a friend whose father’s business was one door away from my father’s business. We both “worked” at our fathers’ businesses as kids. That gave us a special connection, at least in my mind. There is something special about talking with someone who remembers a part of your life that so few people around you now ever knew.

It was wonderful to talk, to reminisce a bit, and just to see them.

That last part matters. We didn’t need a particular reason for a conversation beyond being there together. After sixty years, that was reason enough.

I’m grateful to the classmate who hosted us and to those who helped bring everyone together. Someone has to make these gatherings happen. The rest of us get to enjoy what their efforts make possible.

Another Birthday Ahead

I’m writing this before Carol and I leave for a week in Memphis and my granddaughter’s 16th birthday celebration.

That puts Saturday’s reunion into perspective. I was only two years older than she is now when I graduated from high school. At her age, I couldn’t have imagined most of what lay ahead of me. College, graduate school, the Army, Memphis, a family and a business were still unfolding or somewhere in the future.

Even with a head start in college, I had a great deal left to learn. I still do.

My granddaughter will have her own experiences and follow her own path. I hope that, sixty years from her graduation, she will have opportunities to sit with old friends and find pleasure in simply being together.

For now, I’m grateful that I could spend a beautiful Saturday with classmates whose lives have overlapped mine for so long. And I’m grateful that this coming week includes time with family and a granddaughter turning 16.

There is more living to do. We have a birthday to celebrate.

As always, be well, and age gratefully,

Chris

PS  If you like this post or the blog, please share it with your friends and social media.  If you like it, they will probably like it as well.

The last month has provided more work, travel, and waiting than I really wanted.

There were two trials within a month of each other, with a project involving some 21 entities in between. The Oklahoma City trial consumed much or all of seven days traveling or waiting to testify. I went out Tuesday and returned Friday, then went back Sunday and returned Tuesday.

Between the two Oklahoma City trips, I delivered a sermon at The Living Cornerstone in Port Orange. The subject was developing an “attitude of gratitude.” I have had several opportunities to practice this attitude recently.

The two courts’ timing created an unusual concentration of obligations in a short period of time. I don’t expect the coming months to look like this one. Still, it seems like a good time to revisit a question I have been working on for several years:

What is an appropriate amount of work at this stage of my life?

Giving Myself Permission to Change

In August 2009, when I was 61, I asked Matt Crow to become president of Mercer Capital and gave up operational control. Ownership succession took a bit longer. During Covid in 2020, we agreed that I would sell most of my remaining shares to our ESOP over the following three year-ends.

Management and ownership succession were important steps. My own transition into a successful semi-retirement or retirement has proven more difficult.

I am still well known in the business appraisal profession and have not yet outlived those who choose to call on me.  The proverbial phone still rings. Initially, as we worked on ownership succession, I supervised and/or performed most of the work that came along. Working hard had been part of my life for decades. It was also part of how I saw myself.

Our management succession beginning in 2009 was successful.  And our ownership succession beginning in 2020 was also successful.  The problem was that I did not give myself permission to slow down.

A surprisingly practical change helped. We began taking a monthly living expense draw from my investment portfolio. After years of working, saving, and investing, I began using some of those investments for their intended purpose.

That took some getting used to.

Over time, it has become easier to pass project work along to others or decline engagements that do not fit how I want to spend my time. I can still contribute without accepting every opportunity that comes along. And as my outlook changes, it is easier to help bring in business that others will perform.

The money arrangement helped me give myself permission to change.

Making Room on the Calendar

Now, I think I need to give myself permission to change a bit more.

I enjoy working. I enjoy thinking through valuation questions, writing, speaking, and helping other professionals. I also enjoy pickleball, walking, and my developing workout routine. I want time to travel with Carol and participate in church.

Those things deserve places on my calendar.

My next step is to become more disciplined about scheduling them. When a new engagement comes along, I need to consider how it fits with commitments I have already made to myself and others. An open space on the calendar does not necessarily need a client’s name in it.

I’m still working out what an “appropriate amount” of work means for me. I suspect it will continue to evolve. But I’m gradually getting a clearer picture of the life I want that work to fit into.

For professionals already on this side of retirement, some of these thoughts may sound familiar. For those approaching it, consider that your financial planning may be easier than changing the habits that made the financial planning possible.

I’m grateful that people still want my help. I’m learning to be more thoughtful about when to say yes.

And to give myself permission to leave a little more room on the calendar.

As always, be well, and age gratefully,

Chris

PS If you like this post and this blog, feel free to share them with others and put them out on your social media. If you like them, they probably will as well.

Last night was one of those nights. I got up five times to go to the bathroom. Five times! Not exactly the recipe for a restful night’s sleep.

But something interesting happened after the fifth interruption.

I had the distinct feeling that my alarm was still an hour or more away. A few months ago, I would have looked at my watch to see what time it was. That would have started the mental calculations. How much sleep had I gotten? How much time remained? Would I be tired tomorrow?

Not this time.

I resisted the temptation to check the time. Instead, I deliberately turned my thoughts to the coming day and some of the things I would be doing. Nothing particularly stressful. Just ordinary thoughts about the day ahead.

Within minutes, I was dreaming. And I was sufficiently aware of what had happened to realize that my little trick had worked.

I slept until the alarm sounded.

A Little History

A few months ago, I wrote about discovering that looking at clocks or watches during the night was a remarkably effective way to ruin an otherwise decent night’s sleep. The Night I Stopped Watching the Clock.

My solution was simple: Don’t look.

Then, a few weeks later, I wrote another post called “Just One Look.” You can probably guess what happened. I looked at the time during the night, and my mind promptly went to work. Another night disrupted by unnecessary thinking.

Apparently, knowing better and doing better are not always the same thing. I’ve encountered that lesson elsewhere in life!

But last night felt different. I was tempted to look at the time, recognized the temptation, and deliberately chose another course.

It worked.

A Busy Month

I’m writing this on Monday morning, several days before this post will appear on Saturday. The coming week will bring the conclusion of an unusually busy and somewhat stressful month.

Tomorrow, I fly to Oklahoma City for the second trial in which I’ve been involved this month. I expect to testify later in the week. By the time you read this, I should be back in Daytona Beach with both trials behind me.

I’ve also been preparing a sermon on gratitude for The Living Cornerstone on Sunday, November 1. The sermon is written, the PowerPoint is ready, and we tested the presentation equipment at church yesterday.

Both the trial and the sermon are important to me. I’ve prepared carefully for each, and I feel ready.

There isn’t much to be gained by worrying about either of them at three in the morning.

A Small Victory

This morning, my Hume Band gave me a sleep score of 91, which it considers excellent. My Garmin was less impressed, awarding me a 63, or fair. The two devices rarely agree, and Hume generally seems more consistent with how I actually feel.

And this morning, I felt well-rested.

The important thing wasn’t either score. It was that I had experienced a disrupted night without turning it into a bad night.

My sleep scores have generally improved since I stopped checking the time during the night. More importantly, I feel rested almost every morning.

I realize that learning not to look at a clock might seem a rather modest accomplishment at 78. But perhaps that’s part of the point.

As we age, living well isn’t always about making dramatic changes. Sometimes it’s about recognizing a small behavior that isn’t serving us, changing it, and learning to stick with the change.

We can’t always control when we wake up during the night. We can exercise some control over what we do next.

Last night, I did.

And I’m grateful for another good night’s sleep.

As always, be well, and age gratefully.

Chris

PS If you enjoyed this post or like this blog, feel free to share with your friends and social media.  If you like it, they probably will.

The other morning, I picked up a pair of 12-pound hand weights and completed three sets of four exercises. It was a short routine I made up myself.

One day does not establish a habit. But it does establish a beginning.

I am preparing for a trial next week and thinking about a sermon I will deliver on November 1. There are plenty of things competing for my attention. Still, the weights have been available for quite some time (years!). My schedule does not explain their lack of use.

I have written about exercise, physical stewardship, and aging gratefully. I believe what I write. But I was feeling unhappy with myself for seemingly preaching one thing and doing another—or, in this case, not doing it.

Then something I read in a health app gave me a nudge.

An Encouraging Report Card. Mostly.

For the past couple of weeks, I have been wearing both a Garmin watch and a Hume Band. I also have the scales that work with each system. Both are gathering information about my activity, sleep, heart rate, weight, and estimated body composition. Here’s a quick shout of thanks to Curtis Kimball for suggesting that I consider the Hume products!

As an analyst, I find this interesting. Whether wearing two devices makes me twice as informed remains to be seen.

Garmin reports my Fitness Age as 68. At 78, I am pleased to read that. It also suggests increasing my vigorous activity minutes and the number of days on which I accumulate them, while reducing body fat. My resting heart rate is 58 beats per minute, which Garmin recommends maintaining.

Hume provides considerably more commentary. Its reported Metabolic Age is 61, which the app describes as signaling “strong physiological resilience.”

I rather liked that part.

My overall Hume Health Score is 767 out of 900. Cardiovascular health and sleep are particular strengths. Then I get to body composition.

C+.

Apparently, a favorable age estimate does not excuse me from the rest of the coursework.

One finding that caught my attention was Hume’s assessment that my muscle distribution favored my upper body relative to my lower body. The app suggested prioritizing lower-body resistance training.

Hume also estimates that my left side carries slightly more lean tissue than my right. That gives me another question to explore as more readings become available.

I have been working off and on to improve my balance. It is easier to talk about than to do. Now the app was giving me another reason to pay attention to strength, particularly in my legs.

What the Numbers Can Tell Us

There is a temptation to accept the flattering numbers immediately and scrutinize (or ignore) the others. I suspect I am not alone in that.

These systems provide estimates. Fitness Age, Metabolic Age, and Biological Age are different measures, and they should not be treated as interchangeable. Garmin’s Fitness Age, for example, incorporates factors including activity intensity, resting heart rate, and body fat percentage or body mass index. It is a useful perspective on fitness, rather than a revised birth certificate. [1]

There are also differences between the systems’ body-fat estimates that I need to understand better. Both scales reported 198 pounds that morning. Their agreement about my weight does not mean their estimates of everything inside those pounds agree. That is considerably better than the 212 pounds I weighed when I started my disciplined walking program almost seven years ago. Still, I would like to reduce my waistline while building strength.

Hume repeatedly notes that it does not yet have sufficient information to establish trends. That seems worth remembering after only a couple of weeks.

For now, I am treating its commentary as information to consider and questions to explore. The lower-body assessment has not established a medical diagnosis. It has, however, focused my attention on something I already knew deserved work.

That has value.

Walking Is Part of the Answer

For years, I have averaged more than five miles of walking per day. I also play pickleball regularly. Those habits are important to me, and I intend to continue them.

But I have done almost no structured resistance training.

The National Institute on Aging identifies aerobic activity, muscle strengthening, and balance as complementary forms of exercise for older adults. Its discussion of strength training makes an encouraging point: older adults can increase strength, helping preserve mobility and independence. [2, 3] It seems I have been doing well in one out of the three areas of exercise!

Look at the link to NIA below.  There is considerable information about exercises focused on areas of concern.

Balance also deserves deliberate practice. A major Cochrane review found that programs emphasizing balance and functional exercises reduced the rate of falls by about 24% among older adults living in the community. These are exercises directed toward steadiness and the movements needed in everyday life. [4]

That gets my attention. I want to continue traveling with Carol, walking, playing pickleball, and doing ordinary things for myself. Strength and balance matter to the life I want to keep living.

My walking habit is well established. I now need to give strength and balance a more consistent place in the week.  And, I need to add a bit more intensity to my walking, which I will do.

There is also some unfinished business around my waist. I would like to lose perhaps 10 to 15 pounds. But the objective should include maintaining or building strength as the waistline gets smaller. A lower number on the scale will be more satisfying if I can still carry a suitcase.

From Information to Action

Hume has provided me with information and motivation. Its commentary made a general intention more specific. I could see something to work on.

That first short workout concentrated on my upper body. Fine as a beginning, but I need to include lower-body resistance work and become more consistent with balance practice. I also need to learn enough to do these things properly.

None of this requires an enormous amount of time. It does require giving it a place in my schedule and following through.

I am sharing the beginning because that is where I am. I have completed one workout, and the next one is still waiting for me to do it. And perhaps, I am sharing it as an extra bit of incentive for me to follow through.

At 78, I am still learning. I am grateful for that, and for the ability to put what I learn to use.

The devices have given me plenty to read. Now I need to give them something new to measure.

As always, be well, and age gratefully,

Chris

PS If you like this blog, share it with your friends and social media.  They will probably like it, too.

PSS I first drafted this post on Monday, October 19th.  It is now Friday, the 23rd, and I am sneaking in this pss before publication tomorrow morning.  With some intentional effort, I did my weight routine on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.  On Tuesday and Thursday, I focused on exercising.  I added standing balanced on one leg multiple repetitions every day, and some stretching.  I’ve got a ways to go there, but I’m working on it.  And I added more intense minutes to my walking this week.  Knowing better doesn’t lift the weights, but you and I can if we commit to doing it. Have a great week!

References

1. Garmin. What Is Your Garmin Fitness Age? How Can You Lower It?
2. National Institute on Aging. Three Types of Exercise Can Improve Your Health and Physical Ability.
3. National Institute on Aging. How Can Strength Training Build Healthier Bodies as We Age?
4. Sherrington C, et al. Exercise for Preventing Falls in Older People Living in the Community. Cochrane Database of Systematic Reviews. 2019;1:CD012424.

Personal device readings and app commentary are from the author’s Garmin and Hume apps in October 2026. They are personal observations rather than independent research findings.

In recent weeks, my semi-retirement has felt far more “semi” than I expected.

Leading up to last week, I was preparing for a trial.

• Last Tuesday, I testified in Fredericksburg, Virginia. My latest post talks about that experience and the memories it brought back.
• At the same time, my team and I were working hot and heavy to complete a gift tax assignment involving 22 appraisals with a hard due date of October 14 to meet an October 15 filing requirement.
• I am also preparing for a trial scheduled for October 26 in Oklahoma City.
• Then, this past Sunday, I was asked to provide the sermon for my church on Sunday, November 1 — an invitation I was delighted to receive. Preparing a 25-minute sermon will take considerable time.

Put all these things together, and I was feeling enormous personal pressure. Each could be taken in stride in the normal course of business, but things in life sometimes bunch up in unexpected ways. My stride was feeling a bit uncomfortable.  Then I realized that there was an extra week before the Oklahoma City trial that I had simply overlooked.  And we completed the major gift tax assignment.  That provided a bit of breathing room I did not previously know I had.  Nevertheless, the pressure I was feeling was real to me and I’m certain is experienced by others.

So I am writing about it before the feeling disappears into the distant past.

When the Calendar Bunches Up

It would be easy to turn this unexpected time pressure into a lesson about saying no or managing time better. Or taking a closer look at the calendar.  Those are useful subjects, but they don’t quite explain this particular stretch.

Trial dates get set and moved. Assignments already underway approach their deadlines. Work that looked comfortably spread out suddenly occupies the same few weeks. There is some chance involved in how it all comes together.

Most of us have experienced versions of this form of time compression. Family responsibilities, work, travel, and commitments to people or organizations we care about can and do converge. Each seems manageable until we look at the calendar and realize they are all happening at once or within a short span of time.

At 78, I am aware of the demands. I still have the experience and ability to do the work, but I also feel the stress when several things need attention at once. Semi-retirement does not provide immunity from a crowded calendar.

A Small Cost Worth Noticing

During the trip to Fredericksburg, I missed my 10,000-step goal on three days.

For someone who has made walking a daily commitment for nearly seven years, that gets my attention. Three days do not erase years of walking, but they do tell me that the normal rhythm of life has been disrupted.

I recently wrote about listening to my body and adding strength and flexibility work to my walking routine. Apparently, writing about physical stewardship does not guarantee that the calendar will cooperate.

There is a practical reminder here. During a demanding stretch, the routines that help us feel and function well still deserve attention. I won’t always meet every goal. I do want to notice when something important begins getting squeezed and return to it as the pressure eases.

The Satisfaction Alongside the Stress

There is another feeling running through all of this: gratitude.

It is nice to still be capable when my services are needed. After decades of work, experience remains useful to clients and colleagues. And being invited to speak to my church offers a different, meaningful opportunity to contribute.

I would prefer a little more space between these commitments. Still, I appreciate being able to meet them. And I will. I can feel the pressure and still be grateful.

Many of us hope to remain useful as we grow older. That usefulness may take the form of limited professional work, helping family, volunteering, teaching, or simply being someone others can count on. But opportunity can certainly arrive at inconvenient times.

I don’t have a grand conclusion about balancing it all. This is a busy stretch, and I will work through it. I will also be glad when there is a little more room in the day.

For now, I am grateful to have work I can still do, people who trust me to do it, and an invitation to contribute in a different way at church.

A few more steps would be welcome, too.

Some of life’s best lessons come from everyday experiences. This week, I had a chance to reflect on two days, 45 years apart, and what I learned from them and the years in between.

I sold my first business appraisal engagement in December 1978. In 1981, while still at Morgan Keegan & Co., I testified for the first time at trial in Chancery Court in Memphis, Tennessee. This week, I testified in a trial in Fredericksburg, Virginia, some 45 years later.

Between those appearances, I have testified at deposition or trial about 200 times. That sounds like a lot, but it works out to four or five times a year. I have slowed down in recent years, although this week’s testimony probably won’t be my last.

While waiting for my turn in Fredericksburg, I found myself remembering that first appearance. There was plenty of time to think. In both cases, I spent two and a half hours waiting on a courthouse bench before anyone asked me a question.

This post may seem to be about my life as an expert witness.  But it is really a post about things we can learn from life.

My First Testimony

Morgan Keegan had rendered a fairness opinion in the going-private transaction of a small, publicly traded nursing home company. Some shareholders dissented from the price offered, and the court was being asked to determine the fair value of their shares under Tennessee law.

I knew about the work we had done, but little about the litigation. Then an attorney for Morgan Keegan called. He told me to organize the file and report to Chancery Court a couple of days later.

I arrived early carrying a large redwell file and a packed briefcase, expecting someone to explain what would happen and what I needed to do. That conversation never occurred. As the saying goes, I was scared witless.

The bailiff announced, “All rise!” We stood as the judge entered. Shortly afterward, opposing counsel asked him to invoke “the rule.” I had no idea what that meant. In my case, it meant waiting outside so I would not hear any testimony before my own.

“Mr. Mercer, you will need to wait outside,” the judge told me. “There are benches there where you can sit.”

I gathered my belongings and went out. And waited. And waited. After about two and a half hours, the bailiff called me back.

The courtroom was enormous, with a high ceiling that did nothing to make me feel more comfortable. The judge directed me to stand in an open area between the bench and the attorneys. A woman asked me to raise my right hand.

My file was tucked under my right arm, and my briefcase occupied the other hand. After an awkward shuffle to set down the briefcase and transfer the file, I managed to raise my hand.

Then came the oath: “Do you swear that the testimony you give here today will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

I will never forget the thought that flashed through my mind: “My God, I’m guilty!”

Fortunately, what came out was, “I do.”

I remember virtually nothing about the testimony itself. It is a blank in my mind. Afterward, the attorney said I had done a good job. I later learned that the outcome supported our fairness opinion. There were congratulations back at Morgan Keegan. Mostly, I was grateful to have survived.

But I made myself a promise: If called to testify again, I would prepare thoroughly—both on my own and with counsel. I never wanted to walk into another courtroom feeling that unprepared for what would happen.

Back on the Bench

The Fredericksburg case involved a dispute over buy-sell provisions in an operating agreement. The particulars are confidential and aren’t needed for this story.

This time, preparation looked quite different. On Monday morning, I met with the attorney and client. I had prepared a PowerPoint presentation to help organize my testimony. We worked through it carefully, coordinating questions and responses and making revisions until late afternoon.

Back at the hotel, I rested and continued preparing. By bedtime, I felt as ready as I could be.

Tuesday morning brought a few surprises. No food or water in the courtroom. No computer or iPad. My phone went into a locked YONDR pouch. I could carry it, but I couldn’t use it.

Then the other side invoked “the rule.” Out I went to a bench that must have been designed by a masochist. Forty-five years later, another two-and-a-half-hour wait.

The difference was what I brought to that wait. In 1981, I had a file, a briefcase, and little idea what lay ahead. This time, I knew my material and understood the process. Waiting was uncomfortable, but it was familiar.

My direct testimony lasted about an hour and a half. Opposing counsel’s cross-examination lasted less than five minutes. A short cross-examination leaves an expert wondering: Did counsel think the testimony needed little challenge, or prefer not to give the witness more time to explain it? Naturally, I hoped for the latter, but brevity alone tells us little.

Because I might be needed for rebuttal, I returned to the hallway while the opposing expert testified. Three more hours on that bench—or, preferably, away from it. This time I had accidentally left my materials and notepads inside. With no computer and no iPad and my phone locked up and nothing to write on, even my pen was useless.

So I walked. Between the two waits, I logged about 5.5 miles in the courthouse hallway. Nearly seven years of regular walking had prepared me for at least that part of the day.

No rebuttal was needed. I left grateful that we had prepared carefully and feeling that we had presented our analysis clearly. The court’s decision will come later.

Preparation Makes Room for Calm

That first appearance taught me to prepare. Later appearances taught me that knowing the material is only part of being ready.

Expert testimony is stressful. Opposing counsel can challenge both your analysis and your credibility. It is easy to become defensive, answer too quickly, or start arguing. None of those reactions helps explain a complicated subject to a judge.

Over time, I developed a routine: Listen to the question. Make sure I understand it. Pause long enough to formulate a reasoned response. Answer slowly, focusing on the question actually asked. Then wait for the next one.

Anticipating the next three questions can distract me from the one I need to answer. And matching an attorney’s agitation with my own rarely improves anything.

I have learned these lessons through trial and error. Preparation gives me something solid to rely on and helps me to remain calm. Pausing gives me a chance to maintain the calm.

Beyond the Courtroom

Most readers will never testify as expert witnesses. But all of us face situations that go better with preparation and a little calm.

A doctor’s appointment is one example that becomes increasingly familiar as we age. Writing down symptoms, changes, and questions beforehand helps us use limited appointment time well. Otherwise, it is easy to leave and then remember the most important thing we meant to discuss.

The same principle applies to a conversation with a financial adviser or an important discussion with family. What do we need to understand? What do we want to ask? What can we do beforehand to make the conversation more useful?

Calmness takes practice, too. A difficult question doesn’t always require an immediate answer. We can pause, ask what someone means, and listen without composing our rebuttal while the other person is still speaking. I’m still working on that outside the courtroom.

Forty-five years of experience cannot guarantee a favorable ruling – or a comfortable bench. But those years have given me opportunities to learn how to arrive better prepared and respond more thoughtfully.

That seems part of aging gratefully: appreciating the experience we have been given and continuing to put its lessons to work. This week, I was grateful to be able to do the work, to feel prepared, and to have the legs to turn a long wait into a long walk.

As always,

Be well, and age gratefully,

Chris

PS If you like what you read on this blog, tell your friends and share with your social media.  If you like it, they probably will, too.

We have all heard some version of the saying: We can’t control what happens to us. But we do have at least some control over how we respond.

It is easy to say. It is considerably harder to live.

Michael J. Fox and his family have been living a particularly difficult version of that idea for more than three decades. Fox was 29 years old and near the height of his career when he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease in 1991. He had married actress Tracy Pollan only a few years earlier. They had a young son and a future that surely looked very different from the one suddenly placed before them.

Nothing about the diagnosis was under their control. What happened next was at least partly up to them.

What Happens Next?

Fox did not immediately become the optimistic public face of Parkinson’s disease that we know today. His first response was considerably messier and more human. He has spoken openly about denial and about drinking heavily as he struggled with what the diagnosis meant.

Over time, however, his response changed. He continued acting, disclosed his diagnosis publicly in 1998 and, in 2000, established The Michael J. Fox Foundation for Parkinson’s Research. What had begun as a devastating private diagnosis gradually became a public purpose.

That did not happen in one dramatic moment. It happened through decisions repeated over years.

There is a temptation when we tell stories like this to make them too neat. Something bad happens. The hero rises to the occasion. Adversity is conquered. Lesson learned.

Real life seldom works that way, and Parkinson’s certainly does not. It is progressive. Fox has lived with it for 35 years. His physical circumstances have continued to change, sometimes severely. His response has therefore required not one decision, but thousands of them.

That may be one reason his story has something to say to the rest of us.

The Family Story Matters

The Michael J. Fox story is not just Michael J. Fox’s story.

One of the most revealing moments came when he told Tracy Pollan about the diagnosis. He has recalled her reaction in these words: “She didn’t blink.”

They had been married only a few years. Their son was small. Neither could know how quickly Parkinson’s would progress or what it would demand of their family. Fox has said that he felt guilt over what Tracy had not bargained for when she married him.

She stayed.

More than that, they built a life together. They raised four children. The disease became part of their family story without being allowed to become the whole story. Fox has credited Tracy repeatedly with sharing the burden while refusing to let Parkinson’s consume everything around it.

That seems important. We often talk about courage, persistence and resilience as though they are individual qualities. Sometimes they are. But sometimes persistence is possible because somebody else is standing there with us. Families can fracture under adversity. This family appears instead to have grown together through it.

That does not make the adversity good. It tells us something about what people can build around circumstances they never would have chosen.

Source: Michael J. Fox Foundation — “Read All About It: Michael J. Fox Reveals His Secret Optimism”

Optimism Gets Tested

Fox has long been associated with optimism. But one reason his version of optimism is interesting is that it has been tested.

In 2018, after surgery to remove a spinal tumor, Fox had to learn to walk again. Then he fell in his home and shattered his arm. He found himself on the floor, unable to reach the telephone, and his famous optimism suddenly seemed inadequate even to him.

That experience became an important part of his 2020 memoir, No Time Like the Future: An Optimist Considers Mortality. The subtitle matters. This is not an optimist pretending mortality does not exist. It is an optimist considering mortality.

Fox began thinking about his late father-in-law, Stephen Pollan, whom he regarded as an important mentor. Pollan had a characteristic response when circumstances were difficult: “It gets better.” Fox remembered something else about him. He found reasons for gratitude even when circumstances were not what he wanted them to be.

From that came one of Fox’s most useful observations: “Gratitude makes optimism sustainable.”

In a lengthy Fresh Air interview, he explained the connection: “With gratitude, you can find a way to be optimistic. If you have no gratitude, you can’t recognize the hope in the circumstance.”

That is different from being grateful for Parkinson’s disease, a broken arm, loss, disappointment or any of the other things that enter our lives without invitation. There is no reason to romanticize adversity.

Gratitude asks a different question: Even in this circumstance, what remains?

A spouse who stays. A family that grows. Work that still has meaning. Friends who show up. An opportunity to help someone else. A purpose that did not exist before the difficulty arrived.

Perhaps that is how gratitude sustains optimism. It does not deny what has been lost. It keeps what has been lost from becoming the only thing we can see.

Source: Fresh Air — Michael J. Fox reflects on life with Parkinson’s and No Time Like the Future

Source: Penguin Random House — No Time Like the Future: An Optimist Considers Mortality

Until the Future Runs Out

Stephen Pollan gave Fox another thought that has stayed with him: “The last thing you run out of is the future.”

It is a remarkable sentence, particularly coming from a man who has spent decades living with a progressive disease. Fox does not know what Parkinson’s will take next. None of us, for that matter, knows what tomorrow will bring.

But until there is no tomorrow, there is a future.

And a future contains choices.

Fox’s choices ultimately extended far beyond learning to live with Parkinson’s himself. The Michael J. Fox Foundation has become the world’s largest nonprofit funder of Parkinson’s research and has directed billions of dollars toward finding better treatments and, ultimately, a cure. His disease became a source of purpose that has affected people he will never meet.

The Foundation’s work has received extraordinary recognition. In 2026, Fox received the Lasker~Bloomberg Public Service Award for his leadership in transforming Parkinson’s research and patient advocacy. The honor recognized not his acting career but what he had done with something he never asked to receive.

That work is still gathering momentum. The Foundation has now funded more than $3 billion in Parkinson’s research and has launched a campaign called “All Grit. No Quit.” Fox says the new campaign aims to raise another $2.5 billion for research. Those are two different figures: the first is what the Foundation has funded to date; the second is what it hopes to raise next. At 65, Fox is still looking ahead, asking what can be done with the future that remains. michaeljfox.org

Purpose compounds.

A decision leads to another decision. Other people become involved. Knowledge grows. Scientists conduct research. Patients volunteer for studies. Donors contribute. One person’s response to an unwanted circumstance becomes something far larger than that person.

Source: The Michael J. Fox Foundation — Our Mission

Source: Lasker Foundation — Michael J. Fox, 2026 Public Service Award

A Lesson Larger Than Parkinson’s

Most of us will never face Parkinson’s disease at age 29 while living in the public eye. But everyone who lives long enough will face things he or she did not choose.

Illness comes. People we love die. Careers change. Plans fail. Our bodies become less cooperative. Abilities we once took for granted become more difficult. Aging itself is a continuing lesson in the limits of control.

The circumstances vary enormously, but the question is much the same: What happens next?

Fox’s story does not tell us that attitude can cure disease or eliminate adversity. It tells us something more credible. We retain some agency in how we meet what happens. We can accept reality without surrendering to it. We can look for something for which to be grateful without pretending that everything is fine. We can continue to find purpose. And we can allow the people who love us to walk alongside us.

Over decades, those choices can compound.

Michael J. Fox did not choose Parkinson’s. Tracy Pollan did not choose to have Parkinson’s enter their marriage. Their children did not choose it either. But together they have spent more than three decades choosing what came next.

Fox is now 65. Parkinson’s is still progressing. He falls. He breaks bones. Ordinary physical tasks have become difficult. There is nothing sentimental about that reality.

Yet there is still a future. And Fox is still finding something to do with it.

That strikes me as a pretty good description of aging gratefully. Not denying what is difficult. Not pretending we control what we do not. Not insisting that everything will work out exactly as we would like.

Rather, recognizing what remains, being grateful for it and doing something worthwhile with whatever future is still ours.

Michael J. Fox is aging gratefully until the future runs out.

So can we.

As always, be well, and age gratefully,

Chris

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I have exercised, off and on, for many years. For nearly seven years, however, I have been a walker.

I began my permanent commitment to walking in December 2019, initially with a goal of 10,000 steps a day. Walking gradually became more than exercise. It became part of my daily routine and, eventually, simply part of the way I live.

I walk at home, when we travel, through airports, around office buildings, on tracks, on beaches, through neighborhoods and on treadmills when necessary. When I am playing regularly, pickleball adds another form of movement and exercise several times a week.

Walking has been very good to me. But I have known for years that walking isn’t everything.

I Knew It

I’ve read plenty about maintaining muscle as we age – about strength training, stretching, flexibility, balance and the ability to keep moving well. I’ve even talked about doing more of those things.

But talking about something isn’t doing it.

Walking was different. I established a habit, and the habit stuck. Strength training never really did. Neither did a regular program for balance, mobility or flexibility.

Perhaps part of the reason was that walking seemed to be working so well. I could walk five miles, play pickleball, travel and climb stairs. I was active. Why mess with success?

There is a pretty good answer to that question: because I am getting older.

I Kept Reading It

The research has not exactly been whispering.

A large 2025 systematic review examined 151 randomized trials involving more than 6,300 older adults. The researchers found that resistance training improved physical function, lean body mass, muscle size and strength. Perhaps more importantly for someone who doesn’t aspire to become a weightlifter, even relatively low volumes of resistance training produced meaningful improvements in physical function. (PubMed)

Balance deserves attention of its own. A newer systematic review examined 423 randomized trials involving almost 34,000 adults aged 60 and older. Eighteen of the 19 exercise approaches studied improved overall balance compared with control groups. Interestingly, stretching by itself showed no clear balance benefit. The evidence increasingly points toward actively training for balance, agility and our responses to instability rather than simply trying to remain limber. (PubMed)

Then there are some intriguing newer findings that go beyond muscles and balance. A study published this month in GeroScience put adults ages 64 to 81 through 12 weeks of explosive lower-body resistance training. The resistance-training group improved objective sleep efficiency and total sleep time and showed a reduction in a marker associated with altered brain energy metabolism.

It was a small study with only 36 participants, so we can’t make too much of it. But it adds to a growing body of research suggesting that resistance exercise may have benefits extending beyond stronger muscles. (Springer Nature)

Other research has reported associations or improvements involving cognition and brain health. A recent meta-analysis of 17 randomized trials found improvements in several measures of cognitive function following resistance exercise, although not every cognitive measure improved. That is encouraging, but it certainly doesn’t mean that lifting weights will prevent dementia. (Frontiers in Psychiatry)

I’ve been reading variations of these findings for years. My mind got the message, but apparently that wasn’t enough.

Then My Body Joined the Conversation

At 78, I’m still active. I walk, play pickleball, and travel frequently. I generally do the things I want to do.

But lately my body has been sending some messages of its own. There are little reminders about strength, flexibility and mobility, along with reminders that balance deserves more attention. Pickleball probably helps maintain leg strength and certainly requires movement that ordinary walking doesn’t provide. But I could use more upper-body strength there as well.

None of this is particularly dramatic. That’s the point. We don’t have to wait for something dramatic to happen before paying attention.

For years, my mind has been reading that strength, power, balance and mobility become increasingly important as we age. I understood the message intellectually. Now my body is telling my mind:

It’s time to listen.

Walking Hasn’t Failed Me

There is an important distinction here. I don’t look back at nearly seven years of walking and conclude that I chose the wrong exercise. Quite the opposite.

Walking may be one of the best decisions I’ve made for my physical stewardship. It has kept me moving and helped me establish an exercise habit that survived work, travel, weather and the inevitable interruptions of life. It has also helped me control my weight, blood pressure, cholesterol and more.  In addition, I think regular walking frees up time for my brain to think.

But walking trains primarily the things required for walking.

Aging asks more of us. We need enough leg strength to rise easily from a chair, enough power to react quickly when we stumble and enough balance to recover when a foot lands somewhere we didn’t expect. We need enough upper-body strength to lift and carry things, and enough mobility to reach, bend and turn comfortably.

YouTube is hardly a peer-reviewed journal, but it is full of physicians, trainers and others extolling the need to be able to get up from the floor unaided, balance on one foot and perform similar tests of strength, balance and mobility.

We want to preserve these capabilities not merely so that we can pass fitness tests. We want them so that we can keep living our lives.

Knowing Isn’t Doing

There may be a broader lesson here than exercise.

Sometimes we know something long before we are ready to act on it. We know we should change a habit, make a phone call, visit a friend or take better care of something—or someone. We can read the evidence, understand it and even agree with it, and still do nothing. Then experience catches up with knowledge.

That seems to be where I am now.

I don’t intend to abandon walking or replace it with some elaborate training regimen. Walking is too deeply embedded in my life, and I enjoy it too much. The goal is simpler: add a little more.

That means some regular strength work, some balance work and some attention to power, mobility and flexibility. Nothing heroic. Just enough to begin training some of the physical capabilities that walking alone doesn’t address.  But I do need to be intentional about these changes.

The challenge, of course, is the same one I faced with walking nearly seven years ago. For at least two years before December 2019, I knew I needed to walk regularly. Making it part of my life was something else entirely. And so it will be with the coming additions to my routine. Like with walking initially. I do need to be intentional about these changes.

I’ve spent nearly seven years teaching my body to keep moving. Maybe it’s time to let my body teach me something in return.

Walking and working on strength, balance, coordination and more are all part of living well and aging gratefully.

As always, be well and age gratefully,

Chris

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I have written three previous posts about GLP-1 drugs and their potential impact on our health, our behavior, and even familiar companies such as Weight Watchers. The more I have learned, the more significant these drugs appear to be.

But there is another question that cannot be avoided: What do GLP-1 drugs actually cost?

I am not a physician, pharmacist, insurance specialist, or pharmaceutical pricing expert. I am not attempting to tell anyone which drug to take or where to obtain it. I have, however, spent much of my professional life thinking about price, cost, and value. Those three things are related, but they are not the same.

And when it comes to GLP-1 drugs, they are definitely not the same.

One qualification is necessary at the outset. Everything that follows reflects information available in early September 2026. GLP-1 drugs, insurance coverage, government programs, and pricing are changing rapidly. Anything written today may be dated quickly. All we can do is make the best sense we can of the current information—and continue to watch the market.

One Drug—Many Prices

The official list price for Wegovy is about $1,350 per month. Zepbound has a list price of about $1,087 per month. Other GLP-1 drugs have similarly imposing sticker prices.

Those numbers are real, but many patients do not pay them. A commercially insured patient with coverage and a manufacturer’s savings card might pay $25 per month. An eligible Medicare beneficiary might pay $50 per month under the new Bridge Plan. Someone purchasing directly from a manufacturer might pay between $149 per month and $449 per month. An uninsured patient without access to one of these programs could still encounter a price approaching $1,000 per month or more.

And someone responding to a telehealth advertisement may discover that the prominently displayed price covers the membership—not the medicine.

The result is a pricing range extending from $25 per month to more than $1,000 per month for drugs that may contain the same active ingredient. So, what is the “price” of a GLP-1? The only honest answer may be: It depends.

The New Cash-Pay Market

The legitimate cash market for GLP-1 drugs has changed rapidly. According to Novo Nordisk’s current pricing information, Wegovy injections are available for $199 per month for the first two introductory-dose months and generally $349 per month thereafter. Wegovy pills range from $149 per month at the starting dose to $299 per month at higher doses.

Through LillyDirect, Zepbound begins at $299 per month, rising to $399 per month and then $449 per month as dosages increase. Lilly’s Foundayo pill ranges from $149 per month to approximately $349 per month, depending on dosage and temporary offers.

The distinction between list price and cash price is striking. A drug with a list price of $1,350 per month may be available directly from the manufacturer for $349 per month—or substantially less as an introductory dose.

The list price has begun to resemble the sticker price on new automobiles. It is important, but it does not necessarily tell us what anyone actually paid.

The Medicare GLP-1 Bridge

On July 1, 2026, the federal government’s Medicare GLP-1 Bridge began to provide certain weight-management drugs to eligible Medicare Part D beneficiaries with a copay of $50 per month. Covered drugs include Wegovy, Zepbound KwikPen, and Foundayo.

That $50 per month is the patient’s genuine out-of-pocket price for the medicine. It is not an introductory telehealth fee. But not every Medicare beneficiary qualifies. Eligibility generally requires a BMI of at least 35, or a lower BMI accompanied by specified medical conditions such as chronic kidney disease, uncontrolled hypertension, prediabetes, or prior cardiovascular events. Prior authorization is also required.

The program currently runs through December 31, 2027. For those who qualify, access at $50 per month could be life changing. For those who fall just outside the eligibility requirements, the difference between $50 per month and $349 per month may be equally significant.

What Are Ro and Weight Watchers Actually Selling?

Telehealth companies add another layer. Ro currently advertises its weight-management program for $39 for the first month. But that is the introductory membership fee—not the cost of a GLP-1 drug. After the first month, Ro’s membership costs between $74 per month and $149 per month, depending on whether the patient prepays for a longer period. The medication is billed separately.

A patient taking a maintenance dose of Wegovy through Ro might therefore pay $349 per month for the medicine plus $74 per month to $149 per month for membership and medical support. The total could be approximately $423 per month to $498 per month.

Weight Watchers has adopted a similar structure as it incorporates GLP-1 drugs into its traditional behavioral weight-loss programs. Its Med+ program currently advertises an introductory membership price of $25 per month for the first two months with a 12-month commitment. After that, the membership price increases to $74 per month for the remaining ten months. The cost of a GLP-1 drug is separate.

Weight Watchers is selling more than access to a prescription. Its program includes medical supervision, insurance assistance, nutrition counseling, behavioral support, workshops, and the familiar Weight Watchers app and community. That combination may have value, but the advertised membership price is not the patient’s total monthly cost.

The fine print may tell the whole truth. But it can be misleading to anyone not reading all of it.

What Are People Actually Paying?

Published evidence confirms that payments vary enormously. A 2025 study in JAMA Health Forum examined nearly 10,000 GLP-1 prescriptions. Among prescriptions that were filled, patients paid an average of approximately $72 for a 30-day supply. Patients treated for obesity without diabetes paid considerably more—about $134 for a 30-day supply on average.

But approximately 40% of the prescriptions were never filled. That creates a significant blind spot. Studies can measure what purchasers paid. They generally cannot tell us how many patients arrived at the pharmacy, heard the price, and went home without the medicine.

A broader 2026 study in the Journal of General Internal Medicine used federal expenditure data and found median out-of-pocket spending of $1,528 per year, or about $127 per month. Among people with at least two prescription fills, median spending was $2,070 per year. People 65 and older paid a median of $1,964 per year.

A late-2025 KFF survey adds the patient perspective. Some 56% of GLP-1 users said the drugs were difficult to afford, and 27% of insured users said they paid the full cost themselves. Among former users, 14% said they stopped because of cost.

These studies do not provide a single answer. They demonstrate why there is no single answer. Insurance helps many people, but the word “insured” does not necessarily mean that a particular drug, or its use for weight loss, is covered.

The Compounded and Gray Markets

During the GLP-1 shortages, compounded semaglutide and tirzepatide became widely available. Many patients obtained them through licensed prescribers and compounding pharmacies.

The shortages have ended, and the rules have tightened. Compounded drugs may still be appropriate in certain patient-specific circumstances, but they are not FDA-approved substitutes that can automatically be mass-produced whenever they are cheaper than the branded product.

Advertised prices for compounded products are often lower than branded cash prices, although comparisons are difficult because some prices include medical consultations, membership fees, laboratory work, and shipping while others do not. Beyond legitimate compounding lies a gray—and sometimes plainly illegal—market involving questionable online sellers, counterfeit products, and substances labeled “for research purposes.”

The FDA warns that such products may contain too much, too little, or none of the advertised ingredient. A bargain price for an unknown substance is not necessarily a bargain.

The Affordability Conundrum

The economics of GLP-1 drugs will continue to change. Competition is increasing. Pills are entering the market. Manufacturers are lowering cash prices. Medicare coverage is expanding. Insurers and employers are reconsidering their policies. Companies such as Weight Watchers are building medical and behavioral programs around the drugs.

People of some means who need these drugs can generally find a way to obtain them. Paying $200 per month, $300 per month, or even $500 per month is not pleasant, but it may be manageable—particularly when weighed against the potential health benefits.

But millions of Americans cannot afford an additional $100 per month, much less $300 per month or more. For them, the conundrum is stark: they cannot afford to pay for the drugs, but given the health consequences of obesity, diabetes, and related conditions, they may not be able to afford not to take them.

That tension will not disappear. It will likely create increasing pressure on the federal government, state governments, insurers, employers, and drug manufacturers to reduce prices or create additional ways for lower-income patients to obtain these medicines. The Medicare GLP-1 Bridge is one early response. More are likely to follow, and that pressure may continue pushing prices downward.

Living well and aging gratefully require us to be good stewards of our health and our financial resources. GLP-1 drugs may create enormous value for many people. The challenge now is making sure that their value is not reserved primarily for those who can afford the price of admission.

As always, be well, and age gratefully,

Chris

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Twenty-Five Years Later, It Still Feels Close

Twenty-five years is a long time. It is long enough for a person to grow older, for children who were not yet born to become adults, and for an event that once seemed immediate to become part of history. Yet September 11, 2001 does not feel like history to those of us who lived through it. I still remember exactly where I was when I heard the news, who called, what I saw on television, and the words that came out of my mouth.

The morning began ordinarily. I was in the living room of my condominium in Memphis, organizing what I wanted to take to the office. My phone rang just before 8:00 a.m. Central time. It was my then girlfriend. She asked, “Where are you?” I told her I was in the living room and about to leave for the office. She said, “Turn on the TV.”

I turned it on just after the first American Airlines plane struck the North Tower. We stayed on the phone, watching our respective televisions. Then the second plane hit the South Tower. I remember exactly what I said: “We are at war!” I was mesmerized and sick. It was chaos. Before the morning was over, we would see the Pentagon attacked and learn about the fourth plane crashing near Shanksville, Pennsylvania. The ordinary day had disappeared.

A little after 9:00 a.m., I decided I needed to get to the office. Fortunately, I was in Memphis. We had people from the office who were traveling, as did many businesses. People came in shocked and uncertain. We tried to help those who were stranded find a way home. I called friends whom I knew traveled frequently to make sure they were safe. Beyond that, much of the day is a blur. There was a television in the office, and we watched in disbelief as more details emerged.

Why Some Days Stay With Us

Why do some days remain fixed in memory while others disappear? One reason is that some events change the way we see the world. Pew Research Center reported this month that 83% of American adults who were born before 2001 still remember exactly where they were or what they were doing when they heard the news of September 11. Among those who were at least 10 years old at the time, the figure is 93%. The numbers are striking because memory usually fades with time. This one has not.

For me, September 11 belongs with two other moments that remain fixed: November 22, 1963, when President John F. Kennedy was assassinated, and September 28, 1965, when I learned that my mother had died.

I was fifteen when Kennedy was killed and sitting in a dentist’s chair during a root canal procedure. I remember going home and watching the events unfold on our small black-and-white television. I was sad, but something else happened: I became more aware of the larger world and of the obligation to pay attention to it.

Two years later, at Stetson University, I was called out of class to the office of Dr. Walker, chairman of the Religion Department. I assumed he was going to tell me that my grandmother had died. Instead, he told me that my mother had died. The news shook me to my core. Until then, death had been something I knew about. That day it became personal. It was another point of maturation.

Remembering Versus Knowing

There are other days I know historically rather than personally. December 7, 1941, is one. June 6, 1944, is another. I was not present at Pearl Harbor or on the beaches of Normandy. My understanding of those days comes through books, recordings, photographs, stories and, admittedly, movies. My father was an Army engineer during World War II and helped prepare for the invasion at Normandy, later following combat troops into Europe to support logistics. I know those events mattered. But knowing is different from remembering.

What Should We Pass Along?

That distinction matters as the generations turn over. September 11 is moving from living memory into history. My older daughter, Amanda, born in 1974, remembers it vividly, and we recently talked at length about our memories.  She was in a meeting and missed the early announcements.  Her fiancé called her and told her he was picking her up.  They went to his place and watched television all day and talked with a friend.  She will never forget that day.

My younger children, Zeno and Katherine, were born in 1990 and 1993, and were old enough to remember that something terrible happened, but they experienced it differently. Zeno’s fifth grade teacher somehow revealed the attacks to his class a bit out of school.  The other boys were not told pending being picked up by their parents.  The Headmaster of the school came and asked the boys not to say anything to the other boys.  Zeno took the photo at the bottom of this post at about 11am yesterday, September 11, 2001.

Katherine was not told in school and her mother picked her up.  She remembers a faltering explanation that she got before they picked up Zeno.  They then went to Merl’s Barber Shop, my barber forever, for a haircut for Zeno. Both kids remembered that trip to the barber shop.. I spoke to them at different timesy.

Zeno remembers feeling “weird” and scared.  Katherine remembers being frightened.

It is amazing what we remember when potentially life-changing events occur.

For younger Americans generally, September 11 is increasingly something learned rather than remembered. The question for those of us who remember is what we should pass along.

We certainly remember the destruction and the nearly 3,000 people who died. But I hope we also remember what happened around the destruction: the courage of first responders and ordinary citizens, the service of members of the military, the compassion shown to strangers, and the unusual sense of shared humanity that appeared across the country. For a time, Americans seemed to remember that we were more alike than different.

I remember another part of that period, too. By my mid-fifties, it was not unusual at public gatherings for veterans to be asked to stand for recognition. I would look around at those men and women and feel a shared sense of humanity and a determination that we must do what is necessary to protect the freedoms we have in this country. That feeling has stayed with me.

Today, we have “Thank you for your service!”  And a better overall attitude towards military service than when I got out in late 1974.

History Changes Ordinary Life

September 11 also changed ordinary life. Air travel changed permanently. Security became part of the experience of every flight. My younger children hardly knew what commercial air travel was like before September 11. They were eight and eleven on that day. For those of us who traveled for business, the difference was almost immediate     and lasting. Security has a cost, but so does vulnerability. A free society has to think seriously about both.

Carrying Memory Forward

This anniversary also arrives in the year of America’s 250th anniversary. That coincidence makes me think about the larger role of memory in a nation. We need to remember our history – the parts that make us proud and the parts that make us uncomfortable. Forgetting the bad does not make it better. Remembering it gives us a chance not to repeat it. Remembering the good gives us something worth preserving.

So the question after twenty-five years is not simply whether we remember September 11. Most of us who were there do. The more important question is whether we have remembered what is worth carrying forward. If we have, then memory can become more than nostalgia or grief. It can become wisdom – a way of carrying the lessons of one generation into the lives of the next.

And that is part of living well and aging gratefully.

As always, be well, and age gratefully.

PS If you enjoy this post and blog, pass it along to your friends and social media.  If you like, they will probably like it as well.

Taken by Zeno Mercer, 11am, September 11. 2026

Source Note

Pew Research Center, “9/11 memories remain vivid in the U.S. 25 years later,” September 3, 2026.