You Are What You Speak

The Art of Shutting Up and Getting Older

Look, folks — getting older’s a trip. One minute you’re 25, eating gas station burritos at 2 a.m., convinced you’re immortal. Next thing you know, you’re 60, grumbling about “kids these days” and googling whether that weird shoulder pain is terminal.

Aging isn’t for amateurs. It’s a game of endurance, and if you’re not careful, you’ll wind up bitter, irrelevant, and muttering, “Back in my day…” to anyone unlucky enough to sit next to you at a diner.

That’s where yours truly comes in — an old-school jazz cat turned philosopher who’s somehow figured out how to get older without turning into a crusty old grouch. Yes, I’ve got wisdom to share, and honestly, if you’re pushing past middle age — or even if you’re still young but occasionally feel like yelling at clouds — you might want to listen up.

Step One: Shut Your Mouth (Sometimes)

My big idea? Learn to shut up. Not always — just sometimes.

You know that moment when someone says something stupid, and you’re seconds away from dropping a verbal grenade? Yeah — that’s the moment you need to bite your tongue.

As you get older, your words start packing more weight. People assume you know what you’re talking about — even when you don’t. Blurting out every opinion, correction, or life story just because you “lived it” doesn’t make you wise — it makes you exhausting.

My advice? Don’t waste words. Silence, used well, is power. It’s the pause that makes people lean in. It’s the difference between being seen as thoughtful and being seen as a crank with too much time on their hands.

I tried this once. A younger guy was rambling about crypto like he was Warren Buffet reincarnated, and my inner smartass was begging to unleash some snark. But instead, I just sipped my drink and let him go on. The silence freaked him out so much that he eventually asked me what I thought. When I finally spoke — one calm sentence — he actually listened. Weird, right?

Turns out, silence is like putting a long pause in a Miles Davis solo — it makes the next note hit harder.

My second point? Quit acting like the past was perfect.

Yeah, we all remember “the good old days” — when the music was better, kids respected their elders, and no one took selfies with their food. But let’s be honest — the past wasn’t all sunshine and Sinatra.

You just remember it that way because your brain airbrushed the ugly parts.

The truth? Nostalgia’s a scam. It’s like trying to relive your best concert by putting on a scratched-up vinyl — sure, it sounds warm, but you’re just replaying what you think happened.

Clinging to the past doesn’t just make you annoying — it makes you blind to the good stuff happening right now. There’s still joy out there — you just have to stop whining long enough to notice it.

Ditch the ‘I’m Too Old to Change’ Excuse

This one’s brutal. If you’ve ever muttered, “I’m too old for this crap,” congratulations — you’ve just fed your own self-destruct button.

According to yours truly, saying you’re “too old” is just code for “I’m too lazy to try.” Change isn’t just possible at any age — it’s necessary. Otherwise, you’re not aging — you’re fossilizing.

I know a guy — let’s call him Stan. Stan hit 50 and declared, “I’m too old to mess with technology.” Within five years, Stan couldn’t even order a pizza without calling his nephew. Meanwhile, his buddy Frank — same age — decided to embrace change. Frank’s now running a side hustle selling homemade salsa online like a tech-savvy Tony Montana.

Moral of the story? Be Frank, not Stan.

Here’s the ugly truth: By the time you’re old enough to collect senior discounts, you’ve screwed some things up. Relationships, careers, conversations — there’s a highlight reel of bad decisions somewhere in your head.

My advice? Stop replaying it.

Regret’s like dragging around a bag of bricks — it only gets heavier the longer you carry it.

If you can fix something, fix it. Write that apology email. Call that old friend. Pay back that loan you “forgot” about. But if you can’t fix it? Drop it. Learn the lesson and walk away.

Carrying regret won’t fix a damn thing — it just turns you into that person who spends family dinners sighing dramatically about “what might have been.” Don’t be that person.

You’d think apologizing gets easier with age, but nope — it’s harder. The older you get, the more tempting it is to believe you’re entitled to your bad behavior.

“I’m old — I don’t have time for this!” becomes the battle cry of people who’ve decided their ego is more important than their relationships.

But here’s the kicker — a real apology, given with sincerity, is like a cheat code for human connection. It rebuilds bridges you thought were burned to ash.

Forget the weak “I’m sorry you feel that way” routine — that’s coward talk. A real apology is simple:

• Admit you screwed up.

• Own it without excuses.

• Say you’re sorry.

• Then shut up and let it sink in.

No justifying, no bargaining — just the raw truth. It’s hard, but it’s powerful. And if you’re serious about growing old with some dignity intact, you better get good at it.

Last but not least — bitterness.

As you age, bitterness tries to sneak in like a con artist selling cheap watches. You start griping about everything — politics, traffic, the price of coffee, how nobody makes good music anymore. Pretty soon, you’re that guy who’s impossible to be around.

My solution? Gratitude. Yeah, I know — sounds corny. But gratitude isn’t about pretending everything’s perfect — it’s about noticing what is good.

Instead of whining about what’s gone, focus on what’s still here: Good friends. A decent meal. The fact that you still get to wake up and take another shot at life.

Gratitude isn’t just some touchy-feely nonsense — it’s mental armor against turning into a miserable old crank.

Getting older doesn’t make you irrelevant — but trying too hard to prove you’re relevant? That’s where people lose respect.

Instead of barking advice at every young person you meet, I suggest sharing your stories instead. People connect with stories — not sermons.

So tell those war stories from your youth. Share your screw-ups, your victories, and the wild rides in between. But don’t turn your stories into lectures — let them breathe.

And remember, sometimes the smartest thing you can do is shut up and listen.

Aging’s not about fading away — it’s about staying sharp enough to know when to speak, when to stay quiet, and when to laugh at the whole damn thing.

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Until we meet again, let your conscience be your guide.