Reflections on authenticity, aging and our wild and precious days ahead
By Gwenn Voelckers
Lately, I’ve been thinking about a question from the poet Mary Oliver that has stayed with me for years. It appears at the end of her beautiful poem “The Summer Day.”
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
It’s the kind of question that stops you for a moment because it invites reflection. And the older I get, the more meaningful that question becomes.
When I first encountered those words, I was younger — in my 50s — and newly living alone after my divorce. Back then, I wrote a lot about rebuilding: how to pick up the pieces, rediscover yourself and move forward with courage and curiosity.
My message was hopeful and energetic: Take a class. Travel. Try something new. Maybe even date again. Life was wide open and there was plenty of road ahead.
And at the time, I believed every word.
I still do, in many ways. But at 71, living alone feels different than it did at 50.
Maybe it’s my age. Or a lifetime of relationships behind me. Or the quiet, contemplative time that living alone affords me.
Whatever the reason, my perspective is shifting.
A Changing Horizon
These days, I’m more aware of life’s fragility. There are more aches and pains than there used to be. There have been losses — friends, family, beloved pets, and dreams. And there’s the unmistakable sense that the horizon line is no longer so distant.
It’s closer now.
Living alone is still something I do well. I value my independence. I appreciate the freedom to shape my days. And I make an effort to stay involved and connected with others. But as I “age in place,” I’ve discovered that living alone well requires something more.
Authenticity.
I’m talking about becoming our most authentic selves at this stage of life — with or without a spouse or partner. Self-sufficient, yes. Proud, yes. But also honest that we may still be searching and changing.
Because many of us are.
The old saying comes to mind: If not now, when?
• Who are we now?
• What matters most?
• Who matters most?
• And how do we want to spend our wild and precious days ahead?
Sharing My Truth
For years, I enthusiastically embraced the idea of “living alone and loving it.” And for a long time, that description fit.
But now, if I’m being completely truthful, I feel something else too.
I feel tired sometimes. And less invincible.
Not unhappy. Not lonely in the dramatic sense people imagine. But deeply aware that life is finite, and that the years ahead deserve to be lived with honesty, intention and joy.
Which is why authenticity feels so important to me now.
As we grow older, many of us experience losses that quietly reshape our priorities. We lose people we love. We lose versions of life we once imagined. Those experiences have a way of clarifying things.
They remind us that relationships matter more than ever.
When we allow ourselves to be real — when we stop pretending everything is fine and let others see who we truly are — something powerful happens. Our willingness to be transparent inspires others to do the same.
Conversations deepen. Guardrails soften. And relationships that once felt casual can grow into something richer and more meaningful.
Authenticity becomes a kind of bridge — linking one person to another, sometimes creating small communities of trust, compassion and genuine friendship.
For those of us living alone, those kinds of connections are not just pleasant additions to life.
They are essential.
Going First
Recently, while walking with a friend, our conversation drifted into territory we probably would have avoided years ago.
We talked about aging. About the things that worry us sometimes. About how quickly the years seem to be passing. And about how to make the most of the time we share with the people we care about.
At one point I said, “I just want to live the rest of my life in a way that feels true.”
We walked in silence for a while after that, both nodding our heads in quiet agreement. I could feel something meaningful happening — the beginning of a deeper closeness between us.
These days, I’m drawn to people who are willing to set aside pretenses and speak openly about the challenges, changes and opportunities they are facing.
For my next-door neighbor, that meant letting go of a long-standing grudge with his ex. For my cousin, it meant finally admitting she prefers a quiet life over the constant busyness she once felt obligated to maintain.
Of course, those kinds of conversations aren’t always easy. It takes courage to be emotionally real, especially when there’s pressure around us to keep things light, upbeat, and “fine,” even when they’re not.
Sometimes it begins with just one person who is brave enough to go first.
And that person could be you.
The Gift of Authentic Living
This can be a time to deepen friendships, repair old wounds, set healthier boundaries and build connections rooted in authenticity and mutual understanding.
It can also be a time to be useful — to support a friend going through a difficult time, to share what we’ve learned and to offer kindness and encouragement where it’s needed.
Being ourselves — truly ourselves — is how we make the years ahead meaningful. Not just for us, but for the people around us. It’s how we nurture trust, build lasting connections, find peace and make a difference.
Mary Oliver’s question still echoes in my mind:
“What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
These days, my answer feels simpler than it once did: To live honestly. To care deeply. To keep showing up for the people in my life — and to let them see the real me.
Because authenticity has a remarkable way of bringing people closer together.
And at this stage of life, that may be one of the greatest gifts of all.
If not now… when?
Gwenn Voelckers is a certified life coach (CLC), columnist and author of “Alone and Content,” a collection of inspiring essays for those who live alone. She welcomes your comments, questions, and inquiries at gvoelckers@rochester.rr.com