“Old person” habits aren’t signs of aging—they’re signs of waking up to the things that matter
Question: What “old person” thing do you do?
There’s a moment in everyone’s life when it hits them: you’ve crossed an invisible line, and now you do “old person things.” It doesn’t always come with gray hair or back pain. Sometimes, it’s subtle, creeping in like the low hum of a radio on Sunday morning.
For me, it was standing at the window during a thunderstorm with my hands behind my back. I wasn’t checking for hail or danger—I was just… observing. Like my grandfather used to. Quietly judging the clouds, nodding at the rain, whispering, “We needed this.” It was instinctual. A primitive reflex I didn’t know I had inherited.
There’s something poetic about growing into your own quirks. What we call “old person things” are often just rituals of awareness—small acts of noticing, appreciating, and conserving. You start caring about birds, not because you suddenly love feathers, but because you’re finally still enough to hear them. You grumble about noisy restaurants because silence has become rare and sacred. You take naps, not because you’re lazy, but because rest becomes something intentional.
Some of us start doing puzzles. Others carry a handkerchief, have a “spot” on the couch that nobody else dares sit in, or groan when we stand up like the world just shifted beneath us. And yes, some of us genuinely love watching the weather channel and silently rooting for low humidity.
The truth is, “old person” things are just human things—stolen back from the chaos. They are acts of grounding, rituals that hold back the tide of endless scrolling, noise, and urgency. They are reminders that it’s okay to pause. That stillness is underrated. That curiosity doesn’t end with youth.
In a world constantly screaming for our attention, maybe the real rebellion is to quietly knit, fall asleep at 8 PM, and greet the birds in the morning like old friends.
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