70 is the new Middle Age

I've been thinking about age recently. Not in the way the wellness industry talks about it, obsessing over anti-ageing creams, longevity hacks, supplements, trackers, or the latest biohacking trend. Just age itself. And a thought keeps returning:

What if 70 is actually middle age?

Not because I've seen a study. Not because I've calculated life expectancy tables. Simply because the numbers we've been using no longer seem to make sense. For as long as I can remember, fifty has been described as "middle-aged." When I was a child, fifty seemed old.

Now it doesn't.

Perhaps that's because I've met too many vibrant, creative, curious people in their fifties, sixties and seventies who are only beginning the next chapter of their lives. Yet culturally we still carry an old story. We quietly assume that after fifty the best years are behind us. That after sixty we should be slowing down. That after retirement we should step aside.

And somewhere underneath all of that sits a collective acceptance that if someone dies in their eighties, they've had a good innings. If someone reaches ninety, people often say:

"Jesus, they did really well."

But what if our expectations are far too low? What if we have normalised decline because we've become disconnected from what allows human beings to thrive?

The fascinating thing about the so-called Blue Zones, those regions of the world where people commonly live into their nineties and beyond, isn't that people are taking special supplements or following complicated health protocols.

In fact, the opposite seems true. There are no longevity apps. No wearable devices tracking every heartbeat. No expensive wellness retreats. No anti-ageing obsession.

Instead, there is something far more ordinary. And perhaps far more profound. People move naturally throughout the day. They grow their own food. They walk. They garden. They cook. They remain connected to the land. They belong to families and communities. They know their neighbours. They have purpose. Most importantly, older people are not seen as a burden. They are seen as valuable. Their wisdom is sought. Their contribution matters. Their identity does not disappear when their working life ends.

In many of these communities there is no concept of retirement as we know it. People continue participating in life because they want to. Because they are needed. Because they still have something to offer.

Imagine what that does to the human spirit. Imagine reaching eighty and still feeling useful. Still being asked for advice. Still helping grandchildren. Still tending a garden. Still sharing meals. Still laughing with friends. Still belonging.

Perhaps one of the greatest health interventions available to us isn't another supplement or another test. Perhaps it is rebuilding the social structures that make life worth living.

Loneliness has become one of the defining public health challenges of our time. We have more technology than any generation before us and yet many people feel profoundly disconnected. We know the names of people on social media but not the names of our neighbours. We have hundreds of online connections but fewer meaningful conversations.

And while we chase longevity, we often overlook the very things that create it. Community. Purpose. Contribution. Connection. Belonging. The older I get, the more I wonder if the question isn't:

"How long can I live?"

But rather:

"Who will be there beside me while I do?"

Who am I supporting? Who is supporting me? Who knows my story? Whose story am I helping to carry? Because when we look closely at the lives of those who age well, we find something beautifully simple. They remain woven into the fabric of life. Not observing from the sidelines. Participating. Contributing. Belonging.

Isn't it time we stopped treating ageing as a problem to solve? Maybe it's time we challenged the quiet ageism embedded in our culture. Maybe it's time to stop talking about getting old and start talking about staying connected.

And maybe, just maybe, if living well beyond one hundred is increasingly possible, then seventy isn't old at all. Perhaps seventy is simply the middle. The midpoint between who you've been and who you're still becoming.