Lisa O
When you reach sixty, you stop chasing as much and start remembering more. You think about the choices you made, the things you thought mattered, and the people who stayed, or didn’t. You realize how quickly the years folded into each other, how much of life happened while you were busy proving something. Here are 15 things men over 60 wish they could tell their younger selves.
Stop trying to prove you’re strong all the time.
You spent too many years pretending you didn’t feel pain, didn’t need help, didn’t care what anyone thought. You mistook silence for strength. The truth is, no one respects a wall. People love you for the cracks that show you’re human. There’s courage in admitting you’re scared, in crying when it hurts, in saying, “I can’t do this alone.” Strength isn’t about how much you carry. It’s about knowing when to set it down and let someone else lift it with you.
Take better care of your body.
You thought you were indestructible. You stayed up late, ate whatever you wanted, skipped doctor visits, and brushed off the warning signs. You figured there’d always be time to start later. But the later years come faster than you think. The body that once kept up with everything now slows you down in ways that surprise you. Every ache feels like a message you ignored too long. You’d tell that younger man to move more, stretch often, and treat rest like fuel — because one day, it’s the most precious thing you have left.
Don’t waste years on pride.
You’ll lose too many good moments to stubbornness. You’ll let silence hang in the air after a fight just to prove a point.You’ll hold grudges longer than you can even remember the reason for them. Pride feels powerful when you’re young, but it turns into loneliness as you age. You’ll look back and wish you had just said, “You’re right,” or “I’m sorry,” or “I miss you.” Pride gives you distance. Humility gives you peace. Choose peace every time.
Make time for your kids — they don’t stay kids for long.
You’ll think you have forever. You’ll blink, and they’ll be taller, busier, and suddenly too old to need you. The nights you missed because of work won’t come back. They’ll remember the times you showed up, not the times you bought something to make up for it. You don’t have to be perfect — just present. Sit on the floor. Go to the game. Listen to the story even if it doesn’t make sense. One day, you’ll wish you could hear that little voice again, tugging at your sleeve.
Money helps, but it won’t fix what’s missing inside.
You’ll chase it like it’s proof of your worth. You’ll believe the next raise, the bigger house, the nicer car will finally make you content. And then you’ll get those things and feel the same. Money can buy a lot, but it can’t buy peace of mind, forgiveness, or love that’s real. The richest men you’ll ever meet are the ones who have enough and know it. Success feels different when you’re not using it to fill a void.
Learn how to listen.
You’ll spend a lot of your early years waiting for your turn to talk. You’ll interrupt people because you think your story’s better. You’ll tune out advice you don’t like. And then one day, you’ll meet someone who teaches you that listening is a gift, not a pause between sentences. You’ll realize that hearing someone — truly hearing them — can heal things words never could. Listening makes people feel seen, and that’s something you’ll wish you’d done more of when it mattered most.
Your parents were just people.
You’ll hold on to resentment for years, thinking they should have known better, done better, been better. Then one day, you’ll see them as they really were — young people trying to raise kids while still figuring out their own lives. You’ll see their fear and exhaustion, and you’ll understand. If you’re lucky, you’ll get the chance to forgive them in person. If not, you’ll whisper it into the quiet one night and hope they somehow hear you. Forgiveness won’t change the past, but it will free you from it.
Don’t let work become your only identity.
You’ll spend half your life trying to climb ladders that don’t even reach anywhere. You’ll convince yourself your job defines you, that the title, the paycheck, and the praise are what make you valuable. But the day you leave, you’ll realize how quickly the world moves on. The phone stops ringing. The urgency fades. You’ll wish you’d built more of a life outside of work — hobbies, friendships, something that makes you feel alive without a paycheck attached. Because when work ends, you need something that still gives you purpose.
Love your partner the way you wish you had sooner.
You’ll learn, eventually, that love doesn’t die from big betrayals as often as it fades from neglect. The small things matter — the hug before bed, the random text, the compliment that costs nothing. You’ll remember how many times you dismissed their feelings or took them for granted because you assumed there’d always be more time. You’ll wish you’d listened more closely, laughed more easily, and loved more openly. Because when you’re older, you realize all the ordinary moments were the love story.
Stop comparing yourself to other men.
You’ll spend decades chasing the idea of who you should be. You’ll measure your life against friends, coworkers, even strangers. You’ll scroll through everyone else’s highlights and feel like you’re losing. Then you’ll hit an age where you see the truth: no one actually had it figured out. The guy you envied for his success went home every night feeling empty. The man you thought was confident was terrified of failing. Everyone’s just trying to survive their own story. Comparison steals joy faster than anything else.
Learn how to be still.
You’ll fill every silence with noise — music, work, screens, anything to avoid being alone with your thoughts. But the older you get, the more you’ll crave quiet. Stillness isn’t idleness; it’s how you learn to recognize yourself again. Sit in the garden. Drive without the radio. Take a walk without your phone. The world will keep spinning, but you’ll finally notice the breeze, the sunlight, the way peace feels when you stop running from it. Stillness gives you back the parts of you you lost to busyness.
Tell people what they mean to you.
You’ll assume they already know that your love or gratitude is obvious. It’s not. One day, you’ll sit in a funeral pew wishing you’d said it out loud. Don’t wait. Tell your friends you’re proud of them. Tell your partner they’re still your favorite person. Tell your kids you love them in plain, unguarded words. The hardest part of getting older isn’t losing people. It’s realizing how many words you never said while you still could.
Take pictures and be in them.
You’ll find boxes of old photos one day and realize you’re missing from half of them. You were always the one behind the camera or the one who said, “No, not right now.” Take the damn photo. Be part of your own story. Your kids will want to remember what you looked like, not just where you went. The photos you hide from now will be the ones they treasure later. Don’t erase yourself from the life you built.
Don’t let fear make your world smaller.
You’ll think you’re being practical, careful, and wise. But what you’re really doing is shrinking. You’ll say no to trips because they feel like too much trouble, no to new people because you’re comfortable with the old ones, and no to new experiences because you’re scared of looking foolish. That’s how the world gets smaller. The men who stay curious live longer in spirit, even if not in years. Say yes to things that make your pulse quicken.
You’ll never get back time, but you can use what’s left better.
There comes a moment when you realize time isn’t infinite. You stop thinking about “someday” and start noticing how fast days actually pass. You won’t care about most of the things that kept you busy. You’ll care about who’s sitting next to you, what makes you laugh, and whether you’re still kind. You can’t undo the decades behind you, but you can make the rest count. Be present. Forgive quickly. Take care of what you love. Time doesn’t wait, but it still gives second chances if you start now.