OOPS #12 Growing Older Is Not a Wellness Project
As friends begin celebrating their seventieth birthdays, our guest OOPS-blogger Jenny Collieson reflects on what ageing really looks like — beyond the glossy language of “wellness”, “longevity” and “conscious ageing”. Drawing on family history, voluntary work with older people, and the varied experiences of her own generation, she explores the tension between ageing as an ordinary human experience and ageing as a modern project of self-optimisation.
There are several 70th birthday parties already in my diary for 2026 and, as most of my close friends are now in their late sixties, I imagine this trickle of invitations will soon become a stream. In a couple of years’ time, I hope I’ll also be celebrating my own 70th.
My thoughts about this significant birthday have also been influenced by the voluntary work I do campaigning for and supporting older people through the boards of Age UK York and Ageing Without Children — and by my long-standing interest in family history research.
Since the pandemic, I have been researching the life of a grandparent whom I never met: my maternal grandmother Harriet, who died from the terrible effects of encephalitis lethargica — “sleepy sickness” — contracted during the epidemic of the mid-1920s. The illness resulted in 15 years of extreme ill health and social isolation before her death at the age of 48.
None of my grandparents, all born in the 1880s and 1890s, lived beyond the age of 73, and all had died by the time I was nine years old. I have only vague memories of two of them, but through my research I have come to know a great deal about their lives.
Recently, I’ve been reflecting on our current “wellness” culture and the expectations it creates around ageing — particularly the ideas of conscious ageing and longevity. To me, these can feel like attempts to reframe an ordinary human experience — growing older — as a project of relentless self-optimisation.
Conscious ageing would have had little meaning for people of my grandparents’ generation, time and place. I also suspect it has limited relevance for many older people today.
Ageing well, ageing positively, or even ageing “exuberantly”, with all the emphasis on finding meaning and purpose in later life, can sometimes feel like an additional burden of expectation. For many people, it simply does not reflect the realities and uncertainties of growing older in a rapidly changing world.
Within my own friendship circle, as we collectively head towards 70 and beyond, I can see a wide range of experiences and expectations of ageing. These are shaped by many factors: social and economic circumstances, health inequalities, family experiences, personality, and cultural representations of older people in both the media and public discourse — including both ageism and the newer “positive” reframing of ageing.
Some friends are still working or heavily involved in volunteering or grandparenting. Many are, or have been, carers for family members. Some are ageing without children or have no family support at all. Some are living on very limited resources, whilst others are comfortably off. Unexpected health problems and partner bereavement are already affecting several people I know.
And yet life still has the capacity to surprise us. Two friends of mine, both with several grandchildren, have recently married new partners as they approach 70 — something neither expected after decades of living alone. Both weddings were joyful occasions: reminders that new possibilities and directions can still emerge later in life.
And what of my own expectations?
Not that I should endlessly optimise myself or simply carry on as before, but that I can pay closer attention to what matters most to me now.
Having choices. Continuing to manage my health and independence — and hoping the right support will be there when I need it. Maintaining strong relationships and social involvement. Continuing to learn, remaining curious, and still having things to look forward to.
And that definitely includes all those 70th birthday parties — including, eventually, my own.
