We’re taught from childhood to respect our elders, to listen to their wisdom, and to value the perspective that comes with age. And rightly so. But there’s a subtle trap in this reverence that we rarely discuss: the danger of accepting their limitations as our own inevitable future.
Pay attention when an older person in your life explains why they can’t do something anymore. Not to judge them, and certainly not to confront them, but to understand what you’re actually hearing. Often, what sounds like a reasonable explanation is actually a rationalization that has calcified over years of repetition.
“I’m too old to learn new technology.” “My back won’t let me exercise anymore.” “I can’t travel like I used to.” “It’s too late for me to start something new.” These aren’t just statements of fact. They’re choices that have been repeated so many times they’ve become identity.
The human mind is remarkably skilled at constructing narratives that protect us from discomfort. When learning something new feels frustrating, it’s easier to decide you’re too old than to push through the awkwardness. When exercise hurts, it’s simpler to blame age than to find appropriate modifications or address the underlying issue. These mental shortcuts feel true because they relieve us of responsibility.
But here’s what’s insidious: these excuses are contagious. When you hear them often enough from people you love and respect, they seep into your own self-concept. You start preemptively limiting yourself based on an arbitrary timeline you’ve absorbed from others. You think, “Well, if they couldn’t do it at sixty, I certainly won’t be able to.”
This doesn’t mean your grandmother is lying about her bad knee or that your father’s complaints about technology are pure laziness. Real physical limitations exist. Genuine cognitive decline happens. The point isn’t to deny these realities but to question whether every explanation you hear is actually a limitation or just a convenient story.
Consider this: for every seventy-year-old who insists they can’t learn to use a smartphone, there’s another who’s coding websites or managing their investments through apps. For every person who claims age has made travel impossible, there’s someone older hiking the Appalachian Trail or backpacking through Southeast Asia. The difference isn’t always physical capacity. Often, it’s simply that one person accepted the excuse and the other didn’t.
When you catch yourself thinking “I’m getting too old for this” in your thirties, forties, or fifties, stop and trace that thought back to its source. How many times have you heard older relatives say similar things? How many times has society told you that certain doors close at certain ages? These beliefs about aging aren’t primarily biological facts—they’re cultural narratives we’ve internalized.The kinder response to our elders isn’t to challenge them directly. If someone has decided that their story is one of inevitable decline, arguing with them rarely helps and often hurts. But privately, you can note the pattern. You can recognize the excuse for what it is. And most importantly, you can choose differently for yourself.
This isn’t about toxic positivity or pretending that aging doesn’t come with real changes. Your body at sixty won’t work the same way it did at twenty, and that’s fine. But there’s an enormous difference between adapting to change and surrendering to invented limitations. One requires creativity and persistence; the other just requires giving up and calling it wisdom.
The next time someone older tells you they can’t do something because of their age, listen with compassion but also with discernment. Ask yourself: is this actually about physical reality, or is this about someone who stopped trying and then built a philosophy around that choice? And then ask yourself the harder question: which parts of their excuse-making have you already adopted for your own life?
You don’t owe it to your elders to follow them into the same patterns of self-limitation. In fact, one of the best ways to honor the good they’ve done is to learn from their mistakes, including the ones they don’t recognize as mistakes. Love them, respect them, care for them—but don’t let their excuses become your ceiling.
