What endures

This post is a departure from our usual travel writing — a more personal reflection shaped by the journey.

Spending time with people in their late 80s and 90s has a way of clarifying things. It strips away abstractions about aging and replaces them with something far more concrete: a glimpse of one’s own probable future.

Eager to escape the snow and ice of western Pennsylvania, we flew to Northern California. Not surprisingly, an ambitious itinerary awaited our three days in California, with plans to rest and reflect in Santa Fe afterward. Winter, however, had other ideas.

We arrived in Sacramento after midnight on Tuesday, bleary-eyed but happy to be there. By noon Wednesday, still feeling the effects of jet lag, we met our good friends and travel companions, John and Debby, for lunch in Auburn. It was lovely. We caught up on family and life and talked excitedly about a planned meetup later this year in Egypt — a reminder that the future still holds adventures worth anticipating.

The immediate occasion for the trip was the 90^th birthday of Ed’s mother, Vera. But it quickly became clear that aging itself would be a central theme. After celebrating Vera, we spent time with relatives Nayan and Jo. Nayan will turn 95 this spring and has slowed considerably. Being with three nonagenarians and one octogenarian offered a sobering glimpse into a possible future — assuming I’m fortunate enough to reach my own 90s. It’s one thing to think abstractly about aging; it’s another to sit across the table from it.

We brought along Outlive by Peter Attia, knowing we’d have long stretches of time in the car. The book explores how to extend not just lifespan, but healthspan — the years we live well. At 71, I may be late to the game but reading Attia’s work alongside these lived examples made the message feel immediate and personal. While it was reassuring to learn that my recent efforts around exercise and weight are aligned with current research, it also became clear that I need to be far more intentional going forward. There is still time — but not time to be casual.

Change appeared in other ways as well. A major winter storm disrupted our plans to fly to Santa Fe, forcing a last-minute Plan B. It had been five years since we sold our property on the Mendocino Coast, and we hadn’t returned since. The detour felt like an invitation to revisit the past — or perhaps to test the idea that some memories are better preserved than revisited.

Our time on the coast and in the Anderson Valley was bittersweet. The natural beauty that first drew us there remains, but the forests have suffered. During our final years living there, we had already begun cutting down dying trees each year. Seeing how many more had succumbed to drought and invasive beetles in the years since was heartbreaking. At the same time, I was struck by how little else had changed. There was a stillness, a lack of vibrancy, that felt palpable.

And yet, amid loss, there were bright spots — reminders that community and connection endure even as landscapes and circumstances change. I spent time with colleagues and friends from the early days of the Mendonoma Health Alliance (MHA), now nearing its tenth anniversary. Remembering the moment we received funding to launch a rural health network — and seeing what the organization has become — reinforced a belief I hold deeply: meaningful work outlasts individual chapters. Under strong leadership and sustained commitment, MHA continues to make a real difference in access to healthcare along this remarkable stretch of coast.

At moments like this — and especially as we watch communities such as Minneapolis struggle through another season of grief and reckoning — the importance of connection, shared responsibility, and showing up for one another feels not abstract, but essential.

Another deeply meaningful visit was with my dear friend Cristi, whom I met years ago while volunteering as a mentor at the Women’s Empowerment Center in Sacramento. At the time, Cristi was homeless and working to rebuild her life after years of substance abuse. What was meant to be a short mentoring commitment grew into a friendship I treasure. Over burgers and fries, Cristi shared her life with hard-earned pride. Today, Cristi is a recovery counselor, grandmother, and homeowner. She often says that my belief in her made the difference. Perhaps. But my view is simpler and more humbling: she did the hard work.

Whether through my nursing career, community projects, or mentoring, much of my life has been about creating spaces for others to thrive — and seeing those lives flourish has been the most enduring reward. Legacy, I realize, is not measured in accolades or recognition, but in the lives we touch and the connections we sustain along the way.

In San Francisco, with only a few hours to spare, we revisited two favorite spots: the Ferry Building for oysters and a glass of Albariño, and Kokkari for a perfect Greek meal. Though the city has changed since my time living there in the 2000s, these familiar places allowed me to hold onto cherished memories. Maybe sometimes it’s enough to revisit a few familiar places, and leave the rest undisturbed.

Eventually, we were able to resume our plans to visit Santa Fe, where our reflections on longevity continued and the next chapters of Outlive awaited. It felt fitting to be thinking about endurance, adaptation, and renewal in the oldest capital city in the United States — a place shaped by centuries of change and continuity.

Aging reveals what endures — in our bodies, our landscapes, and our relationships. The task, it seems, is not to resist change, but to recognize what is worth carrying forward. As the years narrow their margins, questions of longevity naturally give way to questions of legacy — how our choices, relationships, and work ripple outward long after we move on.

Author’s Note

Written during a winter journey west, this essay reflects on aging, memory, and the sustaining power of community — themes sharpened by personal milestones and broader social unrest.