Seven years ago, I bought a used van, filled it with cameras, and pointed it toward a part of America most people rarely slow down long enough to discover.
I didn’t have much of a business plan. I simply believed there were extraordinary stories tucked away inside senior living communities, and that if someone didn’t capture them soon, many would be lost forever.
Along the way, the van gave way to a larger trailer that became a traveling circus full of activities along with a recording studio. It was a fun idea, but I eventually realized the real magic wasn’t the parties. It was sitting across from people in their apartments, riding with them through their hometowns, or simply sharing an unhurried conversation. So, in time, I went back to the van.
Today, after more than 250,000 miles on the road, visits to communities in over 40 states, and conversations with thousands of older adults, I’ve realized something unexpected.
The greatest story I found wasn’t theirs.
It was about aging itself.
Like everyone else, I carried assumptions about growing older. I expected to hear stories filled mostly with nostalgia. I imagined conversations about loss, limitations, and the things people could no longer do.
Those stories certainly exist. Growing older isn’t easy. Bodies change. Friends pass away. Health becomes less predictable. None of us escapes those realities.
But they are only part of the story.
Over the past seven years, I’ve met one of the pioneers of artificial intelligence, a man who in the late 1960s helped design the architectures that eventually became the foundation for today’s AI revolution. I’ve sat beside the last surviving member of the 170th Tank Battalion who fought in the Battle of the Bulge. I’ve interviewed women who spent decades shattering one glass ceiling after another, opening doors that had never been opened before. I’ve broken bread with a 73 year old race car driver who didn’t even discover the sport until he was 69 and has since won multiple races in Michigan.
None of these people fit the stereotype our culture so often paints about aging.
If anything, they shattered it.
As the miles added up, I began noticing something else. The happiest people I met weren’t necessarily the healthiest or the wealthiest. They weren’t always the ones with the easiest lives. They simply approached life differently.
The first thing I noticed was their curiosity.
Whether it was learning about technology, taking an art class, joining a book club, or simply asking thoughtful questions, they never seemed to believe learning had an expiration date. Curiosity wasn’t something they left behind in middle age. It was something they carried with them throughout their lives. I can’t remember interviewing someone who seemed genuinely happy while believing they already knew everything.
The second quality was their determination to remain participants in their own lives.
Even when something became more difficult, they still wanted to try. They wanted to button the shirt themselves, walk a little farther, or solve the problem before asking someone else to solve it for them. They appreciated help when they truly needed it, but they never wanted everything done for them. There was a quiet dignity in continuing to do what they still could.
I also noticed they weren’t finished taking risks.
The risks simply looked different than they did at twenty five.
Sometimes it meant moving into a senior living community where they knew no one. Sometimes it meant learning to paint, joining a choir, trying new technology, or agreeing to tell deeply personal stories to a guy they’d just met with a camera. Growing older hadn’t taken away their willingness to try something new.
Finally, I saw something our increasingly connected world often forgets.
The happiest people were intentional about relationships.
They didn’t wait for friendships to happen. They invited someone to lunch. They joined the discussion group. They sat at a different table. They volunteered. They understood that meaningful relationships rarely happen by accident. They happen because someone decides they are worth the effort.
Those four characteristics, remaining curious, protecting independence, continuing to take risks, and investing intentionally in relationships, have become some of the greatest predictors of happiness I’ve witnessed. They have also become lessons I’ve tried to apply in my own life.
Perhaps the biggest surprise of all is that getting older isn’t all that different from every other stage of life.
Somewhere along the way, we’ve convinced ourselves that youth is supposed to be wonderful and old age is supposed to be difficult.
Really?
Think back to your twenties.
Mine included career uncertainty, financial stress, relationships that worked and others that didn’t, and plenty of days wondering if I had any idea what I was doing. Every decade has its joys. Every decade has its challenges.
Life in your twenties isn’t all great.
Life in your nineties isn’t all bad.
The people I’ve met don’t pretend aging is easy. They simply refuse to let the difficult parts become the entire story. They celebrate what they can still do instead of dwelling on what they no longer can. They appreciate yesterday without living there and continue believing tomorrow still holds something worth anticipating.
That’s not just an aging lesson.
It’s a life lesson.
Today I’m 67. I still spend much of my year on the road with an incredible team at TaleGate, producing documentaries that celebrate remarkable lives and challenge the stereotypes we often attach to aging. Every project teaches me something. Every interview reminds me that I still have so much to learn.
People occasionally ask whether spending the last seven years immersed in the lives of older adults has made me afraid of getting older.
I tell them exactly the opposite.
These remarkable people have shown me that growing older isn’t about becoming less. It’s about continuing to become.
Somewhere along the way, without even realizing it, I began following the example they set. I stay curious. I keep learning. I still take risks. I invest in relationships that matter, not in social media chat groups. Those aren’t just the characteristics of the happiest older adults I’ve met. They’ve become my roadmap, too.
And perhaps that’s the greatest gift this 250,000 mile journey has given me.
I’m happier at 67 than I’ve been at any other time in my life.
