Nobody warns you about the part of aging past 70 that actually lands hardest, and it isn’t the body or the slowing down, it’s the quiet Friday afternoon you realize the people who knew the younger version of you are gone, and the ones still here only ever met the careful, edited version you became
You wake up one morning past seventy and realize you've become a stranger to your own life story—the only person left who remembers the unedited version of who you were before you learned to be careful with your words and your past.