Mercer Capital was born in June of 1982. At that time, I made what I now think of as my first good business decision. I decided to put the business first. Let’s call it my “business first” decision.

My goal was simple. I wanted to treat Mercer Capital as a business rather than as a vehicle to support my personal lifestyle. That meant spending first on what the business needed, and accepting whatever remained as my personal income or return on the business.

From the beginning, I wanted to build a company that created value for clients, employees, and owners. Looking back, that decision shaped much of the next four decades. It encouraged long-term thinking, disciplined reinvestment, and a focus on building an enduring enterprise rather than maximizing current income and distributions for owners in the short run.

For many years, I assumed that way of thinking would always serve me well. It did. But it has taken me more than forty years to realize that every important decision has its season. The decision to put the business first was exactly the right one in 1982. It is no longer the decision I need to make.

The transition began during the early months of the COVID-19 pandemic. Mercer Capital was approached by a large financial institution interested in acquiring the firm. While those discussions ultimately did not lead to a sale, they accelerated conversations about my ownership transition through our ESOP.  Management succession had occurred years earlier when Matt Crow became President in 2009. What remained was completing my ownership transition.

As part of that process, I moved from being an employee to serving as a contractor. I expected that change would naturally lead to slowing down. It didn’t. I often described myself as “semi-retired,” but I wasn’t acting like it.

Old habits are remarkably persistent. Everyone at Mercer Capital encouraged me to slow down, but changing decades of routines proved much harder than I ever thought.

By early 2024, I found myself writing less about business valuation and more about walking, health, motivation, and aging. In hindsight, that shift reflected where my heart and mind were already moving.

The real turning point came in early 2025. I decided to separate my monthly living expenses from any personal income generated at Mercer Capital. My financial adviser began depositing a monthly amount from my investment portfolio into my operating account, while any income from Mercer Capital flowed directly back into my portfolio.

Looking back, that wasn’t primarily a financial decision. It was a psychological one. It finally broke my mental dependence on Mercer Capital as the source of my monthly cash flow. Once that happened, I found it much easier to think differently about how I wanted to spend my time.

Only then did I begin to recognize what my second important decision really was. If the first decision had been “business first,” this one was “living value first.” Instead of asking what the business needed from me, I began asking how I could best use the freedom the business had given me.

The journey from “business first” to “living value first” has been much deeper than simply slowing down or retiring. It has been a transition of identity.

For more than forty years, my identity was wrapped up in building Mercer Capital into a national business valuation firm. The psychological shift wasn’t just about income—it was about recognizing that my purpose needed to expand beyond Mercer Capital.

This may be the most important idea in this essay. For many aging professionals and business owners, the transition from building value to living value is ultimately a transition of identity.

I’ve often told younger colleagues that one of the keys to financial independence is to spend less than you earn and productively invest the difference. I’m grateful I followed that advice over many years. It created the freedom to make this second decision.

Today I believe I have finally (well, almost finally) settled into semi-retirement. I continue to work with a handful of long-standing clients and enjoy projects that are especially interesting or challenging. Most new opportunities are better served by the outstanding professionals at Mercer Capital. I still enjoy speaking and writing about valuation when interesting opportunities arise, but I no longer feel compelled to do so.

In April 2026, I rebranded ChrisMercer.net from a business valuation blog into “From Building Value to Living It – Aging Gratefully.” Looking back, the new title was less a rebranding than an acknowledgment of where my life was already headed.

This week Carol and I will fly to Raleigh to spend time with my best childhood friend and his wife. We’ll then drive to Greenville for a nephew’s wedding, visit family, and spend time wandering around eastern North Carolina.

Not long ago, I might have talked myself out of making that trip because there was work to do – or even if things weren’t so pressing.

Today it feels like exactly the right thing to do. Forty years ago, I probably wouldn’t have recognized that as progress. Today I do.

Perhaps that’s what living value first really means – not necessarily completely stopping the work of creating value, but making sure we also take the time to live it.   And we can do this whether retired or not.

Until next time, be well, and age gratefully,

Chris

A few weeks ago my Garmin watch quietly informed me that I wasn’t really 78. At least not in one important respect.

The watch displayed my “Fitness Age,” and I was intrigued. Until then, I hadn’t even known the concept existed, much less that my Garmin was calculating it.

Chronological age addresses the question: “How old are you?”  One thing about chronological age – it is fixed at any point in time and we cannot change it!

Increasingly, scientists, medical professionals, and technology companies are now asking a different question: “How old is your body?”

Background

I’ve been using wearable fitness devices since buying one of the original Fitbit clip-on trackers shortly after it was introduced in late 2009. Over the years I’ve watched these devices evolve from simple step counters into sophisticated health monitors measuring heart rate, sleep, blood oxygen, stress, recovery, and much more.

Today, a few major concepts addressing aspects of aging are available from the major wearable device manufacturers.  They are concluding that “age” is a more meaningful way to communicate health than raw physiological measurements.

The trend is unmistakable: wearables are moving from measuring what you did today to estimating how well your body is aging (or living).

Current products and concepts (as inclusive as I know) are shown in the figure below for perspective and not discussion.  Garmin is first because that is my watch.  The rest are in alphabetical order.

Below the table, I’ll discuss Garmin’s age measure concept and how it relates to me (and you).

Fitness Age

Garmin describes Fitness Age as an estimate of how your cardiorespiratory fitness compares with that of other adults. The concept is based primarily on your estimated VO₂ max – the maximum amount of oxygen your body can use during exercise – which is widely recognized as one of the best measures of aerobic fitness and an important predictor of long-term health (see the table above).

Garmin’s calculation also considers factors such as your age, sex, resting heart rate, body composition (or BMI if body fat percentage isn’t available), and your recent activity levels. The result is a number expressed in years – and it relates to you (or me).

Unlike your chronological age, your Fitness Age can move in either direction. As your aerobic fitness improves, your resting heart rate declines, your body composition improves, and you maintain an active lifestyle, your metric may decrease. Conversely, inactivity, declining fitness, or weight gain can cause it to rise.

Of course, Garmin’s measure is only an estimate. It isn’t a medical diagnosis, nor is it intended to predict how long you will live. Rather, it is a practical way to summarize several important measures of health in a single number that most of us can understand.

We may have little intuition about whether a VO₂ max of 38 or 42 is “good.” But we immediately understand the idea of having the fitness of someone younger—or older—than our chronological age.

That simple translation is what captured my attention. For years I’ve tracked my daily steps, walking distance, resting heart rate, sleep, weight, and more. Fitness Age doesn’t replace any of those measures.

Instead, it pulls several of them together into a single, easy-to-understand indicator of how well my body (or yours) is aging.

My Fitness Age

When I first noticed Fitness Age on my watch, it informed me that my metric had been lowered from 68 to 67.5.

That got my attention because my chronological age is 78.

I wasn’t looking for another number to track. I was intrigued because this one attempted to summarize several aspects of health into a single measure I could actually understand and relate to intuitively.

Based on the fitness measures Garmin uses, my cardiovascular fitness resembles that of the average healthy 67½-year-old rather than the average 78-year-old man.

Before I put too much of a new spring in my step, I looked at what Fitness Age does not mean.  Since we are on it, I’ll personalize the response.

It does not mean:

• My entire body is biologically 67½ years old.
• I have added 10½ years to my life expectancy.
• I have the athletic ability of every 67-year-old.
• I am protected from age-related disease or injury.

Garmin is estimating one important dimension of health: cardiorespiratory fitness. They are not measuring memory, bone density, joint health, vision, hearing, muscle strength (except indirectly), or many other aspects of aging.

The fact that Garmin lowered my metric suggests that it is a range concept.  One’s Fitness Age can be lowered or it can be increased.

I do not know the algorithm Garmin uses to calculate the metric, but they leave clues with their “recommendations” when providing my (or your) Fitness Age.

Per my Garmin Connect app, my metric is 67.5 years.  The chart shows my chronological age on the right as 78, which it is.  It also provides a Target age of 61 years on the left.  How would that be possible?  Garmin provides me with four “Recommendations” to help lower my Fitness Age:

1. Increase Vigorous Minutes. 6w average 42.6 min per week. Higher Priority

2. Increase Vigorous Days. 6w average 0.5 days per week.

3. Reduce Body Fat.  Weekly avg 28.7%

4. Resting Heart Rate.  Maintain 59bpm (beats per minute). On Target

When I saw these recommendations, I remembered that my recent activity has been unusual. During a trip to Peru with my son in May, we spent much of our time at elevations between 4,500 and 7,000 feet, walking only when necessary. I also picked up a lower GI illness that slowed me down for several weeks afterward. My vigorous activity—and pickleball—had dropped considerably.

So I understood recommendation #1 of Increasing Vigorous Minutes.  If I accomplish it reasonably during the coming days and weeks, I’ll also be focusing on recommendation #2, that of Increasing Vigorous Days.

To reduce Body Fat, or lower my Body Mass Index, I’ll need to lose some weight – or increase muscle mass.  We will see.

Finally, it says to maintain my Resting Heart Rate.  If I do #1 and #2, that is likely.

Final Thoughts

Reviewing my Fitness Age information led me to think about aging more generally.

Chronological age is something we receive or achieve as we live each day and year.  It is fixed at any point in time and cannot be changed.

Fitness Age, on the other hand, is something we can influence.

Our measures can improve—or worsen—depending on the choices we make over time. That makes it different from our birth certificates. It reflects the cumulative effect of thousands of ordinary decisions over time: whether we walk today, whether we play pickleball, whether we do strength and balance exercises, whether we maintain a healthy weight, and more.

We cannot determine how long we will live.  But, we can influence how well we live and the odds of avoiding the bad things that can happen to any of us – or the odds of surviving if they happen to us.

Chronological age tells us how long we’ve been alive. Fitness Age asks how well we’re living.

None of us can change our chronological age. Every birthday moves us forward another year. But Fitness Age reminds us that many of the choices we make every day still matter. We may not control how many years we are given, but we can influence how well we live those years. To me, that’s a hopeful message—and one worth paying attention to.

Until the next post, be well, and age gratefully,

Chris

Years ago, I learned it was bad for sleep to have a clock visible in the bedroom at night.

Last month, I wrote about taking the idea one step further — not just removing the bedroom clock but also resisting the temptation to check your watch during the night. Looking at the time invites your brain to calculate how much sleep you’ve lost or how little time remains before the alarm.

By last night, I hadn’t checked my watch during the night for more than three months.

Last evening, my Garmin watch froze and I couldn’t restore the clock face. I restarted it several times, but the problem remained. I went to bed assuming the display would still be blank.

I awoke for the first time and, without thinking, I flicked my wrist and turned the watch on. 4:11am.

Darn! Only 2 hours and 49 minutes until the alarm.

I fidgeted and worried about the time for the rest of the night.

Just one look took me right back to a place I don’t want to be in the middle of the night.

If you’ve broken the habit of checking the time at night, keep it that way. And if you’re tempted, don’t look.

I’m grateful it was only one glance. I don’t plan to repeat that experiment anytime soon.

Coming Up

I had planned to write about Garmin’s concept of Fitness Age this week, but I wanted to share last night’s experience first.

Next week we will examine and compare Garmin’s “fitness age” with chronological age and see, to the extent we can through Garmin’s opacity, what it might mean for aging professionals.

In the meantime, be well, and age gratefully,

Chris

A recent read, Move Your DNA by Katy Bowman, reminded me of something I have believed for years: movement and exercise are not the same thing. Both are important, but they are often conflated.

Exercise is something we schedule and do. Exercise is almost always a form of movement.

Movement, on the other hand, is something we live.  Not all movement is exercise, but virtually all movement is good for us.

Many of us think about health in terms of workouts. Did I get to the gym today? Did I walk three miles? Did I close my rings? Those are not bad questions, but they can cause us to overlook a more important one: How much did I move throughout the day?

That question has influenced my habits for years. I am always looking for opportunities to incorporate movement into ordinary life rather than relying exclusively on formal exercise. Sometimes that means walking in my Memphis neighborhood or on the nearby University of Memphis campus. In Florida, I enjoy walking around Sea Bird Island or along the beach, or at the track near our condominium.  When the weather cooperates, these walks hardly feel like exercise at all.

Other opportunities appear in less obvious places. I’ve walked laps around the large lobby of my office building. I’ve walked airports while waiting for flights instead of sitting at the gate. I’ve walked around other office buildings, to nearby restaurants, and through shopping malls when traveling. If it’s pouring rain, I may walk the five floors of my parking garage or use a treadmill. When options are limited, I’ve even resorted to running in place in a hotel room.

One of my favorite examples is parking far from the entrance of a restaurant, big-box store, or wherever I happen to be going. The extra steps seem insignificant at the time, but they accumulate surprisingly quickly. The same is true of taking the stairs, standing instead of sitting, or choosing to walk when a short drive would be easier.

Pickleball is another source of movement for me. After a couple of hours on the court, I normally accumulate more than 4,000 steps without ever thinking about exercise. I am simply engaged in a sport I enjoy.

One of my best examples of movement occurred during a recent visit to New York to see my son and daughter-in-law. I averaged about eight miles of walking per day, not because I had set a fitness goal, but because walking was the natural way to move around the city. Movement was built into the experience itself. My son and daughter-in-law consider a twenty-minute walk “just a short walk.”  Those “short walks” add up to a lot of movement.

The focus on movement is what resonated with me in Bowman’s book. The goal is not necessarily to exercise more. It is to create a life that contains more movement. Our bodies respond to what we do all day long, not just during a scheduled workout.

Exercise is obviously important. I have no quarrel with structured workouts. And I often focus on walking briskly to get all systems brewing. I am also adding a bit more strength training to develop muscles that otherwise would disappear.

Exercise is important.  But health may depend as much on the hundreds of small movement decisions we make each day as it does on any single trip to the gym.

So, when I think about movement now, I find myself returning to a simple question: not “Did I exercise today?” but “How much did I move today?”

Our answers may tell us more than we think.  Think about the question as it pertains to you.

Last December, I gave up my Fitbit and purchased a Garmin Vivoactive 6 smart watch.  Last week, my watch showed me something I had not previously seen.  Garmin has a concept called “Fitness Age.”  Next week, I’ll talk about Garmin’s Fitness Age concept and what it might mean for aging professionals.

In the meantime, be well, and age gratefully,

Chris

The Inner Game of Tennis

Circa 1990, I read The Inner Game of Tennis by Timothy Gallwey. I was playing my best 2.5 tennis at the time, so I bought the book, which was first published in 1974, and because it had become both a business bestseller and a self-help classic.

Gallwey’s central idea was that every game—and, in fact, every business endeavor—has two dimensions: an Outer Game and an Inner Game.

The Outer Game is what we do. It is our performance on the tennis court, in the boardroom, or in everyday life. The Inner Game is the conversation taking place inside our heads. It includes self-doubt, fear, overthinking, and anything else that distracts us from the task at hand.

By 1990, six years into building Mercer Capital, I had begun to recognize how often my own Inner Game was holding me back. Were we good enough? Could we really handle larger assignments? Other firms had been around longer and had more people…

Recognizing that inner voice helped me develop it and move beyond it. Over time, Mercer Capital began pursuing larger opportunities and more specialized niches that matched our abilities. The Inner Game of Tennis helped me see that success often depends less on external obstacles than on the barriers we create ourselves.

Pickleball Therapy: The Book

Fast forward to March 2026. Carol and I traveled to Largo, Florida, where I attended a Pickleball Super Camp led by Tony Roig of Better Pickleball.  The folks at Better Pickleball also publish the Better Pickleball Blog, which provides bite-sized insights into many aspects of the pickleball journey.  In addition, Tony is host of the Pickleball Therapy Podcast, which just published its 298th episode.  I enjoy listening to this podcast while I am walking towards my 10,000 or so steps per day.

I have been a subscriber to Better Pickleball for a couple of years and was attracted by its emphasis on three pillars of improvement: Mind, Strategy, and Athletics.  The pillar that interested me most was Mind.

At age 78, there is probably some room for athletic improvement, but not nearly as much as there was at age 40. Strategy can certainly improve. But I have learned that strategy is difficult to execute if the mind is not engaged.

At the end of camp, I purchased Tony’s book, Pickleball Therapy: The Book.

Like The Inner Game of Tennis, while the title reflects pickleball, Tony’s book is really a book that uses sports to teach lessons about pickleball – and life.

Tony explains how thousands of years of evolution shaped the way we think. Our ancestors lived in a dangerous world. Survival depended on recognizing threats and reacting quickly to them.

As a result, we inherited a strong negativity bias. A rustle in the grass might not have been a tiger, but assuming it was improved the odds of survival. Those who underestimated danger often did not survive long enough to pass along their genes.

We descend from the survivors.

That negativity bias served our ancestors well. It can be much less helpful during a pickleball game—or in everyday life.

Tony builds on Gallwey’s concepts by describing three selves:

• Self 1, the Speaker Self, is the voice in our heads.
• Self 2, the Doer Self, is the part of us that actually performs.
• Self 3, the Survivor Self, is our inherited instinctive response system, quick to react to perceived threats.

When Self 1 and Self 3 combine forces, they can become formidable opponents. Negative self-talk, frustration, and overreaction can undermine performance both on and off the court.

The Conversations We Have With Ourselves

I am grateful to Tony for reminding me of a book I read more than 35 years ago.

The Inner Game of Tennis helped me deal with the self-doubt of a younger man. Pickleball Therapy has helped me recognize that the Inner Game does not disappear with age. It simply changes its vocabulary.

When I was younger, Self 1 asked questions like:

“Are you good enough?”

“Can you really do that?”

Today, Self 1 asks different questions:

“Is the trip worth the trouble?”

“Do you really want the hassle?”

“Maybe another time.”

The questions sound different, but the effect can be the same. Left unchecked, Self 1 can slowly shrink our worlds.

I have already seen benefits from Tony’s book.

On the pickleball court, I have nearly eliminated the words “I’m sorry” from my vocabulary. Mistakes happen. The next point matters more than the last one. The sooner we let go of a mistake, the sooner we can make the next point count.  My focus now is on encouragement, learning, and enjoying the game.  And implementing some of the lessons from Super Camp and Better Pickleball.

But the larger benefit has occurred away from the court.

For some time, Carol and I had planned to attend the wedding of a nephew in Greenville, North Carolina. Part of me wondered whether another trip was really necessary given recent travels to Peru, Sedona, and upcoming family time in Clearwater Beach.

Then I recognized that voice.

Instead of listening to it, I booked the trip.

Because Delta flies to Raleigh rather than Greenville, I called my best friend from childhood, who lives there. Although we have spoken occasionally over the years, our paths have crossed only a handful of times since college. He is now a retired university professor and docent at the North Carolina Museum of History. He has volunteered to give us a personal tour and a period to catch up before we continue on to Greenville.

We will also spend time with a cousin whom I have seen far too little over the years.

Had I listened to Self 1, none of that would have happened.

The older I get, the more convinced I become that one of the great challenges of aging is not physical. It is mental. It is learning to recognize negative self-talk before it talks us out of experiences, relationships, opportunities, and memories.

A pickleball game lasts fifteen or thirty minutes, maybe. The game of life lasts much longer.

The Inner Game of Tennis taught me that lesson 35 years ago. Pickleball Therapy reminded me that I still need the inner game today.

The inner game never ends.

As always, be well, and age gratefully,

Chris

Jeff Webb founded Varsity Spirit and the Universal Cheerleading Association in 1974.  He was instrumental in the development of cheerleading as a sport across the nation.  The business, headquartered in Memphis, is highly successful.

In early March, Mr. Webb fell and struck his head on the court while playing pickleball in Memphis.  Public reports say he was hospitalized and placed on life support.  After a couple of weeks, that support was withdrawn, and he died on March 19, 2026.  Little else is known at this time.

See the YouTube video, Jeff Webb, Charlie Kirk’s Mentor, Dies Following Pickleball Accident , prepared by Inside Edition. The video has had 517 thousand views as of today.  It is a bit more alarmist than I’d like, but it helps to make the point that a single fall can change everything.

On the video, a pickleball coach illustrates the proper way to address a ball lobbed over one’s head.  This is likely the kind of shot that Webb was attempting at the time of his accident.

The details of Mr. Webb’s accident are not important for purposes of this post, and they may never become public. What matters is the reminder it provides for pickleball and for life: a fall can change a life in an instant.

Most of us think of falls as things that happen to other people.  We may picture nursing homes, walkers, and advanced age. Yet many serious falls occur during recreation, exercise, sports, travel, or routine daily activities. They happen to active people who consider themselves healthy, capable, and independent.

For aging professionals, that reality deserves attention.

Many of us have spent decades building careers, businesses, financial security, relationships, and plans for retirement. We focus on investments, estate planning, taxes, healthcare, and long-term goals. Yet a single fall can undo years of careful planning in a matter of seconds.

A fall may result in nothing more than embarrassment. Or it may result in a broken wrist, a fractured hip, a concussion, a traumatic brain injury, months of rehabilitation, loss of independence, or worse.

The older we become, the more likely it is that a fall will have lasting consequences. Recovery takes longer. Balance may not fully return. Confidence may be shaken. Activities that once seemed routine can suddenly feel risky.

I have seen this firsthand.

A couple of years ago, while playing doubles pickleball, my partner hit a lob. A friend on the opposing side moved backward to retrieve it, lost his balance, and struck the back of his head on the court.  He suffered a mild concussion and was unable to play for quite some time.  My friend’s fall was a warning to me.

Not long after that, I experienced my own lesson. While chasing a lob, a teammate and I both went for the same ball (it was mine to get). We collided, and I was thrown onto the floor and into a wall. Although I escaped a head injury, I spent months dealing with injuries to my shoulders, hips, ribs, and confidence.  That fall was another warning to me.

The physical pain eventually subsided.

The mental impact lasted longer.

To this day, if a lob is hit over my head, I often just let it go. Losing a point is preferable to risking another injury. I am practicing some and trying to regain my confidence.  But, I still let some lobs go.

Letting a lob go may not be the most competitive approach, but it reflects a reality that many of us eventually discover. At some point, preserving health becomes more important than winning a point, a game, or even a tournament.

The lesson extends far beyond pickleball.

Falls occur on stairways, in parking lots, on wet floors, in gardens, while traveling, and while performing ordinary household chores. They occur when we are distracted, in a hurry, overconfident, tired, or simply unlucky.

The challenge is not to eliminate all risk from life. That would be impossible.  The challenge is to remain aware that risk exists.

Maintaining balance, strength, flexibility, reaction time, and situational awareness is increasingly important as we age. See my three-part series on situational awareness:

1. Situational Awareness: Learning to See
2. Situational Awareness: When We Stop Seeing
3. Situational Awareness: Paying Attention as We Age

Exercising good judgment is key.  Sometimes the smartest decision is not to chase the difficult shot, hurry down the staircase, or attempt the task that places us in an unnecessary position of danger.

Many successful professionals have spent their lives believing that determination and effort can overcome almost any obstacle. Often they can.

Gravity is different.  Gravity does not care how successful we are, how intelligent we are, or how many accomplishments we have accumulated. Gravity treats all of us equally.

That is why I believe discussions about awareness about falls deserves a place alongside discussions about fitness, finances, healthcare, and longevity.

Aging well is not merely about living longer. It is about preserving the physical capacity and independence that make added years meaningful.

Jeff Webb’s tragic death in a pickleball accident that prompted this reflection is a reminder of that reality. Not because it was unusual, but because it was all too human. A momentary loss of balance can have consequences far beyond what any of us imagine.

In future posts, I plan to discuss practical ways to improve balance, strength, and fall prevention. Those topics may not seem exciting, but they are among the most important investments we can make in our future selves.

In the meantime, be well, stay upright, and age gratefully,

Chris

P.S.  If you like this post or this blog, share it with your friends and encourage them to subscribe.  If you like it, they may like it as well

In the late 1970s and early 1980s, I was a regional bank stock analyst with Morgan Keegan & Company in Memphis.  I was young, inexperienced as a securities analyst, and trying to learn the business quickly. After less than a year, I was speaking with institutional investors on behalf of our firm’s senior equity brokers.  I have written about this time before, but do so now with a different perspective.

One of the firm’s top equity salesmen was G. Walter Loewenbaum, II, whom everyone called Wally. He invited me to travel with him to visit institutional clients in London, Edinburgh, and Paris. I was about 32 years old at the time.

One evening in Edinburgh, we had no client dinner scheduled, so Wally and I went to dinner together. At some point during the evening, I asked him what seemed to me to be an important question.

“Wally, what is the secret of your success?”

He paused for a moment, then continued the conversation as though he hadn’t heard the question. A few moments later, however, he said something I have never forgotten.

“Chris, most brokers don’t lose clients because they lose money for them. If you are in this business long enough, you are going to lose money from time to time. Brokers lose clients because they ignore them while they are losing money. Don’t ignore your clients in bad times and you will keep them.”

Wally strongly believed in investing alongside his clients. If he recommended a stock, he owned it personally. His clients knew he was experiencing the same pain when markets were down.

I internalized that advice and have shared it many times over the years.

Then he added something else.

“Chris, the secret to my success, whatever that is, is one word — momentum. If you have momentum, do everything in your power to maintain it. And if you lose momentum, do everything in your power to regain it.”

At 32 years of age, I heard Wally’s comments entirely through the lens of professional success. Momentum meant productivity, growth, client relationships, recognition, income, and continuing to move forward professionally.

And for many years, that interpretation served me well.

What I could not appreciate then was that momentum changes meaning as we age.

For decades, my life moved at a fairly relentless pace. Building Mercer Capital. Writing and speaking. Client work. Deadlines. Meetings. Responsibilities.

Like many professionals, I became conditioned to motion and productivity. External demands created structure and momentum almost automatically.

Then came semi-retirement.

What surprised me was not slowing down. What surprised me was how difficult it was to slow down well.

It took me a couple of years to begin understanding that slowing down and stopping are not the same thing.

Many high-achieving professionals spend decades accelerating. Our schedules fill. Our identities become intertwined with productivity and usefulness. We grow accustomed to urgency. Constant motion begins to feel normal.

Then one day, if we are fortunate, life changes. The calendar opens up. The phone rings less often. Some responsibilities pass to younger hands. And many people quietly discover they are not entirely sure how to redefine momentum for this next stage of life.

I think that is one of the great challenges of aging well.

The danger is not merely slowing down.  The danger is losing forward motion altogether.

These days, momentum looks different to me than it did at age 32.

Momentum now means continuing to walk and exercise most days. Trying to stay healthy enough to enjoy life and remain independent. Travelling frequently for fun and family.  Staying intellectually engaged. Continuing to learn. Writing about things that matter to me. Investing time in relationships. Being present with family and friends. Paying attention to ordinary blessings that once might have gone unnoticed in busier years.

Earlier in life, momentum was often fueled by ambition.

Today, I increasingly think momentum can be fueled by gratitude.

Gratitude for health. Gratitude for meaningful work over many years. Gratitude for friendships and family. Gratitude simply for another day to live with purpose, awareness, and usefulness.

I still think Wally’s advice was right.

If we have momentum, we should do what we can to maintain it.

But perhaps momentum later in life is less about acceleration and more about engagement. Less about climbing and more about appreciating. Less about proving ourselves and more about continuing to live intentionally and gratefully.

And if we lose momentum for a season, as all of us eventually do in one way or another, perhaps the goal is not to regain the pace of earlier years.

Perhaps the goal is simply to regain forward motion — gratefully.

As always, be well, and age gratefully,

Chris

A couple of months ago, I had one of those restless nights.

I woke up again and again. Five or six times at least. Each time, I checked the time on my watch. 1:40. Then 2:25. Then 3:10. And on.  Every glance started the same quiet calculation. How much time was left before morning? How tired would I be tomorrow?

What surprised me most was not how often I woke up. I am of an age where waking up at night is fairly common.  What made me think was how hard it had been to fall back asleep. The more I checked the time, the more awake I felt.

I counted sheep.  I counted breaths. I tossed and turned.

By morning, I was not just tired. I was frustrated. It seemed I had spent as much energy worrying about sleep as I had actually sleeping.

That clock-watching thing had happened to me many times before, so it made me think.

Years ago, I had already made one change. I removed clocks from the bedroom after learning they could disrupt sleep. But I still wore a watch at night. First a Fitbit for many years, and now a Garmin. The time was always there, easy to see with a small movement.

The next night, I tried something different. I turned off the night light on my watch so I would have to make a conscious effort to see the time. Then I decided not to look at it at all. If I woke up, I would simply turn over and settle back in.

It felt like a small thing. Almost insignificant.

But it changed the night.

Without the clock, there was no calculation. No quiet countdown. The night no longer felt like something slipping away. It just was. And mostly, I just drifted back to sleep.

Over the past month, I have stayed with that simple practice. I still wake up some nights. They say it is an age thing.. That has not changed. But it is easier to rest again. The edge of frustration is gone.

After a bit of research, I learned there is actually a name for what I had been doing. Sleep experts call it “clock watching anxiety.” When we check the time, our minds engage. We start thinking, estimating, even worrying. That mental activity works against sleep rather than with it. In fact, one of the basic recommendations in treating insomnia is to avoid watching the clock.

It turns out a minor change I stumbled into by chance aligns with what science already knows.

There is something here that reaches beyond sleep. We often think improvement comes from adding more. More effort. More control. More awareness. But sometimes it comes from letting go. From removing a small habit that quietly works against us.

For me, it was not a clock on the wall, but a glance at my wrist.

I still wake up at night now and then. I just do not check the time. And more often than not, I fall back asleep easily.

A small change. A better result.  I’m grateful for adopting it into my daily routine.  Isn’t that part of what aging gratefully is all about?

As always, be well, and age gratefully,

Chris

I didn’t fall hard, but I was lucky.

My son and I were recently in Peru, working our way toward Machu Picchu, one of the Seven Wonders of the Modern World. After stops in Lima, Cusco, and Ollantaytambo (the Sacred Valley), we arrived at the base of the site.

One thing became clear before we ever got to the site.  There is very little level ground here in Peru, at least that we found, except, occasionally, in Lima.

The streets, paths, and steps are uneven. Stones are worn and irregular. Elevations change constantly. You have to pay attention to every step. This is not forgiving terrain.

I arrived at Machu Picchu already aware that my flatlander balance was not what it should be. Even so, I was not prepared for what we encountered.

My son and I had a guide and started on Circuit 2A. It begins with a steep climb, maybe three hundred feet on rocky, uneven stairs. With few exceptions, there were no handrails.

I have to admit, it was intimidating before I took the first step.

I was close to telling my son to go on without me. Instead, he handed me the walking sticks that my wife, Carol, had “made” me buy before the trip.

That changed things.

The start was wobbly, but I found a rhythm. Step by step, I managed the climb. In total, we covered more than four thousand steps. No falls. No trips. But by the end, I was tired and sore, and I knew I had been working at the edge of my balance the entire time.

Then came the final lesson.

One more obstacle. There was a transition from high, uneven stone steps to a set of stairs with a handrail. As I reached for the rail, I lost my balance.

In that instant, I had a choice. Try to grab the rail and risk a worse fall or let myself go down.  Muscle memory from Airborne Jump School many years ago kicked in. A rolling fall is usually better than a hard one.

I chose to go down.

It was a controlled fall with a soft landing. The only casualty was a broken walking stick. With some help, I got back up, grateful that it ended the way it did, at the last steps, not the first.

At the same time, I had learned that my wife, Carol, had fallen back home in Daytona Beach. Thankfully, she was not seriously hurt.

Different places. Same issue.

Balance is not just a mountain problem. It is a life problem.

And it is easy to ignore until it gets our attention.

One takeaway from this trip is simple. Balance is not fixed. It is something we either maintain or lose. And if we are intentional, it is something we can improve.

This fits squarely within physical stewardship.

We tend to think about strength and endurance. These matter. But balance is foundational. It supports everything else we do, often quietly, until it doesn’t.

So, I made a personal commitment.

I will work specifically on balance and core strength. Not in a vague way, but with intention. Simple practices. Standing on one foot. Stability exercises. Paying attention to how I move. It can’t hurt my pickleball game!  Carol and I will work on this together.

You might consider doing the same.

When was the last time you tested your balance? Not assumed it, but tested it?

I didn’t need a trip to Peru to find uneven ground. It is already part of daily life. We just do not always notice. Sometimes, until it is too late.

Machu Picchu made it impossible to ignore what I need to work on.

And being in Peru for nine days with my son, seeing things together that neither of us had seen, was simply the icing on the cake.

As always, be well, and age gratefully.

Chris

Many years ago, I was flying back to Memphis through Minneapolis and my inbound to Minneapolis was late.  I had already missed my connection but knew there was a later flight to Memphis that I might catch.

I was worried because I had what then seemed like a particularly important meeting in Memphis the next morning.  And I was very tired.  I don’t recall what the purpose of my trip was, but I do remember that it had been grueling.

We finally landed in Minneapolis and taxied, excruciatingly slowly, to the gate. When I got off the plane, I discovered that my possible connecting flight to Memphis was several concourses away and it was nearly time for the flight to leave.

Hoping for the best, I pulled my folding travel bag over my shoulder, grabbed on to my huge briefcase full of documents, and proceeded to navigate to the distant gate as fast as possible.

As I approached the gate, I saw and heard a passenger yelling at the gate attendant, disparaging her, the airline, and anyone or anything else he could think of.  He raised his voice, arms gesticulating, and continued to yell at the attendant. He then turned to me and did the same thing.

I can’t remember exactly what went through my mind, but it was probably something reflecting my frustration and impatience, like: “Will you just hurry up and do your business? I can’t do anything until you’re gone!”

What he thought I might be able to do to help I’ll never know. I just shrugged. He turned one last time to the attendant, yelling at her again, and then stormed off to wherever he went.

I walked up to the attendant and said hello. I then said something like this, as kindly as I could: “Well, based on what I just saw and heard, I guess I’ll be spending the night in Minneapolis.  I’m sorry you had to endure that guy’s tirade.”

She looked at me, smiled and said, “Let me see your ticket, please.”  I gave her my then paper ticket.  She took it and with her eyes on the keyboard, tapped through the many routines necessary back in those days to do whatever she was up to.  She seemed to be trying to do something, so I just stood there quietly.

She then looked up at me and smiled, reaching for the printer.  She pulled off a new ticket, handed it to me, and said: “Welcome aboard, Mr. Mercer.”

I took the ticket, collected my folding overnight bag, grabbed my heavy briefcase, and said to her: “I don’t know what you just did, but I appreciate it very much!  Thank you!”

Her parting words as I walked by were: “Have a nice flight, Mr. Mercer.”

Sitting down in my seat on that late-night flight to Memphis, I felt a wave of gratitude, appreciation, and relief.

I was going to sleep in my own bed that night. I’d start the next day at least reasonably fresh. And yes, I’d make that important meeting.

But over time, I’ve come to realize that the meeting wasn’t the most important part of that trip. In fact, I don’t even remember what it was about.

What I do remember, and clearly, all these years later, is that brief moment at the gate.

At that stage of my life, I was very much in “building value” mode. Focused. Driven. Moving from one obligation to the next. Like most people in that phase, I was often in a hurry, and likely more transactional than I would have liked to admit.

That night, I had every reason to be frustrated, impatient, even a little short with the person standing between me and getting home.

Instead, I simply chose to be… decent.

Not extraordinary. Not strategic. Just decent.

And in return, I was reminded of something that has stayed with me ever since:

How we treat people, even in small, fleeting moments, has a way of coming back to us in ways we don’t expect and can’t plan for.

That’s a different kind of value. Not the kind you measure on a balance sheet, but the kind you carry with you. The kind that shapes your days, your relationships, and ultimately, how you experience your life.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to appreciate that more and more.

We spend so many years focused on building value in our careers, businesses, assets. And those things matter. But at some point, the focus shifts, or at least it should.

Living the value we’ve built often comes down to something much simpler than we expect.

Mom was right, of course.

“Chris, just be nice.”

It turns out that’s not simply good advice for getting through a long day of travel. It’s a surprisingly good way to move through life, and, I think, a meaningful part of aging gratefully.

As always, be well, and age gratefully.

Chris