Inquisitive.me

Why are there 80-year-olds who can barely get out of a chair — and others who are still running marathons?

I keep coming back to that question.

We love to blame age.

I can’t walk that far anymore because I’m 85.
I can’t learn a language because I’m too old.
I don’t understand technology because I’m old.
I can’t get down on the floor anymore.
I don’t cook for myself.

Age becomes the explanation. The full stop at the end of the sentence.

But then there are people like Stanley Drucker, who played clarinet with the New York Philharmonic until his 80th birthday. He didn’t suddenly lose his ability to perform at a high level because of the number on his passport. He kept playing because he had always played. His skill didn’t disappear — it was maintained.

That makes me wonder if decline is less about age itself and more about what we stop doing.

I recently heard an analogy that stuck with me: Why does physical function in humans often decline so dramatically with age, while in wild animals it seems more linear?

You could argue medicine plays a role. We live longer than ever before. But I’ve met people who experience severe decline not in their 90s, not in their 80s — but in their early 60s. So what’s happening?

A lion has to hunt until the day it dies. If it stops moving, it starves. Its survival depends on maintaining strength, speed, coordination.

We don’t have to hunt. We have supermarkets. We don’t need peak physical capacity to survive — we need “good enough.” And “good enough” slowly becomes less.

Then there’s retirement.

Here in Austria, many people stop working around 60 or 65. From one day to the next, 40 to 60 structured hours per week disappear. If you haven’t thought about what comes next, that sudden space can feel overwhelming.

And when something is overwhelming, we tend to default to what’s easy.

After decades of working, doing nothing feels earned. It feels justified. Comfortable. Convenient.

I notice it in myself on vacation. The first two days of doing absolutely nothing? Amazing. By day three, I feel strangely restless. Not because I have nothing to do — but because I suddenly have so much time that time loses meaning. When time is limited, I’m intentional. When it’s endless, I waste it.

I get more done on busy weeks than on empty ones.

Too much unstructured time is both a gift and a trap.

If we don’t consciously decide how to use it, we slowly shrink into it.

That’s why I think planning for retirement isn’t just a financial discussion. It’s a functional one. A cognitive one. An identity one.

Even though I’m far from retirement — and honestly not even sure what that concept will look like when I’m 65 — I already have a rough idea of how I want that phase of life to feel.

I want to study again. Maybe something related to my profession — neuroscience fascinates me, and I know mastering it requires deep, consistent work. Or maybe something completely different, just to stretch my brain in a new direction.

I want to do long-distance hiking trails. Alone. Probably with a dog (not Leto 😢). I like the idea of moving for days with everything I need on my back.

I want to learn a language and actually use it in the country where it’s spoken. I’m not a big traveler right now — but who knows who I’ll be by then?

I want to paint again. I used to paint constantly as a teenager and in my early twenties. At some point, I stopped. Not because I didn’t love it, but because life became full. I miss it.

I want to read a book every week. I already read a lot — but I’m looking forward to a season of life where I can sit with a book for hours without checking the clock.

And I want to keep training. I promised my future self a strong old-lady body. One that can get up from the floor without hesitation. One that can hike, carry groceries, maybe even surprise people.

These plans aren’t just fantasies for a distant future. They shape what I do now.

Because if I want to be an active, curious, strong 80-year-old, I can’t suddenly start at 79.

Maybe the real difference between those two 80-year-olds isn’t luck. And not just genetics.

Maybe it’s continuity.

What you keep doing, you keep.
What you stop using, you slowly lose.

Age will come either way.
The question is: what will you bring with you when it does?

🧪 Let’s Experiment

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Don’t wait for retirement to design the person you want to become.

If aging is less about numbers and more about continuity, then the real leverage isn’t in your 80s — it’s now.

🎯 Try This:

Write a short “Retirement Vision List.”

Not about money. About identity.

Ask yourself:

• How do I want my body to function at 80?
• What do I want to still be able to do without help?
• What skills do I want to maintain?
• What do I want to still be learning?
• Who do I want to be surrounded by?

Then circle one thing on that list and build the smallest possible version of it into your current week.

If you want to be strong later, lift now.

If you want to be intellectually sharp, study now.

If you want to be creative later, create now.

If you want community later, nurture it now.

You don’t need 40 free hours a week to start becoming that person.

You just need continuity.

🧠 Final Thought:

The body and brain adapt to the demands we place on them — and to the ones we remove. Retirement doesn’t suddenly age you. Stopping does.

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Keep it simple, stay curious, and keep learning—you’ve got this.

Take care,

Carina 🦊