I’ve spent thousands of hours at this computer. Different blogs, posts, endless tweaking. But something feels blocked. At 57, I’ve never bought a new vehicle. The effort is real—so what’s missing? Kyle Mechlinski’s video hit me: What if we’re building without the right foundation?
Death keeps showing up in life’s later chapters. What if it isn’t the end? Thousands of people who’ve actually died describe leaving their bodies and finding something waiting. Maybe we don’t need to be so scared.
I find myself thinking about what comes next more than I used to. Not from fear, but from genuine curiosity about the greatest mystery we all face. What happens when this life ends and whatever follows begins?
What do you hope heaven—or whatever comes after—is actually like?
This is our first guest post from a woman, and Tomoko’s story embodies everything this community stands for—raw honesty on life’s challenges. At 58, she’s spent five years navigating breast cancer, from a diagnosis that came with no warning signs to learning that “survival” really…
Do you ever feel like you’re settling for “good enough” when something inside still hungers for more? At nearly 57, this old dog is finally admitting something. I’m trying to turn my life around. There’s this persistent voice asking, “Is this all there is?” Maybe you hear that voice…
Last night, thanks to a mosquito and my overactive mind, I managed about an hour of sleep. But instead of feeling exhausted, my brain exploded with blog ideas. At nearly 60, lying there energized by possibility, I realized something startling: I’m addicted to hope. Sound familiar?
Five hundred and forty-seven days. That’s how many mornings I’ve started with Duolingo, stumbling through Japanese vocabulary while my coffee cools. I didn’t expect this tiny routine to become my anchor after everything. What small, daily practice keeps you steady?
How do dreams change as you get older? From helicopter pilot ambitions to wanting time with aging parents – exploring how what we want shifts with age and experience.
After my wife of twenty years left for America, I found myself grabbing the wrong jeans from my closet—a simple error that made me question everything. When external stability masks internal turbulence, how do you recognize mental health? What anchors you these days?
The last clear sign: my mum was feeding the dog from the dinner table—something she’d never done. Now, she sits silently in a care home, clutching a toy. How do we navigate the slow, painful goodbye when dementia turns a loved one into a stranger?