The Unexpected Side of Strong

When I moved away from the desert I’d always known...the friends, the food, the whole rhythm of my life...I thought the hard part would be the packing and the move….the actual boxes and heavy lifting…the long drive up north.

But the real challenge was showing up in a new place where nobody knew me.

Not as a teacher. Not as a leader. Not as someone people naturally came to for guidance or friendship.

Unless I wanted to hang out at the senior center, there wasn’t an easy built-in circle. And though I am in that age group, I’m not wired for that bubble alone. I want a mix. I crave the curiosity, the energy, the different lens that younger generations bring. That’s how I’ve always stayed vibrant...by learning from the world around me. People my age, older, AND younger than me.

But making new friends as an older adult is no joke. It takes effort. Openness. And a little willingness to feel like a middle schooler again, sitting alone at lunch. I’m trying. But the truth is, some days feel more vulnerable than free.

I’ve always been strong. Independent. Self-possessed. But in this new chapter, I’m learning that sometimes being strong means being honest about what’s missing...and willing to make space for what’s next…and that’s where I have to put my big girl panties on.  

It’s intimidating to go into the synchronicity of a new place and shake it up a bit with my presence when I don’t have my support team around me.  Yikes, that was an eye-opening and quite vulnerable statement!

Let’s move on to some other scenarios…

Jennifer Was a Big Deal. Until She Wasn’t.

Jennifer spent 35 years as a high-level strategy consultant, traveling internationally, solving problems for major companies, and mentoring future leaders. She was respected, influential, and the kind of woman who could command a room with just her presence.

She retired at 63. On purpose. She was ready.

But five years later, Jennifer sat across from me, shoulders slightly hunched, and said something I’ve heard in different forms from a lot of women her age:

“I went from being essential to invisible.”

She still had her intelligence. Her insight. Her years of hard-earned wisdom. But once she left the workplace, it all seemed to vanish in the eyes of the world.

Younger professionals she used to mentor no longer returned her emails. People spoke over her at dinner parties, dismissing her input like a well-meaning aunt who’d wandered into the wrong conversation. Strangers called her “sweetie.” One even thanked her for “still showing up.”

She wasn’t looking for accolades. But she was used to being seen...and suddenly, she wasn’t.

She told me, “I thought I was fine with retiring. But I didn’t realize how much of my identity was wrapped in being needed.”

This is one of the silent griefs of aging. Not just the loss of roles...but the loss of reflection. The way we once saw ourselves mirrored back through relevance, purpose, impact. This is big!

Pride isn’t the enemy here...it’s the thread of meaning we carried through decades of contribution. And when that thread frays, we have to find new ways to hold it.

Daniel’s Hands Knew What to Do. Until They Didn’t.

Daniel is 71 and a lifelong woodworker. His hands are worn in the best way...deep grooves, thick skin, and the kind of muscle memory that only comes from decades of crafting.

He built furniture. Carved sculptures. Repaired antique pieces with reverence and precision.

But last year, the tremors started.

At first, he blamed stress. Then age. Then maybe arthritis. But as the tremors grew stronger and his grip less certain, the truth set in...he couldn’t trust his hands anymore.

“I dropped a chisel,” he told me. “It nicked the table, and I just stared at it like WTH is happening to me.”

His pride wasn’t just in the pieces he built...it was in his dependability. His steadiness. His ability to create something from nothing, by hand.

Losing that hit him hard.
But Daniel’s story doesn’t end there.

He started offering to teach a few local high school students who were interested in woodworking. It was supposed to be temporary...a way to stay involved.

But something shifted. He found himself explaining techniques, demonstrating tools, helping them troubleshoot mistakes. He couldn’t carve the details like he used to...but he could show someone else how to.

And as he watched a young woman finish her first table, he said something that stuck with me:

“I used to be the craftsman. Now I’m the guide. I didn’t know I’d like that. But I do.”

That’s the work...reshaping identity without letting it disappear. Choosing legacy over loss.

Why Vulnerability Hits Differently Now

There’s something sneaky about this season of life. You can still feel strong...mentally, emotionally, spiritually...and still hit moments where you suddenly feel unsteady.

A fall that surprises you.
A group conversation where no one asks for your opinion.
The realization that you’ve gone three days without meaningful conversation.

Even when we’re surrounded by people, aging can carry a quiet undercurrent of invisibility.

And then there’s pride.

Not the kind that pushes others away...but the kind that whispers, _“You used to have this handled.”
_ 

Pride in being capable. Resilient. Clear-headed.
Pride in not needing help.

When our bodies change, our roles shift, or our social circles fade...it’s not just an inconvenience. It’s a loss of a known self. And it takes time and conscious effort to reshape who we are now.

So What Do We Do With This?

We stop pretending vulnerability is weakness.

We stop thinking strength only lives in independence.

And we start telling the truth about what this chapter actually looks like...with all its richness, awkwardness, beauty, and grit.

Here are two things I’m learning to practice, and maybe they’ll help you too:

1. Reach Across the Age Divide

Don’t limit your social circle to the familiar or the same. Reach out to someone younger and invite a real connection. Ask questions. Share stories. Listen without turning it into a lecture.

You’d be surprised how many young people want to connect with older adults...if we’re willing to meet them in that space.

You don’t have to go to the senior center unless you want to.
Go to the library, the art class, the community garden, the storytelling night.
And when you go...show up as you are.

2. Reframe Relevance

We are not just what we do.

We are also what we carry.

Your history. Your humor. Your instincts. Your presence.

Maybe you’re no longer running a business or carving detailed table legs...but are you shaping lives through listening, mentoring, witnessing?

That counts.

That’s relevance.
That’s power.
That’s you, still here and still becoming.

We are still growing, even when we feel off-balance.

We are still strong, even when we need support.

And we are still deeply valuable, even when the world forgets to tell us so. 

With love and a fiercely tender heart,

Diana
Love is ALL there is