I have been thinking a lot lately about the word “longevity.” I am not sure I even like the word anymore. Maybe it is just me, but whenever I hear it now, I immediately picture some billionaire in Silicon Valley hooked up to machines, taking 47 supplements, injecting the blood plasma of a college athlete, and trying to live to 137 years old while somehow forgetting to actually enjoy life. The whole thing starts to feel less like health and more like a science experiment mixed with a fear of death.
Ironically, these thoughts became much stronger this week while sitting in hospitals with my Dad. First off, Pops is recovering well, thank God (and all of you for your prayers). At 94 years old, the man still has a toughness and resilience that honestly amazes me. But spending long days inside hospitals observing humanity up close gives you perspective very quickly. I also ran into a couple of old friends there dealing with various surgeries and procedures of their own. And as I sat there watching all of this unfold, I realized something important. I do not actually care very much about “living longer” if those extra years come attached to suffering, chronic disease, weakness, dependence, pain, exhaustion, or losing the ability to fully participate in life. What I care about is living WELL.
Part of the reason I always race to the Bay Area when my Dad gets hospitalized is because he has dementia. I do not want him waking up confused, alone, and afraid in a hospital room wondering where he is or why nobody is there with him. Watching someone you love slowly lose pieces of their mind is a brutal thing to witness because physically he is still remarkably tough for 94. And while sitting there this week, I found myself pondering a really difficult question: if you had to choose one in the final years of your life, would you rather keep your mental faculties or your physical capabilities? Honestly, my conclusion is that it is a shitty choice. Losing either feels profoundly unfair. Which is probably why this whole idea of simply “living longer” feels incomplete to me.
I care about being capable. Strong enough to carry my own bags. Healthy enough to travel freely. Fit enough to hike, swim, train, cook, laugh, dance, and experience life fully. Mentally sharp enough to stay creative and connected. Energetic enough to wake up excited about the day ahead. To me, that feels far more important than simply extending the calendar. I once heard someone say that the average American spends roughly the last decade of life diseased, medicated, restricted, and/or in chronic pain. Whether the exact number is 8 years or 11 years almost does not matter. The point is that many people are not truly living during the final chapter of life. **They are surviving it.** Most people do not dream about living to 105. They dream about feeling GOOD while they are alive. There is a huge difference.
I think that is why I connect so much more with words like vitality, healthspan, resilience, performance, functional fitness, and strength. Not vanity. Capability. I want to be the kind of older man who still moves well, thinks clearly, laughs loudly, travels often, and contributes meaningfully to the lives around him. I think deep down that is what most people want too. Not immortality. Not cryogenic chambers. Not magic powders from the mountains of Peru harvested during a full moon. Just the ability to fully participate in life for as long as possible. To squeeze the juice out of every year.
For decades I did not prioritize my health consistently. I was overweight, inflamed, exhausted, stressed, and disconnected from my body. Looking back, I normalized feeling mediocre because I ignorantly convinced myself that my dreams were more important, as if I had to make the choice. Now that I have experienced the other side of discipline, training, cleaner eating, structure, and consistency, I realize something very profound: feeling strong feels better than almost anything money can buy. Not because of aesthetics. Because of freedom. Health creates options. Strength creates independence. Energy creates possibility. My dreams are enhanced by my good health, not sacrificed.
Maybe that is the conversation we should be having more often. Not “How do we live forever?” But rather: “How do we remain fully alive while we are here?”
