“You see, I am the center of the universe. People love to say, ‘The world doesn’t revolve around you.’ Adorable. True for planets—Earth loops the sun, the sun twirls around some black-hole disco ball in the Milky Way. Astronomers win the participation trophy. But in an infinite, ever-expanding, perfectly even universe, every point is the center. Draw your sphere anywhere—congratulations, you’re it. Geometry agrees, physics nods. Copernicus demoted us; quantum mechanics quietly re-promotes the observer. And it’s not just geometry. I stand up, the world starts changing. I sit back down; it all starts rearranging. Air shifts, a butterfly in Africa tweaks its wingbeat, two weeks later a coastline files a complaint. I am a natural-disaster generator with excellent quads. Then there’s the quantum side of it all. Unobserved, everything that is, or rather could be, is nothing more than possibility soup. Look, and it picks a lane. When I’m not watching you, you’re Schrödinger’s intern—half answering emails, half vapor. The instant I look—pop—there you are, deliciously well-dressed. Douglas Adams saw it. The Total Perspective Vortex: built to shatter egos by showing your microscopic place in everything. Zaphod steps in and sees himself at the center. Unbothered. The machine wasn’t broken; it was calibrated. That’s me. When I shift in my chair, constellations somewhere scoot a nanometer or two. Twelve galaxies of astrologers curse my posture. And you’re the center of your universe too, I’m sure. Tonight, out of infinity, your universe crash-landed into mine and mine wandered into yours. That’s two winning lottery tickets colliding mid-air and raising a glass to their good fortune. Most people never notice. They play unpaid extras in someone else’s film. But without your gaze, your scene isn’t a film at all—it’s blank tape waiting for a lead. Here’s the only non-symmetric rule I’ve found: if everyone is the center, then meaning lives in the way centers interact. How they treat each other. Kindness is the only physics that survives a change of frame. So do me a favor: don’t blink too long. Every time you stop looking, half the room collapses back into raw probability. It’s a heavy load to bear when you stop to think about it. Ah. Our table is ready. After you, my dear.” Behind them, the exit sign flickered, then went dark.

Before 2021, my relationship with social media was… minimal. A handful of posts on Instagram, mostly vacation shots or moments I wanted to remember. Facebook had more content, but that was mainly because I used it like a digital photo album. I’m older—so that was the thing back then. A place to store, not perform. Then came the book. When Get Out of My Head launched, I was told (wisely, I suppose) that I needed to “build my platform.” To grow an audience. Engage. Show up. And so I did. What started as a few thoughtful posts about ideas from the book became a steady stream of insights, photos, videos, and carousels. I genuinely enjoyed it at first. It felt like an extension of the work—connecting with others who were navigating similar struggles. It was meaningful. And it was fun. But sometime last year, I noticed something shift. I was on a walk with my daughter, and I caught myself composing a caption in my head while she was telling me a story. Not a long caption. Just a snappy one-liner to pair with the video I was thinking of capturing. And that was the moment it clicked: I was no longer simply living. I was posting about living—in real time. My internal dialogue had started to narrate life through the lens of shareable content. Every moment became potential material. And that realization hit harder than I expected. I didn’t like what it was doing to me. Not just to my time or attention, but to the way I experienced joy, beauty, or even stillness. Everything was being filtered through a “how will I share this?” lens. I had gone from presence to performance. From living in the moment to scripting it. So maybe you noticed—my posts began to shift. They got less personal. More focused on ideas, frameworks, business. In part, that was intentional. I was trying to reclaim some part of my life that felt like it had slipped away. But even in that shift, something still didn’t sit right. It started to feel like I was performing productivity. Writing about the work of Alively more than actually doing the work. Posting about the concepts that inspire me more than letting them shape me. Creating carousels instead of creating momentum. And all of that takes time. Not just the logistical time of crafting a post, but the mental space—the headspace it rents. And that time has to come from somewhere. That somewhere, for me, was the space I need to be present. With my family. With my work. With myself. So, here we are. This is my last blog post for the foreseeable future. I’m stepping back. Not in protest. Not in burnout. Just in quiet clarity. Maybe I’ll write fiction again, just for me. Maybe I’ll continue reflecting on these ideas—presence, purpose, boundaries—but I won’t post about them. At least not now. I want to see where this goes, when I’m not living it out loud. I started all of this—posting, writing, sharing—because I believed that the things I was thinking about might be things others were struggling with too. That was the real gift of Get Out of My Head . Hearing from readers, from you, that these ideas resonated. That you were also navigating the tension between doing and being, between showing up and staying sane. That meant the world to me. But lately, I’ve started to feel like I’m just shouting into the social echo chamber. Unsure if I’m helping anyone… other than a few trillion-dollar companies that thrive on clicks, likes, and the illusion of connection. And that’s not what I want to feed. So this is me signing off. Not forever, maybe. But for now. I’m choosing presence over posting. Depth over reach. Living the work, rather than talking about it. Thank you—for reading, for walking alongside me, for being part of this journey. Truly. I’m grateful for every message, every thoughtful comment, every quiet “that sounds like me too” you’ve shared. So long, and goodbye—for now. —Andrew

“Matilda’s sick again,” Talulla tells me with deep concern, cradling her cello as if it were a beloved pet needing urgent care. It’s one of the most unintentionally profound things I’ve ever heard her say. Matilda is not a person. Matilda is Talulla’s cello—a sweet, warm-toned wooden instrument that’s practically a family member at this point. And when Talulla says she’s sick, what she really means is: Matilda’s out of tune. And she’s right. You can hear it immediately when a cello isn’t tuned properly. It wobbles. It warbles. The harmony that once rang so easily becomes jarring. It’s not broken—it just needs attention. A little adjustment here. A twist of the peg there. And with care, it sings again. There’s something deeply human about this process. The way Matilda constantly needs tuning is not so different from the way we need retuning in our lives—physically, emotionally, mentally. But unlike a cello, we often wait too long to admit we’re off-key. Minor Adjustments, Major Impact With instruments, it doesn’t take much to fall out of tune. Just playing it can do it. A shift in weather. A bump on the car ride home. Matilda doesn’t need an overhaul—she just needs small, regular attention to stay aligned. And it’s the same with us. Daily life naturally nudges us off center. A stressful day at work. One night of poor sleep. A few skipped workouts. Slowly, we drift from our best selves, often without realizing it. Until something sounds—or feels—off. The key isn’t waiting for a full breakdown. The key is maintenance. Micro-adjustments. Checking in early and often, rather than reacting late and hard. The Danger of Delaying the Tune When Matilda is “sick,” Talulla now recognizes the signs. She knows something’s not right, and she tells someone. That small awareness allows for small fixes. But what happens if we don’t catch it? With instruments, the longer they go untuned, the harder it becomes to bring them back. The strings stretch too far, the pegs get stuck, and suddenly you’re not adjusting—you’re repairing. The same goes for us. Ignore the sore back long enough, and it’s not just a twinge—it’s an injury. Keep pushing through the burnout, and you’re not just tired—you’re lost. Preventative care may not feel dramatic, but it’s where long-term harmony lives. It’s easy to write off small signs: the tension in your jaw, the shortened patience with loved ones, the creeping fatigue. But these are the body’s equivalent of a flat string. They’re not flaws. They’re invitations to pause, recalibrate, and return to alignment. Listening Is a Skill—One I Had to Relearn One of the hardest things about keeping our own “instrument” in tune is this: we can’t always hear ourselves clearly. At least, not at first. And in my case, I trained myself not to listen. As a competitive swimmer in my youth, tuning out pain wasn’t a liability—it was a skill. You learned to ignore what your body was saying, to push harder, to silence the internal warning systems so you could perform. That mindset helped me compete, but it also led to injury. And a shorter career. Decades later, I still find myself having to unlearn that old programming. Now, I’m trying to hear again. To notice when something’s off. To respect it instead of override it. Listening to your body isn’t soft—it’s wise. It's the path to longevity, not just performance. But like music, it takes practice. We Don’t Have to Tune Alone Here’s another lesson Matilda teaches us: we don’t have to do this alone. Talulla is still learning how to play, let alone tune her instrument. She’s not expected to figure it out solo. She goes to her teacher. Someone who’s done it for years. Someone who knows how to listen differently and adjust with confidence. We need the same kind of support. Most of us were never taught how to listen to our bodies, manage our stress, or optimize our energy. But there are professionals who do know: — A primary care doctor who sees the patterns. — A physical therapist who notices the imbalance before it becomes injury. — A functional medicine doc who finds what’s off at the root. — A nutritionist who knows what your body might be asking for. — A trainer who sees how you move and what that says about your strength or alignment. You don’t have to be the expert. But you do have to show up. Ask for help. Stay curious. And most importantly—keep coming back for the tune-ups. Becoming Your Own Apprentice Over time, Talulla will learn how to tune Matilda herself. She’ll still go to her teacher, but she’ll also learn to trust her own ear. She’ll make mistakes—tighten when she should’ve loosened—but she’ll improve. And that’s our job too. We don’t start out knowing how to take care of ourselves. We learn. Slowly. Through journaling, through trial and error, through body scans and bloodwork and maybe even breakdowns. But the more we listen, the more we trust. The more we trust, the more we adjust. We may never be concert-level soloists when it comes to our health or our work-life balance, but we don’t need to be. What we need is presence. Practice. And the willingness to keep showing up with our metaphorical tuning pegs. A Symphony in Progress Matilda still gets “sick.” And she will for as long as she’s played. But Talulla is getting better at noticing it early. She doesn’t panic—she tunes. That’s the goal for all of us. We don’t need to be perfectly in tune at every moment. But we can notice when things feel a little off. We can pause. Adjust. Ask for help. Learn something new. And play again. Life isn’t a one-time performance. It’s an evolving symphony. One that takes constant maintenance and loving attention. You don’t need a new life. You might just need a tune. What’s one small area in your life that could use a little re-tuning this week?  Start there. Start small. And start now.

For years, I told myself a quiet lie: that rest was for other people. You know, the ones who weren’t “disciplined” enough. The ones who needed to recharge. Not me. I was the kind of person who got after it. I didn’t miss workouts. I pushed through fatigue. I wore my consistency like a badge of honor. And the irony? I knew better. I’ve read the research. I’ve heard the experts say it again and again: rest and recovery are just as essential as training . They’re one of the five foundational pillars of healthspan—right up there with fitness, nutrition, stress management, and social connection. On paper, I understood it. But in practice, I always treated rest like a luxury I hadn’t earned yet. That mindset finally started to shift thanks to a few wake-up calls—some subtle, some less so. It started with reading more deeply into the research. Then there was a post from Peter Attia, going from the same intellectual “knowing” I had to a true internalized realization thanks to a forced period of rest. Friends and loved ones would gently (and sometimes not-so-gently) encourage me to build in more space, to chill a bit. But if I’m being honest, I still didn’t do anything about it. It wasn’t until I recorded an episode of the Home of Healthspan podcast with Dylan Gemelli that something clicked. I don’t even remember the exact thing he said, but I remember how it landed. For whatever reason, it stuck. And that week, for the first time in I don’t know how long, I took a true rest day. No “active recovery.” No sneaky cardio. Just rest. And here’s where it gets interesting: my HRV (Heart Rate Variability) started improving almost immediately. Quick definition, in case you’re unfamiliar: HRV is the measure of the variation in time between your heartbeats. A higher HRV means your nervous system is in a more adaptable, recovered, and resilient state. Lower HRV? You’re likely stressed, overtrained, or under-recovered. It’s not a perfect metric, but it’s an incredibly helpful window into how your body is really doing. From February to July of 2025, I saw a steady climb in my HRV—month after month. From 47 to 55. That’s a 20% improvement, simply from one rest day a week and a little more attention to recovery. But the real lesson—the one that forced me to actually understand rest—came after an operation this summer. The procedure itself wasn’t major, but the post-op instructions were crystal clear: no physical activity for two full weeks . Anything more than the absolute basics risked ripping internal stitches. So for the first time in years, I stopped cold. Here’s what happened: Week one? My HRV soared. I was waking up with scores in the high 60s and even hit 70. My body was soaking up the total rest like a sponge. It was confirmation that I’d been carrying a huge load, and finally giving my system time off allowed it to rebound beautifully. But then… week two hit. And my HRV crashed. High 30s. Low 40s. Worse than it had been even during my overtraining phases. It was baffling at first. I wasn’t doing anything, and yet my body was responding like I was under major stress. Until I realized: rest only works when it follows effort . I’d gone from sustained high-output weeks to a full-stop, and that first week of recovery made sense. But by the second week, the pendulum had swung too far. I didn’t need more rest—I needed the return of rhythm, of effort, of challenge. Once I resumed physical activity—carefully at first—my HRV climbed again. It’s now steady in the mid to high 50s. Not peaking, but strong. Balanced. Here’s the thing I finally, truly get: rest isn’t about doing nothing—it’s about doing the right amount for the work you’re doing . Too much work? You burn out. Too much rest? You fade. It’s a dance. A cycle. Stress, recover, adapt. Repeat. We love to glorify the grind, but it’s in the recovery that we actually get stronger. Muscles rebuild. Hormones reset. Your nervous system regains its footing. Without rest, there is no growth. Without work, there’s nothing to recover from. You need both. And this doesn’t just apply to training. It’s true in work, relationships, even creativity. We all need to find our version of the sweet spot—where we’re challenged enough to grow, but rested enough to handle it. So here’s what I’d offer, if you’re someone who leans hard into effort and tends to see rest as a kind of weakness: Start small. One true rest day a week changed my physiology more than I imagined. Track something. HRV worked for me, but even basic journaling—energy, sleep, mood—can show you patterns. Rest when you're well, not just when you’re wrecked. Recovery is not a reward for burnout. It’s maintenance for your engine. I wish it hadn’t taken an operation to learn this. But sometimes, life hands you a lesson so clearly you can’t look away. And now? Rest isn’t a compromise. It’s strategy. Here’s to getting stronger—by slowing down, just enough.

Imagine spending $2 million a year just to stay young. That’s not a sci-fi plot — that’s Brian Johnson’s real life. He’s the guy who made headlines for building a full-time medical team, tracking his organs with more tests than an entire hospital wing, and living on a strict diet of green sludge and personalized supplements — all in the name of living longer. It’s easy to roll our eyes. But it also raises a pretty uncomfortable question: Is living longer and healthier becoming a privilege reserved for the ultra-wealthy? Is longevity just the latest luxury — a wellness playground for those who can buy their way out of aging? And if so… where does that leave the rest of us? The Biohacking Boom: A Playground for the Wealthy? Walk through any trendy health podcast or Instagram reel these days and you’ll find no shortage of people selling the dream of “biohacking.” Fancy wearables that track your sleep stages. Hyperbaric oxygen chambers you can install in your basement. Personalized IV drips, peptides, nootropics, cold plunges, red light therapy — the list goes on and on. And sure, there’s some fascinating science in there. But there’s also a booming industry behind it — one that loves to position longevity as something you need to buy to achieve. Brian Johnson might be the poster boy for this idea — reportedly dropping over $2 million every year on tests, doctors, supplements, and gadgets. But he’s far from alone. The wellness market is stuffed with people ready to sell you the latest “hack” — a $300 stress device here, a $500 supplement stack there. Here’s the thing: about 20% of Americans have true discretionary income — money left over after covering essentials. That leaves a lot of people just trying to pay rent, keep the lights on, and put food on the table. Meanwhile, the narrative around longevity can start to feel pretty elitist — like a secret club for those who can afford to chase an extra decade of life with high-tech toys. The Big Secret: Healthspan Doesn’t Have to Cost a Fortune But here’s what the fancy marketing rarely admits: you don’t need millions — or even thousands — to get most of the benefits that help you live longer and better. No red light bed required. No custom peptide injections. Not even a gym membership if you don’t want one. Most of the biggest longevity boosts come from the same simple, free (or cheap) habits that people have known for decades — but too often overlook in the chase for the next shiny hack. Move your body vigorously: You don’t need a Peloton or a boutique class. Do 20 push-ups on your bedroom floor. Squat until your legs burn. Run up and down your stairs. Research shows that going from no movement to some movement brings massive gains in lifespan and quality of life. Eat enough protein and whole plants: The protein helps preserve muscle, which is a huge predictor of healthy aging. And the fiber and nutrients in plants? They protect your gut, heart, and brain. You don’t need a $60 greens powder — start by aiming for 800 grams (about 6-7 cups) of fruits and vegetables daily. Sleep eight hours: No fancy mattress or sleep app can replace the basics. Turn off the screens, cool the room, and protect your bedtime like it’s a million-dollar secret — because it kind of is. And hey, maybe canceling a streaming subscription is the easiest longevity “hack” you’ll ever try. Breathe: You can pay for fancy apps and devices, sure. But one study found that a simple, free breathing exercise called the “physiological sigh” — just a double inhale through your nose, then a slow exhale — can calm your nervous system in minutes. Five minutes a day can work better than guided meditation. Connect with people: Maybe the most underrated free longevity tool we have. Human connection is protective. Say hello to the cashier, chat with your neighbor, call a friend. Five to ten small, genuine interactions a day do more for your mental and physical health than you might ever measure with a wearable. The Everyday Longevity Hero Need proof that this isn’t just theory? Meet Julie Gibson Clark — a single mom who decided she wanted to live as long and well as possible. Her “longevity routine” costs her about $108 a month — that’s it. She focuses on a vegetable-rich diet, some basic supplements, regular exercise, and meditation. No full-time medical team. No billion-dollar bank account. Just consistency. Julie’s story is powerful because it shows that you don’t have to buy into the lie that health is only for the wealthy. She proves you can choose basics over gadgets — and still stack the odds in your favor. Everyone Deserves a Long, Alively Life So yes — there are a thousand ways to spend money chasing health. And sure, if you’ve got millions, go ahead and experiment with fancy blood tests and custom infusions. But don’t let anyone convince you that your vitality is out of reach without them. Healthy, vibrant, “ Alively ” living (to borrow a word I love) is not for the few. It’s for all of us. We just have to reclaim it from the marketers and the influencers telling us we need to spend our way there. Sometimes the simplest actions are the most radical: moving your body, eating real food, sleeping deeply, breathing well, and staying connected to the people around you. These cost next to nothing — and yet they’re priceless. So, What’s Holding You Back? The ethics of longevity is a big conversation. But the first step is remembering that the most powerful tools are not locked behind velvet ropes. They’re here for you, today, right where you are. So if you’ve ever felt like healthy aging is for “other people” — the ones with better jobs, bigger houses, or $2 million health budgets — please know this: the door is open for you too. Go for a walk tonight instead of another episode. Text a friend. Take a deep breath. And know that, yes — you really do deserve to live a long, healthy, meaningful life.

In an age obsessed with novelty, repetition can feel… boring. We crave the new workout plan, the new diet hack, the new productivity method that promises overnight transformation. But here’s the quiet truth: real change rarely arrives in a flash. More often, it’s built in silence—through small actions repeated with intention, day after day, year after year. Discipline and ritual get a bad rap. Some see them as shackles—restrictions that box in our freedom. But the irony is, the right routines don’t limit you. They free you. And the science backs it up. The Science of Small, Consistent Steps Big, dramatic moves—like crash diets or jumping from zero exercise to two-hour workouts every day—make great headlines. But research shows they rarely stick. In his book Atomic Habits , James Clear distills decades of behavioral research into one simple idea: small habits, repeated consistently, compound into remarkable results. He writes, “Every action you take is a vote for the person you wish to become.” The votes don’t have to be huge—just steady. B.J. Fogg, a behavior scientist at Stanford, teaches the same through his Tiny Habits Method: lasting change starts with actions so small you can’t fail. When they’re easy, you repeat them. When you repeat them, they become identity. And in 2009, a study by Phillippa Lally published in the European Journal of Social Psychology found that, on average, it takes 66 days to make a behavior automatic. Not one heroic effort—66 days of small repetitions. So while bold transformations are tempting, they rarely last. It’s the quiet consistency that changes who you are. Rituals Shape Identity When you commit to small, repeated actions, you’re not just changing what you do—you’re changing how you see yourself. Think about your own rituals: your morning walk, your daily journaling, your regular workouts, your mindful bedtime wind-down. These aren’t random tasks. They’re anchors. Each repetition is a tiny reminder: I’m someone who cares for my body. I’m someone who makes time for stillness. I’m someone who keeps promises to myself. This is how repetition becomes transformation. Not by forcing you into a box—but by giving you an identity you trust. Discipline Is Freedom, Not a Cage Here’s the paradox: the more discipline you have, the more freedom you gain. Jocko Willink, a Navy SEAL turned author, says it best: “Discipline equals freedom.” It sounds harsh until you realize what he means—discipline frees you from chaos, distraction, and decision fatigue. A 2011 study in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology found that people with strong self-control don’t constantly resist temptation—they avoid it by automating their choices. They build routines that run on autopilot. They spend less energy deciding, because the decision has already been made. When you repeat good actions by default, you free your mind to focus on what truly matters: your work, your relationships, your purpose. The 80/20 Principle of Rituals: Be Consistent, Not Perfect But here’s where people get stuck: they think discipline means perfection. It doesn’t. True discipline lives in the 80/20 rule: if you follow your rituals 80% to 90% of the time, you get nearly all the benefit and the freedom to loosen the reins for the other 10%–20%. Look at Tim Ferriss’s Slow Carb Diet: he famously built “cheat days” into the plan. Not as failures, but as part of the system. Or consider athletes: they schedule rest days because recovery is part of growth. If you train hard every single day, you break down. If you rest with intention, you build back stronger. Life will test your routines. You’ll travel. You’ll have family emergencies. You’ll celebrate holidays. You’ll hit seasons of burnout or unexpected surgeries (like I did recently). Not long ago, I had an operation that took me completely out of my normal groove—no swimming, no lifting, not even my daily stretching and mobility practice. It rattled me. Was I worried about losing momentum? Of course. But it also reminded me that discipline isn’t a prison. In that season, letting go of my routine was the discipline. Pushing would have set me back. Pausing was how I kept faith with the bigger goal: long-term health. So here’s the truth: your rituals are powerful, but they’re not stone tablets. They’re tools. The goal isn’t perfect streaks forever—it’s meaningful consistency over time. Seasonality: Know When to Hold On, Know When to Let Go A wise routine respects the seasons of your life. Sometimes you tighten your grip. Sometimes you loosen it. Maybe work or family needs more from you for a while. Maybe you’re traveling, grieving, healing, or simply living. Rituals should adapt to serve your life, not the other way around. Discipline, at its best, isn’t rigidity—it’s discernment. The skill isn’t just in doing your rituals, but in knowing when to break them, when to return, and when to evolve. Repetition Is How We Become When you strip it all down, repetition is not redundant. It’s how we become. There is quiet power in doing the same meaningful things, well and often. In showing up for yourself not just once in a burst of motivation, but over and over again, when nobody’s watching. That’s where depth lives. That’s where the big changes hide. So embrace your routines. Love your discipline. Use them to shape your days—and, piece by piece, your identity.  But remember: do it for the life you want. And never let your rituals become the walls that keep you from living it.

There’s a certain beauty in the quiet things we do each day. The 6 a.m. walk before emails begin. The decision to skip the drive-thru and make something fresh. A moment of stillness before bed. They don’t feel groundbreaking. But they echo—sometimes for decades. We often think of longevity as a gift granted to a lucky few—people with “good genes.” But what if living longer—and better—wasn’t about chance, but about the ripple effect of today’s smallest choices? Superagers: Proof That It’s Not Just in Your DNA In the book Superagers, the research is clear: it’s not just genetics that determine who thrives in their 80s and 90s. In fact, only about 20–30% of our lifespan is determined by genes. The rest? It’s lifestyle, mindset, and the way we show up each day. These “superagers” aren’t elite athletes or lottery winners of the genome. They’re people who make movement a daily habit. Who engage socially and stay mentally curious. Who work their bodies and brains consistently—not perfectly, but persistently. What these studies revealed is powerful: the way we live shapes the way we age. And the best part? It’s never too late to start. The Healthcare Echo: What Our Choices Cost Let’s talk numbers. In the U.S., nearly 1 in every 5 dollars in our economy is spent on healthcare. That’s about $4.5 trillion annually. Of that staggering total, 90% goes to chronic and mental health conditions —many of which are preventable and often reversible through lifestyle changes. Yes, reversible. Conditions like type 2 diabetes, hypertension, heart disease, and certain autoimmune disorders have all shown dramatic improvement—or even full remission—through sustained changes in nutrition, movement, sleep, and stress management. That means the ripple of our collective habits isn’t just biological—it’s financial. Our daily choices, multiplied across millions, shape not just our bodies but our budgets and society at large. This is not about blame. It’s about opportunity. Today’s Choices Echo Forward I like to think of every habit as a pebble tossed into a still lake. The effect might seem small now. But over time, those ripples stretch out wider than we ever imagined. A 20-minute walk each day might not feel heroic. But stack that over 30 years? You’re looking at thousands of hours of cardiovascular health, better mood, stronger joints, and more resilient longevity. Cooking a simple, whole-food dinner might not feel Instagram-worthy. But do it consistently and you’re changing your gut health, metabolism, energy, even your cognitive function. Sleep, stress management, strength training, hydration, laughter, friendships—these aren’t just “nice to haves.” They’re foundational. They are the long-game investments that compound over time in the most valuable asset we’ll ever own: ourselves. The Superager Blueprint So what do the superagers actually do differently? Here’s what the research—and real life—shows: They move daily. It’s not about marathons. It’s about movement: walking, dancing, lifting, stretching. They stay mentally engaged. They learn languages, play music, read, challenge their thinking. They connect. Loneliness is as dangerous as smoking. Superagers cultivate deep relationships. They have purpose. They wake up with a “why,” whether it’s family, service, or curiosity. They don’t retire from life. Many keep working or volunteering well into their 80s and 90s. These habits don’t just keep people alive. They keep them vibrant. Capable. Present. A Mindset Shift: From Fixing to Building Too often we treat health reactively—waiting until something breaks before we fix it. But longevity requires a builder’s mindset. The superagers didn’t stumble into strength. They laid the bricks one habit at a time. And that’s the invitation. To stop seeing habits as chores, and start seeing them as blueprints. As personal architecture. As investments in the person we’re becoming. Your habits today are the foundation your future self will stand on. What Will Your Echo Sound Like? Pause and reflect: What’s one habit I’m practicing today that my 80-year-old self will thank me for? What belief am I holding that says “it’s too late” or “too hard” to change? How can I make my long-term well-being part of my daily rhythm, not just a New Year’s resolution? This isn’t about perfection. It’s about consistency. It’s about choosing, again and again, to honor the future you. Because the echo is already forming. Your Future Self Is Listening In 10, 20, or 40 years, you will become the result of what you practiced—not occasionally, but regularly. You’ll carry the benefits of sleep routines, strength training, a joyful plate, and purpose-filled days. Or you’ll feel the burden of their absence. The good news? That future is not fixed. You shape it today—with every step, every bite, every breath. So take the walk. Choose the greens. Call the friend. Learn the thing.  Small ripples. Big echoes.

If you ever want to see how quickly a good thing can become a distraction, look at health in 2025. We have trackers on our wrists, apps on our phones, micro-optimized meal plans, sleep scores, HRV dashboards, supplements for every hour of the day — and more podcasts than we can listen to about “what to try next.” On two recent episodes of the Home of Healthspan podcast, I sat down with Michael Chernow of Kreatures of Habit and Ben Azadi. Both of these guys live and breathe health — the fasting windows, the cold plunges, the stacks of supplements. It was inspiring, but what struck me most was a simple, deeper question we circled back to every time: WHY? Why are we doing all of this? Because at some point, you have to ask: is all this optimization helping us live better — or is it just another thing to track, measure, and stress over? When “Better” Becomes Another Box to Check It’s an easy trap to fall into. I’m guilty of it too. A new supplement promising better sleep? Add it to the stack. A new protocol for muscle recovery? Let’s go. A new tracker? Strap it on. But somewhere along the line, “health” can start to feel like work — another project to manage. Another layer of “productivity.” The irony? All this busyness might just be pulling us away from the point of it all: actually feeling good and living our lives. A recent Vox article called out a perfect example: sleep trackers and “sleep anxiety.” More people are waking up groggy, not because they slept poorly, but because their wearable said they did. They check their score first thing in the morning — and if it’s bad, they spend the day feeling worse. The data becomes the experience. That’s not rest. That’s a report card. Tools Are Not Good or Bad — They’re Tools I’m not anti-tech. Wearables are neutral. So are supplements, apps, fancy beds, or ice baths. They’re not “good” or “bad” — they just are. They’re like smartphones or AI: in the right hands, they’re powerful. Used mindlessly, they can drain us. The same goes for anything in life. Even water — our most basic need — can be deadly in excess. These tools only work if we remember they’re just that: tools. They’re meant to serve us, not the other way around. The Productivity Trap — Health Edition Greg McKeown’s Essentialism changed how I think about this. In work, there’s always more you could do — more meetings, more emails, more Slack messages. But just because you’re busy doesn’t mean you’re moving the needle. The same is true in wellness. There’s always another thing you could add: ✔️ Another supplement ✔️ Another cold plunge ✔️ Another new training protocol ✔️ Another fasting tweak But does it serve you? Does it get you closer to what you really want? Sometimes, the time you’d spend on another biohack would be better spent on the basics: getting to bed earlier. Taking a nap instead of forcing a workout. Or — and here’s the radical part — skipping the gym for an unhurried dinner with the people you love. What Actually Matters Health metrics are not health itself. They’re proxies — signposts. They can help us see if we’re moving in the right direction, but they’re not the destination. No one lies on their deathbed wishing their sleep score had been a little higher, or their macros a little tighter. They remember moments. Laughter. A sunrise walk. Sharing a meal they didn’t obsessively log. It’s easy to forget: the reason we chase health is so we can live. Not just longer, but better. Essentialism for Your Wellbeing So what if we applied McKeown’s Essentialism to our health? ✅ Sleep well — consistently — instead of chasing hacks on no sleep. ✅ Train hard — but know when to rest. ✅ Eat nourishing food — but share meals without guilt when you want to. ✅ Track your data — but don’t let it dictate your day. More is not always better. Sometimes, more is just… more. My Own Reminder This lesson hit me recently. After a minor surgery, my routines went out the window: no swimming, no lifting, not even my daily stretches. For two weeks, my health “routine” was just resting — and yes, I hated it. I worried I’d lose momentum. But I realized: pushing would’ve made it worse. Sometimes the healthiest thing you can do is nothing at all. My wearables didn’t matter. My metrics didn’t matter. What mattered was letting my body heal so I could get back to living the life I want — not just checking boxes for the sake of checking them. Use the Tools — But Live the Life Health tracking, new gadgets, wearables — they’re amazing when they remind us to take care of ourselves. They’re dangerous when they convince us to live for the numbers. So here’s my gentle nudge — and the reminder I’m giving myself too: The data is helpful. The hacks can be powerful. But they’re never the point. The point is energy. Capability. Freedom. Presence. Joy. Connection. The point is living. A Simple Question If you ever feel caught in the swirl of health optimization, pause and ask: Is this serving me, or am I serving it? Don’t trade real life for perfect metrics. Use the tools to build the life you want — then go live it, fully.

There’s something fascinating about watching my parents interact with their grandkids. At 70+, they’re on the floor playing, running after them in the yard, or lacing up for a 10K like it’s just another Saturday. They golf almost daily, do the Peachtree Road Race every 4th of July, and still somehow seem more agile than folks 20 years younger. This isn’t the picture many of us were taught aging should look like—but maybe that’s the point. For so long, we’ve accepted a particular script about what it means to grow older. One where energy wanes, strength diminishes, and our best days are behind us. But what if aging isn't just a biological timeline, but also a psychological story—a narrative we’ve been taught to believe? Ellen Langer’s “Reverse Aging” Experiment Psychologist Ellen Langer once ran an experiment that feels almost like a scene from science fiction. In 1979, she invited a group of elderly men to live in a retreat designed to replicate life in 1959. Everything—from the music and newspapers to the television shows and decor—was a time capsule from two decades earlier. The twist? The men were told to act as if it actually was 1959. And something remarkable happened. After just one week, the participants showed measurable improvements in strength, posture, flexibility, even hearing and vision. They walked with greater confidence. One group photo taken at the end of the study was so compelling, a new observer guessed the men were younger after the retreat than they appeared in photos before it. Langer’s conclusion? Our minds deeply influence our physical state. When we stop acting old, we stop feeling old—and our bodies often follow. A Tale of Two Generations I’ve seen this truth play out in my own family. My grandparents and great-grandparents lived into their 90s and even to 100, which is incredible longevity. But their final decades were marked by fragility and immobility. They mostly stayed seated. Lifting grandkids was out of the question. The mindset was: “This is just what happens when you get old.” My parents, on the other hand, never subscribed to that story. They’ve rewritten the narrative for what 70 looks like—and what it can feel like. They never question whether they should run, golf, or play tag. They just do. The difference? Yes, some of it is due to physical habits—but much of it is belief. They never bought into the cultural story that says aging = decline. Instead, they wrote their own. The Myth of the Slowing Metabolism Here’s another story we’ve all heard: metabolism slows as you age. It’s framed as inevitable—as if, somewhere around 40, your body decides to run a little slower just because. But here’s the thing: science says otherwise. A groundbreaking international study that tracked over 6,500 people across a wide age range found that our metabolism remains remarkably steady from our 20s all the way into our 60s. The culprit for that creeping sluggishness? Not age—but muscle loss. As we get older, if we become less active, we lose lean mass—and it’s that lean mass that keeps our metabolism humming. In other words, your metabolism doesn’t slow down because the calendar says so. It slows down because you stop moving, stop lifting, stop challenging your muscles. And here’s the kicker: if you don’t stop—if you do the work to maintain muscle—you can preserve your metabolic engine well into later life. So next time someone chalks up weight gain or fatigue to “just getting older,” know that it’s not destiny. It’s a choice, rooted in a story that no longer holds up to scrutiny. Changing the Script The stories we inherit—from doctors, media, even our own families—shape how we live. And when those stories are built around limitation and inevitability, they can quietly become self-fulfilling. If we expect to slow down, we will. If we assume we’re too old to try something new, we won’t. But the opposite is also true. When you believe you can thrive at any age—when you treat your 60s, 70s, and 80s as full of potential rather than decline—you start to act in ways that reinforce that belief. You say yes to movement. You stay curious. You reach for weights instead of excuses. The Five Pillars—and One More Yes, we need to invest in the fundamentals of health: Fitness —move your body, build strength Nutrition —fuel wisely, eat for longevity Sleep & Recovery —honor rest Stress Management —stay grounded Social Connection —stay engaged with others But there’s a sixth, often overlooked pillar: the story you tell yourself about your age. Because even with perfect habits, if you believe you’re “too old” to matter, too old to grow, or too old to feel good—you’re putting a ceiling on your own potential. Final Thoughts: The Power to Choose Your Narrative We don’t control everything about aging. But we do control the mindset we bring to it. And mindset, as research and real-life have shown, is not a passive lens—it’s an active force. You get to choose the story. You get to decide whether “70” means winding down or gearing up for new adventures. You get to believe, as Langer’s work suggests, that we are far more capable than the age on our driver’s license would have us think. So if you care about your health, absolutely commit to the five pillars. But don’t forget the most powerful tool you have: your story.  Because how we age starts, quite simply, with how we think we can.