by Gail Heney | May 19, 2026 | Weekly Musings
I am compelled once again to write about aging. Forgive the repetition. I am on the cusp of a birthday that will propel me into a new decade. After five years of unpacking the emotional upheaval that emerged around my 65th birthday, here I am facing another milestone. The process is speeding up. F*k.
As a teenager, I was a disciple of Seventeen Magazine. I remember sitting on my yellow and green flowered bedspread with my friend Cathy, the glossy pages spread open across our folded knees. Between the fashion and makeup “must-haves” was a suggestion to have fun imagining what we might look like when we were older. We were instructed to grab a mirror and place it on the floor, lie on our stomachs on a bed, and hang our heads over the edge. In addition to the blood rushing to our brain, we could look at our reflection in the mirror beneath us. That, said the bold print, would show us what our middle-aged faces would look like.
The face looking back up at me was a collage of my mother and grandmother. The skin no longer held taught to my cheekbones. The smoothness around my eye sockets now baggy. The weight of my eyelids narrowing my gaze. I was horrified. Yet we laughed. It was unfathomable that could happen to us.
Now I occasionally pick up House and Home or the Oprah magazine, or a self-help book that promises to propel me into the realm of joyful and fulfilling old age. There are testimonials preaching the science of longevity; eat greens, do strength training, and track my REM moments and blood pressure blips on my wristwatch. Dotting the pages between the editorials are promises of age reversal serums, surgeries that turn back time, and vacuums that will suck fat from my belly and deposit it on my cheekbones. Once that’s done, I can live in a gated community with everyone else who looks like me and go on river cruises.
I am reminded of the time I was paired in a ladies’ day golf event with an 80-year-old woman. Untouched by the relentless media and societal sway of anti-aging interventions, her grey hair, lined skin, and tiny frame radiated vitality. As she quietly placed the club face behind the tee and took an easy swing back and through, the ball soared straight and far, landing in the middle of the fairway. She was gentle and supportive of my struggling game. We laughed often. I was inspired by her authentic and humble nature.
I often feel overwhelmed with the fanatical pursuit of youthfulness. I am envious of eastern and indigenous cultures – elders are revered for their beauty and wisdom. While we strive to stay relevant and look like our children or movie star photos, they settle into their excess skin and grey hair. Their life experience is considered worthwhile, a teaching tool. Rather than launching a defensive regime against time, they cherish it. Family gathers closer, rather than fanning out into “they’re busy with their own lives.”
I’ve worked hard, emotionally, physically and spiritually to find my path through the threat of feeble, invisible, irrelevant, saggy and wrinkled. Each day doles out servings of blessings and curses. I am humbled to admit that I have a finite amount of energy. I am plagued most mornings by lower back pain, my left knee is cranky, and the knobby joints in my hands ache. Undaunted, I huff and sweat at the gym, lift the couch and shoot the rug underneath with my foot, and haul my clubs around a nine-hole golf course. I do all this to ensure I can pick up my grandchildren for a proper full-body hug, sit on the floor and build towers, and catch them as they jump off the side of the pool. I do all this so I can hike gnarly trails, ski steep slopes, and climb up on a stool to get my favourite pitcher down from above the wall oven. I do all this so I can be active and engaged in family and community.
As I brace for the next decade, I know how much it matters.
by Gail Heney | May 5, 2026 | Weekly Musings
For most of my life, I have been a woman of action. With barely a mention, I show up to move furniture, make a meal, take a walk, paint a wall. I am comfortable in the kitchen, on the trail, or bedside rubbing moisturizer into the scaly, dry skin of an ailing friend or relative. Saved from the discomforting challenge of finding the right words, action is a refuge for me.
Until it’s not an option. Until I’m left to witness grief, fear, tragedy, and illness. And there’s nothing that I can do about it. Or with it. I am familiar with the paralysis within that accompanies those feelings. I almost feel less helpless when they are my own. I am off the hook for words of consolation.
Recently, I have faced a wave of horrible news, heartbreak and deep worry. Things that weren’t supposed to happen to those close to me are happening. These are situations and events that are out of my hands. The call-to-action baffles me, because there isn’t one.
Instead, I am required to turn inward and ask myself what can I do? What does a person in need need? I am reminded of the power of being present. My father battled cancer for several years, each time becoming more infirm and ill for longer, with less of him coming back. While I willingly straightened his bed, helped him up, and got him ice chips, the deeper sense of connection and solace occurred in the silence between us. Me sitting on the shiny green vinyl chair, as close to his bedside as I could get. Him shrinking beneath the rough cotton sheets, dozing and awakening to look over and make sure I was still there. I only quizzed the doctors in the hall. I chatted with the nurses outside of his room. He needed me to show that I trusted the care. I can too easily add to the chaos with my fix-it energy. Only lately do I understand that it comes from my anxiety and contributes to others’.
In the past, I have underestimated the power of a phone call. Technology has made it easy to establish hands-off contact at my own convenience. In times of flaring emotions and an indescribable need for consolation, a live voice attached to a listening ear provides support and a safe space to fall apart – if that’s what would help. Unless asked for input, I am holding back from trying to say something to “make her feel better.”
In a conversation with a sage advisor, the futility of the “at least it’s . . . “was pointed out to me. It’s always been an admonishment that has left me feeling ashamed and silenced. While the intention might be to shift the focus, or “look on the bright side”, for many, it discounts their feelings when they most need validation. While “it could be worse” might offer a temporary diversion, for many, the relief is fleeting, and the reality seems desperate and immediate.
I am reminded of another phrase that comes to mind when we are included in the sharing of a situation or an emotional splurge. “I understand.” Rarely do we truly understand because we can not be in the other person’s shoes, mind or heart. The sharing of our own experience might create a temporary deflection; what is most needed is space to be open and accepted as they are, in this moment.
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I wrote the above passage four years ago. Coming upon it, I knew it needed to be shared once again. As I struggle with the demands of warp speed technology and screen addiction, I am looking for the brake pedal and blackout curtains. I was reminded in my morning reading that in the Buddhist practice, impermanence and suffering are life characteristics. Accessing my inner self to be present, appreciative and engaged stills my racing brain and enables me to connect meaningfully. It is my life’s work.
by Gail Heney | Apr 21, 2026 | Intrepid Challenge, Weekly Musings
Advice to “let it go” or “let them” triggers a resistance within me. It travels from deep in my belly up to my brain. My annoyance is further exacerbated by the speed-talking nasal drone of a particular podcaster. She uses examples of toxic, hurtful and disempowering behaviours as throwaways . . . you’ll feel better once you’ve decided to just let them. It is not in my DNA to ignore, enable or otherwise push down or aside something that has grabbed my attention. Years ago, in a therapy session, I commiserated that I had been told, books had been written, and wise people preached the gospel of letting go. You can’t do that; you crave connection. She had seen me, given me permission to buck the trend of “Hakuna Matata”.
Last week I attended a spiritual retreat focused on yoga, meditation and breathwork. The jungle setting was a kaleidoscope of thick green, with views of the blue Pacific, frothy white waves and an endless sand beach. Each day, we lay on mats listening to music and chants that seeped into my soul. I heard words and mantras that challenged my stories and moved my muscles and bones gently beyond their normal limits. My mind, body and spirit were in constant states of peaceful insights and resets. Bobbing in the warm ocean as we watched the sunset each evening reminded me of my humble insignificance in the vastness of the land and sea.
I had arrived at the retreat with the intention of silencing my inner critic. Her name is Edna. I’ve written about her, to her and at her for years. She holds the strategies and energy that diminish and detach me from myself. She tells me what to do to please others, be better, do more, fix my body, hair, clothes, and home, and try to be worthy of attention and affection. She exhausts me.
There is a common saying when doing inner work. You might not get what you want, you will always get what you need.
Edna is not leaving me. I didn’t come back with her eulogy written out. Over the course of the week, I discovered that she lives in my subconscious. This is a space of muted colours and constant flow and movement. It manages 95% of my behaviours and habits. It is the keeper of my comfort zones, past experiences and beliefs. It holds my long-term memories. With mindfulness, meditation, writing, and other tools for emotional growth, I can lay down new neural pathways. I have the capacity to shift my beliefs and patterns. To recognize the voice of Edna without buying into her diatribe.
While exploring my childhood and emotional evolution, I discovered that Edna played a significant role in keeping me safe and moving me forward and seeking success. She was the driver for me to get attention from my father, to challenge the boys club and glass ceiling in the corporate world, to take risks and seek power. By reminding me that I wasn’t enough, she made me work harder, faster and longer. At everything.
Recognizing and respecting her place in my psyche, while trusting myself and leaning into being authentic and compassionate, frees me of her disparaging nature. When I’m stressed or tired, and she sneaks a peek and comments, I don’t have to attach to it or even believe it. The Buddhist teacher, Pema Chodron, advises we examine and move through both the unpleasant and pleasant.
Loving all pieces of me is my Intrepid Challenge.
by Gail Heney | Apr 2, 2026 | Weekly Musings
Several springs ago I was walking with a close friend in a city park. We were circling a large open space dotted with clusters of people wincing as their dogs galloped and slid joyfully through the mud. Answering her “how are you”, I shared that I had been feeling lethargic and flat. You always are this time of year; you hate spring. She was a friend who knew me better than I knew myself and was unafraid to utter the truth.
It’s April again. The ground is so soggy from the snow melt and rain that each footfall sinks, each paw finds mud, and creeks and rivers have no edges. Over the past few days we have had sideways rain, lightning and thunder, snow squalls, small round globes of hail, winds that pulled the shingles off our roof and moments of sunshine as cruel teasers. I should feel brightened by the brave crocuses poking through the dead leaves in our garden, and the expansive maple buds as the sap runs. The fog that greys my valley matches my mood.
The wind-down of winter makes me sad. Our ski community is the pulse and force that carries me through the bitter cold, snowstorms and ice, and the effort necessary to dress, equip and ski on a small Ontario ridge. On a winter morning, there are texts crisscrossing the valley advising of meet-up times, gatherings of friends at the top of popular runs, and tables jammed with extra chairs so that we can sit together for lunch.
On a weekend when we are blessed to have grandchildren visiting, the routine shifts. The morning advisory informs who is on the beginner hill, who is in the chalet with the babies, and who has been granted a pass to take a few runs unencumbered. The camp out in the cafeteria, with highchairs, enormous padded bags filled with snacks, bottles, toys and diapers, and almost mobile toddlers, is a series of smiles and tears, treats for bribery, and chaos.
The calendar flip to April signifies those days are over, at least until next season. On the final afternoon, our children and grandchildren have all headed home. We are back to our core group, squeezed around picnic tables on the deck in the sunshine. Mother Nature has gifted us fabulous spring skiing, the corn snow forgiving, and the hills to ourselves. Over the years on the chairlift and around these tables, we have shared the roller coaster ride of raising our children, grieving illness and loss, wedding plans, newborns, and holiday experiences and plans.
Today, we are nostalgic. As the years and turns are showing up in our creaky knees and hips, and we pack up our boots and skis, we know we are fortunate to have had a long and full winter. Our safe and beautiful cocoon of normalcy in the midst of a scary and deeply troubled world is shutting down for many months. The spontaneous connections that happen during the lunchtime buzz are over until next year. I will miss the intimacy of conversations that spring from sitting side by side with flattened hair, frozen fingers, red noses and goggle lines on our cheeks. We are stripped down, tired and exhilarated as we chat and reach across the table for a French fry.
I have an elder friend who reminds me that enduring another April is better above ground than below. Being resilient and nimble as spring plays hide and seek with us, as I freeze in cotton sweaters and bake in down jackets, is my intention. Without the ready-made connections of a day on the slopes, I will need to reach out to establish coffee, lunch, hiking and golf dates. As friends drift to travel, cottages, and summer sports, different groupings and gatherings emerge.
It will be different and yet the same. The summer gang will nurture friendships through hiking, cycling, swimming, and sharing meals. On hot, sunny afternoons, we will congregate at the beach with our coolers and snacks, and occasionally strollers and swimmies as we introduce our grandchildren to the magic of Georgian Bay.
by Gail Heney | Mar 26, 2026 | Weekly Musings
During his morning scrolling the other day, my index-finger-typing husband noticed a pop-up about an article on longevity. He is not a book reader; however, he is loyal to online articles, news and information of interest. This caught his eye, and thankfully, he shared it with me.
Unlike many investigations on how to live longer, age more slowly, and defy our birthdate, there is a growing body of interest and science exploring the psychology of aging. The connection between the mind and the physical body is irrefutable. This article is suggesting we address our mindset and perceptions rather than squeeze into our lives another supplement, a martial arts class, or read another self-help book.
I have not fact-checked the study and findings. I do know that it makes sense to me, aligns with my experience, and powerfully describes the danger to our health of busyness, urgency and mindlessness. I lived like that for many years; my ego was my master. The clock told me what to do next. I worked on my life, not in my life.
From Dr. Emma Sartori, Gerontologist at the University of Cambridge
“The true secret to aging well isn’t found in a bottle or a clinic – it’s in the way we engage with the world around us. People who age gracefully have found a way to tap into the power of genuine absorption, to become fully immersed in the present moment. It’s a skill that can be cultivated, and the rewards are extraordinary.”
There is scientific evidence that elevated levels of stress hormones not only affect our moods but also increase inflammation in the body and lead to atrophy of the memory-related areas of our brain. Bad things happen, we worry, people die. We all will experience tension. Many of us, despite being “retired,” maintain an unhealthy level of stress so that our bodies are chronically churning cortisol.
Pop culture recommendations such as “let them, just chill, let it go, even Hakuna Matata” (best song from The Lion King), feel superficial, supernatural and unattainable to me. I lean toward greater understanding, seeking peace within the turmoil, and “stopping to smell the roses”.
As a writer, I am always seeking new words to describe objects, scenes, and feelings. Coming across the word eudaimonia felt like I had uncovered a beautiful gemstone. I wanted to wear it immediately. It is an ancient Greek concept that means living aligned with our true values, virtues and wisdom. Often seen as the Stoic way to a deeply fulfilling life, it is sustainable and internally driven, unlike the transitory nature of happiness.
The how to achieve this state is simple, not easy. Stop counting the years, the number of runs, and the kilometres hiked. Instead, focus on the present moment. Learn to be genuinely absorbed in the activities, conversations, and chores of life. Being actively engaged in surroundings, interests, and relationships, without measuring time and effort, triggers the body to release beneficial hormones and “feel good” neurotransmitters. Science reassures me that being in a state of eudaimonia slows down the aging process and adds to my vitality. What a relief to end my battle with time.
The other day, I decided to start small, set myself up for success. I was driving a familiar waterside route on a clear day with dry roads. The purpose of choosing this particular way home was to fill up my gas tank. I am loyal to the fuel stop that still is a service station, so that I don’t have to get out of the car. With the challenge of eudaimonia upon me, I set out to notice the blue-green waves crashing into the rocky shoreline, the small icebergs still bobbing lazily close to the beach, and the ever-changing landscape on the hill side. I was committed to being mindful, consciously noticing. I drove right past the service station, oblivious to the shift to town traffic and speed limits. Thankfully, something triggered my memory, and I turned back. Had I been absorbed in the present moment and my surroundings, I would have registered the buildup of traffic and loss of the view of the Bay, and I wouldn’t have missed my stop. Simple – not easy.
As I reflect upon my career, I admit there were many moments when I was oblivious to all but the immediate present. Sadly, that dedication to my work often robbed me of attention and time for my family and friends. This insight takes me to an examination of my priorities and decision-making. Now is the time for a shift. I ache for a greater and consistent sense of presence and engagement with people and the world around me. I know it can be found in the life I have now. I don’t need to undertake a grand gesture. I will find it in the simple acts of daily living; the moments in the kitchen, in the gym, at my desk, on trails in the woods, on the floor with my grandchildren, running into a friend on Main Street.
“In a world that is constantly urging us to move faster, to achieve more, to chase the ever-elusive fountain of youth, these findings offer a refreshing and inspiring alternative.” Dr. Amelia Sinclair, Sociologist, University of Edinburgh
by Gail Heney | Mar 19, 2026 | Weekly Musings
Some days, being 69 years old feels surreal, ancient and cruel. It meets me as I open my eyes, the low back ache, lingering fatigue that doesn’t clear after coffee, and the return of a cough that first arrived a month ago. My ego fools me into thinking I have infinite energy, a bulletproof immune system, and agility for multitasking. I never had those things; however, in my insane, driven days, I believed and behaved as though I was invincible. Now I’m learning how to be human – often in the form of surrender as my mind and body take the lead – with a push from the universe.
Today was to be full and busy. An early morning workout, a Zoom meeting right after, take the dog to the vet, and an afternoon client session. The coloured boxes on my calendar were important and permanent. Not for the first time in my life, the universe took over and saved me from myself. Feeling lethargic, congested and attacked by a dry and violent cough, I sipped my coffee and pondered my schedule. The sage elder that I am cultivating suggested I cancel the class at the gym, which I did. Instead, I did a gentle online yoga session.
Wobbly-legged I headed into the kitchen to make a green smoothie. The nutrition and antioxidants of a blender full of vegetables, fresh ginger and protein powder convinced me the rest of the day was manageable.
Or so I wanted to believe. Only a few gulps into my rejuvenation elixir, I received a text that my morning engagement needed to be rescheduled. The news was a relief. Now I could take it easy before heading to the vet and a full afternoon. While practicing how to quietly clear the hideous gunk that accumulates in my throat and swallow through a potential coughing spell, I received an email from my afternoon client, also requesting a reschedule. No need to master mitigating and hiding the symptoms of my malady. The conscience and forces that watch out for me, gave me a day to rest and attend to my health needs.
I’ve learned to pay attention rather than attempt to stymie the existential messages that guide me to a quieter and slower pace. It used to be that I could thwart them through tenacious revenge, persevering beyond what was physically and mentally healthy. Until I couldn’t and succumbed to periodic and spectacular crashes.
My transition to retirement has been gradual and circuitous. Several years ago, I made a pledge to myself to be less busy, have a moderated client roster, and pay attention and honour what I need. Detoxing from decades of busyness requires vigilance, mindful priority setting, and the courage to be rather than do.
When discussing the process of leaving work, everyone agrees they are looking forward to stepping out of the “rat race.” In the next breath, most admit they are pondering what to do to keep busy. I see and feel the irony and conflict in those two statements. The imperative to find purpose, be productive, and live forever lives is hardwired into most of us.
What if you could install a software update that supported and rewarded time in your calendar for self-care and unscheduled whims, included appointments for reading in the middle of the day and doing spontaneous things with friends, “booking” an hour to explore what you would like to be doing if purpose and productivity didn’t matter?
Would you do it ~ challenge the discomfort?
“There is a fountain of youth: it is your mind, your talents, the creativity you bring to your life and the lives of people you love. When you learn to tap this source, you will truly have defeated age.” – Sophia Loren
