When you're in your 30s, you think you've got life figured out. You've survived your chaotic 20s, landed a decent job, maybe started a family. You're building toward something real.
But here's the thing: people in their 60s are watching us make the same mistakes they did, shaking their heads at the lessons we refuse to learn. They've been where we are, stressed about the same things, worried about the same futures that never materialized the way they imagined.
I've spent the last year interviewing dozens of people in their 60s for my research, and what struck me most wasn't their wisdom but how desperately they wished they could go back and tell their 30-something selves to just chill out about certain things.
These aren't platitudes or fortune cookie wisdom. These are hard-earned insights from people who've actually lived through what we're experiencing now.
"I spent 30 years climbing the corporate ladder only to realize it was leaning against the wrong wall."
That's what a retired executive told me last month, and it hit hard. In our 30s, we're so wrapped up in titles, promotions, and LinkedIn updates that we forget we're more than our job descriptions.
The 60-somethings I've talked to consistently say they wish they'd understood earlier that work is just one part of life, not the whole thing. They don't reminisce about quarterly reports or successful presentations. They talk about the colleague who became a lifelong friend, the lunch breaks spent laughing, the times they left early to catch their kid's soccer game.
Your job will change. Your company might not even exist in 20 years. But the person you become outside of work? That's what sticks.
Every single person I interviewed mentioned this, usually with a tinge of regret. "Take care of your knees," one woman laughed, then got serious. "I'm not joking. Take care of your knees."
In your 30s, you can still bounce back from a weekend of bad decisions. You pull an all-nighter and recover with strong coffee. You skip the gym for months and then get back in shape relatively quickly.
But here's what they want us to know: every healthy choice you make now is an investment that pays dividends later. The running habit you start at 35 means you're still mobile at 65. The yoga practice you think is just trendy mindfulness stuff? That's what keeps you flexible enough to play with grandkids on the floor.
As I explore in my book, Hidden Secrets of Buddhism: How To Live With Maximum Impact and Minimum Ego, taking care of your body is actually a form of mindfulness, a way of respecting the only vehicle you get for this journey.
This one's heavy, but it needs to be said.
In your 30s, your parents might be driving you crazy. They're calling too much or not enough. They're giving unsolicited advice about raising your kids or managing your money. It's easy to put off that visit, skip that phone call, or roll your eyes at their outdated opinions.
The 60-somethings? They'd give anything for one more conversation with their parents, even the annoying ones. They understand now what their parents were trying to say, why they worried so much, why they called so often.
Pick up the phone. Plan the visit. Ask them about their childhood, their dreams, their regrets. These conversations won't be available forever.
"I thought I needed twice as much as I actually did," a retired teacher told me. "I sacrificed so much for a future security that required way less than I imagined."
In our 30s, we're obsessed with net worth, investment portfolios, and keeping up with everyone else's perceived success. We stress about having enough for retirement while forgetting to live the life we're supposedly saving for.
The 60-somethings have perspective we lack. They know that beyond a certain point of security, more money didn't equal more happiness. They wish they'd taken that trip, bought that guitar, or worked less overtime. They understand now that experiences appreciate in value while possessions depreciate.
Remember that thing you lost sleep over five years ago? Neither do I.
People in their 60s have three decades of evidence that most anxiety is wasted energy. They've lived through their worst fears not materializing, their biggest worries becoming footnotes, their catastrophic predictions turning into minor inconveniences.
One man put it perfectly: "I spent my 30s preparing for disasters that never came while missing the actual life happening in front of me."
How many close friends do you have? Not Facebook friends or work acquaintances, but people you could call at 2 AM with a crisis?
In your 30s, friendships often take a backseat to career and family. You assume these relationships will maintain themselves, that you'll reconnect "when things calm down."
The 60-somethings know better. They've learned that friendship is like a garden: ignore it, and it dies. They wish they'd made more effort to maintain connections, to schedule those dinners, to make those calls.
In Buddhism, which I've studied extensively for my book Hidden Secrets of Buddhism: How To Live With Maximum Impact and Minimum Ego, there's a concept called Sangha, or community. It recognizes that we need meaningful connections to thrive. The 60-somethings have learned this lesson through loss.
As a new father myself, this lesson hits particularly close to home. The parents in their 60s consistently said they wished they'd worried less about being perfect parents and focused more on just being present.
They stressed over organic food while missing family dinners. They worked extra hours to afford better schools while missing bedtime stories. They tried to give their kids everything except the one thing that mattered most: unhurried time together.
"My kids don't remember the expensive toys," one mother said. "They remember the time we got caught in the rain and danced in puddles."
This might be the most practical lesson on this list. People in their 60s have finally learned what those of us in our 30s struggle with daily: you can't do everything, and that's okay.
They've stopped going to events they don't want to attend. They've stopped taking on projects to please others. They've learned that "No" is a complete sentence.
In our 30s, we say yes to everything because we're afraid of missing out, letting people down, or closing doors. The 60-somethings know that saying no to one thing means saying yes to something else, usually something more important.
"I always said I'd travel when I retired," a woman told me. "Now I have the time and money, but my back can't handle long flights."
The 60-somethings want us to know that the adventure you're postponing until "someday" should happen now. Your knees work. Your energy is high. Your sense of wonder hasn't been dampened by decades of routine.
They're not saying quit your job and backpack through Asia (unless you want to). They're saying take the vacation days, book the trip, try the new experience. Do it while your body is an eager participant rather than a reluctant companion.
These lessons aren't revolutionary. You've probably heard versions of them before. But that's exactly the point. People in their 60s are trying to tell us what we already know but don't truly believe yet.
We nod along, thinking we get it, then go right back to stressing about our careers, postponing time with family, and saving our lives for later. We think we're different, that we'll figure it out in time.
But time has a way of passing faster than we expect. Those 60-somethings were in their 30s yesterday, or at least that's how it feels to them. They're trying to save us from the regret of learning these lessons too late.
The question isn't whether these lessons are true. The question is whether we'll actually listen this time.