The richest lessons often hide in the ordinary days we rush past without noticing.

We like to think we’re paying attention. But talk to someone in their seventies and you realize you’ve been skimming the surface.

I’m lucky—I run trails with a few neighbors who could out-hike people half their age. Between switchbacks, they’ll drop a one-liner that recalibrates my whole week. It isn’t cynicism. It’s x-ray vision earned the long way: through restarts, recoveries, and reroutes.

This isn’t about “kids these days.” It’s about perspective you can borrow now, so you don’t need a few more decades (and a few more detours) to see what matters.

As a former financial analyst, I used to model compounding in spreadsheets. Older friends taught me compounding happens in attention, relationships, and choices too.

Here are seven things they notice—quiet truths hiding in plain sight—that can change how you spend your time, money, and heart.

1. Time shrinks as attention scatters

Ask anyone past seventy and they’ll tell you: years don’t speed up—attention thins out.

When your day is sliced into pings and micro-decisions, you never drop into the present long enough to register it. Blink, and your “busy season” becomes your default life. Older folks spot this because they’ve lived both ways: the scattered years and the seasons that felt slow, textured, and full.

Psychologists back this up. Studies on “time perception” suggest that when life feels repetitive or distracted, the brain encodes fewer unique memories—so weeks vanish in hindsight. Contrast that with novel or mindful experiences, which etch themselves into memory and make life feel longer.

Try this audit: what are the three moments from last week you can remember in color? Chances are, they weren’t the ones you hustled through. They were the ones you lingered in—over coffee, at the sink, on a walk without headphones.

The fix isn’t more productivity hacks. It’s reclaiming a few attention-rich rituals. A daily walk. A no-phone dinner. A long chat you don’t “optimize.” Time doesn’t expand. Your presence does.

2. Health is the base layer of everything

“Everything that you conceive of as ‘you’—your personality, your memories, your hopes and dreams—is a product of the miraculous creature that is your body.”

That line hit me hard the first time I read it because people in their seventies live by it. Sleep, joints, balance, strength, teeth—none of it is a “wellness trend” to them. It’s the platform that carries your relationships, your creativity, your generosity, your patience.

Younger me used to trade sleep for another hour of work. Seasoned friends just shake their heads and say, kindly, that everything gets more expensive later: recovery, rehab, regret. They listen to their bodies like you’d listen to a friend who’s seen you through everything.

It ties to something Rudá Iandê emphasizes in Laughing in the Face of Chaos: “The body is not something to be feared or denied, but rather a sacred tool for spiritual growth and transformation.” His insights reminded me that ignoring aches or stress is not discipline—it’s denial.

So: lift what you want to keep. Eat for energy, not image. Take care of future-you’s knees. And if your body whispers, treat it like breaking news.

3. Relationships compound better than résumés

Early career, I optimized for bullet points. Older friends optimize for chairs around the table.

They’ve watched colleagues become godparents, neighbors become lifelines, and small kindnesses accrue interest you can’t model in Excel. What looks like a quick “coffee catch-up” at 28 becomes the neighbor who brings you soup after surgery at 72. Reputation isn’t branding; it’s a weather system you carry.

Research backs this wisdom. The famous Harvard Study of Adult Development—one of the longest studies ever run—found that strong relationships are the single most consistent predictor of long-term health and happiness, more than income or status.

Here’s a trick I stole from a seventy-two-year-old gardener at our farmers’ market: plant a conversation you don’t need anything from. Ask a better question. Send the article with a note about why it reminded you of them. Keep a “gratitude ledger” with names, not numbers.

Careers have seasons. Your circle is the climate. One keeps you warm when the job title changes. The other doesn’t.

4. Ordinary days are the real riches

I used to chase “perfect”—the immaculate dinner, the flawless proposal, the Instagrammable run. Then a woman on a Saturday trail said, “Perfection is just a way to postpone joy.”

“When we let go of the need to be perfect, we free ourselves to live fully—embracing the mess, complexity, and richness of a life that’s delightfully real.” That line from Rudá Iandê has sat on my desk for months because ordinary days are where his insight lands: the burnt toast, the broken plan, the beautiful pivot.

And it matches what people over seventy say again and again: the best memories are often unremarkable in the moment. Morning coffee with someone you love. Folding laundry with music playing. Watching birds on a winter afternoon.

I’ve mentioned Rudá’s book before, but the book inspired me to stop grading my life and start savoring it. If you’re curious, Laughing in the Face of Chaos is a bracing companion for this shift.

Make a ceremony out of the mundane. Fold laundry slowly. Watch the light change. These are the gold coins of memory.

5. “Enough” is a moving target—until you set it

People in their seventies have bought the thing, upgraded the thing, and given the thing away. They’ll tell you the high fades fast, but relief—that quiet exhale of “this is enough”—sticks.

Younger me thought “enough” would appear as a number. Older mentors set “enough” as a boundary: enough meetings in a day; enough pairs of shoes; enough weekends booked solid. They choose ceilings on busyness so they can say yes to depth.

Psychologists note that humans adapt quickly to gains—a phenomenon called the “hedonic treadmill.” That’s why raises, purchases, or milestones spike joy but soon plateau. Without a conscious definition of enough, you stay stuck running.

Try it: Define “enough” before a raise or promotion arrives. What changes? What doesn’t? If you don’t set it, the world will. And the world always asks for more.

Strangely, limits create freedom. You stop chasing the infinite and start practicing care—of your space, your money, your attention. That’s wealth.

6. Boundaries become acts of care, not confrontation

I used to treat “no” like a conflict. Elders treat it like a compass.

They’ve watched what happens when you promise your future time like it’s free. Resentment compounds. So does depletion. Saying no early protects the yes that matters later: to your partner’s big day, your friend’s crisis, your own health.

Here’s the reframe I learned from a seventy-year-old volunteer at the market: boundaries aren’t walls; they’re irrigation channels. They let your energy reach the roots that need it.

It also echoes a truth I saw in Rudá Iandê’s work: “Their happiness is their responsibility, not yours.” That’s the heart of boundaries. You don’t need to rescue everyone to be loving. In fact, love lands more deeply when it comes from choice, not obligation.

Draft a few kind scripts: “I can’t take that on, but here’s a smaller way I can help.” “I’m not available this week; let’s look at next month.” No defenses. No monologues. Just clarity. It’s not icy. It’s generous.

7. Patterns repeat—so keep your mind flexible

We act like every headline is unprecedented. Folks over seventy have seen cycles: markets soar and sink, fashions loop, ideas go out and then come back with new packaging.

“We live immersed in an ocean of stories, from the collective narratives that shape our societies to the personal tales that define our sense of self.” That’s not a downer. It’s permission to choose your story more wisely.

The lesson isn’t to get jaded. It’s to get humble. Hold strong opinions, loosely. Ask, “What pattern is this part of?” Recognize when certainty is just adrenaline in a nice suit.

When I left finance to write, older friends didn’t panic. They smiled like they’d seen this arc before: the numbers person who wanted to tell human stories. They reminded me that reinvention is a pattern too—one worth repeating.

And here’s the kicker: younger people often mistake change as chaos. Elders see it as rhythm. If you can hear the rhythm, you can dance with it instead of fighting it.

Final thoughts

If you’re under seventy, consider this a shortcut. Borrow the long view without waiting for the long road.

Pick one idea and run a tiny experiment this week: a slower meal, a better “no,” a call to the friend you’ve been “meaning to” text. Notice what expands when you stop optimizing and start attending.

I’ll say this as someone who still loves a good plan: the best returns aren’t linear. They show up as steadier mornings, kinder conversations, and the courage to be real.

And if you need a nudge to rethink perfection or reconnect with your own body’s wisdom, I can’t help but recommend Rudá Iandê’s Laughing in the Face of Chaos again. His insights helped me make peace with the mess—and that peace changed everything.