Across the globe, we celebrate the United Nations International Day of Older Persons on 1 October. This year’s theme is more than a statement. It’s a recognition: “Older Persons Driving Local and Global Action: Our Aspirations, Our Well-Being, and Our Rights.”

Older adults are shaping a better future—locally and globally. This blog explores the UN’s 2025 International Day of Older Persons theme and how it mirrors the 5 powerful ways people 50+ serve today.

After 50, creativity and growth aren’t fading—they’re sparks of service that light up communities, families, and movements with beauty and wisdom.

“Unless you’re the lead dog, the view never changes.” You’ve heard that one, right? It usually gets tossed around in boardrooms or locker rooms—some attempt to glamorize being “in charge.” But here’s the twist: by the time you’ve hit your fifties and beyond, with all your lived experience—recessions, family drama, workplace politics, and health scares—you are the lead dog. You have a perspective and steadiness that defines a good leader.

Connection and continuity are not nice extras. They’re survival skills. They’re the adhesive that holds families, communities, and workplaces from splintering apart. And this is exactly where elders bring their best forward.

They call us outdated—but we’ve got the wisdom that only lived experience can teach. This blog reclaims age as perspective, power, and resilience.

This is Part 1 of What We Bring After 50, a five-blog series exploring the power of service in our third chapter. Each week, we’ll look at a new way the age-experienced add value—wisdom, continuity, leadership, and creativity—while reaping benefits ourselves.

Even if your backpack and lunch money days are long gone, you might feel the tug. That whisper that says, Maybe I should take that course. Read that book. Learn that system. Get another certification. Maybe I should know more stuff.

Because many of us, especially those of us in our third chapter of life, have been told that our worth is tied to what we can prove. But here’s the thing: we’ve already survived what the textbooks only theorize about.

Long before pop culture decided older women were past their prime, or just plain past it, there was the crone. Not the scary witch or the frumpy frump we’ve been handed. The real crone: the truth-teller. The edge-walker. The woman who bridged generations with her wisdom, knowledge, and skills. She didn’t chase approval. She carried insight. She didn’t demand attention. People listened.

We get to decide whether these changes are shameful secrets or fabulous battle stories. Braces in your 60s? That’s not a midlife crisis—it’s a midlife upgrade. Bald spots? Call them crown extensions; they leave more room for wisdom to escape. (And yes, I’ve just started treatment. If in 6 months it doesn’t work, you’ll see me sporting amazing head scarf confections!)

What’s in your heart that must come out? This tender blog invites you to listen inward and let your creative spark rise—no matter your age or stage.

They warned us about the Age Bomb. Turns out it wasn’t a crisis. It was a wisdom bomb—and it just detonated. Self-Determination Theory says lasting motivation comes from autonomy, competence, and connection. You know who’s been quietly mastering all three for decades? We have. We are the blueprint.

I use wonder to mean be curious, be open, let in awe, be comfortable in a luscious not-knowing. It’s not a fleeting feeling. It’s a way of moving through the world. And that… that is radical. Especially in a culture that worships certainty, control, and productivity. Especially for women in our third chapter—who’ve been told our job is to tie up loose ends. I say, let's unravel those ends; play them out in wonder and evolution.

Rebel Aging is a bold, witty, and empowering call to reimagine what it means for women to grow older. Blending storytelling, cultural critique, and actionable wisdom, this book challenges ageist narratives and celebrates the third chapter of life as a time of reinvention, resilience, and radical self-acceptance.

Some truths don’t get softer with time. They sharpen. They deepen. They shout. This week, as Rebel Aging takes its first wild steps into the world, I’m returning to the declaration that started it all. It’s a love letter, a battle cry, and a refusal to shrink. If you’ve read it before, read it again. If it’s your first time—welcome to the rebellion.

We rise by remembering our own agency; by tending the next generation; by organizing, storytelling, and building scaffolding where the old beams have splintered. Not in grand gestures, but in consistent acts—of integrity, of vision, of showing up.

As we age, we can find that grief is no longer a rare visitor; it’s a companion. It can show up with casseroles and question, or it can arrive suddenly with anger and outrage. I find I’m  holding grief, anger, reverence, regret, and the dissonance between "natural" and "unjust" endings. How do I hold space for both the long-lived and the barely-started?

Pop quiz! How old were you when you realized you were aging—not just getting older, but aging? What happened that made you stop and think: Wait…when did this happen?

For some women, aging is tied to parenting. Life marched forward in tidy segments: kindergarten, public school, high school graduation, maybe college drop-offs, and eventually, the glow of grandparenting. The seasons of your children’s lives became the calendar for your own.

Protest is powerful. We saw the proof of that over the weekend! But protest alone isn’t enough. If we want to protect democracy—not just for this moment, but for generations to come—we have to play chess, not checkers. We must think in decades, not just news cycles. In short, we must bring the long game.

Let’s speak truth into this moment.

What we’re witnessing is not new. A government—our government—turning its might inward, branding dissent as danger, deploying force not to protect but to suppress. This isn’t the first time we’ve seen tear gas bloom in American streets or peaceful protest met with armored denial. But just because it’s happened before doesn’t mean we accept it. Not now. Not ever.