Last winter, I interviewed a woman named Marta who turns 92 this year.

She still walks her pug every morning, reads poetry before bed, and makes a startlingly good espresso.

When I asked her what she wished she’d started earlier, she didn’t hesitate.

“Most of what keeps me well,” she said. “I just didn’t know it mattered until my sixties.”

This piece is for anyone who doesn’t want to wait that long.

Here are nine longevity-supporting habits that older, wiser people often say they wish they’d begun sooner.

I’m sharing them with the kind of practical detail I would have wanted in my twenties, plus a few hard-won lessons from my own life.

1. Strength training for bones, not just aesthetics

In my twenties I ran for stress relief and ignored everything to do with weights.

I wish I’d known that muscle is a long-term savings account.

Lifting preserves bone density, stabilizes joints, and keeps you independent later in life.

You don’t need fancy programming to start.

Two or three short sessions a week can change the trajectory of your 70s and 80s.

Focus on simple, compound movements: squats (or chair stands), deadlifts with a kettlebell, push-ups against a wall, and rows with a band.

Prioritize form over ego.

If you’re new, progress slowly, and keep a training log—tiny improvements add up like interest.

I strength train now to be the woman who carries her own groceries at 85.

That image is my motivation when the couch looks seductively soft.

2. Daily mobility instead of occasional heroics

Longevity isn’t only about how hard you can push, but how well you move through the ordinary.

Ten minutes of mobility a day prevents the stiffness most people accept as “aging.”

I weave mine into moments that already exist: hip circles while the kettle boils, ankle rocks while brushing my teeth, shoulder CARs before I open my laptop.

Yoga helps, but micro-mobility is what keeps my spine from complaining after long writing sessions.

Your future self will thank you for every gentle twist, reach, and roll you do today.

Small daily moves beat the weekend “I’ll fix it all” workout almost every time.

3. Mental hygiene that’s as consistent as brushing your teeth

We tend to treat mental health like a fire extinguisher: only in emergencies.

The people I’ve spoken to who age well treat it more like dental care—small, regular, preventative.

A five-minute morning check-in can change your day:

• How am I feeling in my body?
• What’s one thing I can do to support myself?
• What can wait until tomorrow?

I meditate for ten minutes and keep a “thought dump” page where I pour out the mental clutter.

It’s minimalist self-care: no extras, just what keeps the mind clear.

And it makes me kinder to my husband and less reactive in traffic, which is good for everyone.

4. Treating sleep as a non-negotiable, not a negotiable

Sleep debt collects interest.

We pretend it doesn’t, until mood, hormones, appetite, and immune resilience start sending invoices.

Set a bedtime like you’d set a meeting with someone you respect.

• Dim lights an hour before.
• Keep your phone out of reach.
• If you can, align your wake time with morning light—our bodies love rhythm.

On nights when I can’t turn off my brain, I try a body scan or a light stretch instead of another episode.

None of this is glamorous.

It’s simply what keeps the rest of life functional.

5. Boundaries that protect your energy

Many elders say they wish they’d learned to disappoint people sooner.
It’s a skill that preserves health.

As noted by Rudá Iandê in his new book, Laughing in the Face of Chaos: A Politically Incorrect Shamanic Guide for Modern Life, “Their happiness is their responsibility, not yours.”

That line has helped me exit conversations and commitments that drain me without spiraling into guilt.

I’ve mentioned his work before because the book reminded me to question the stories that keep me stuck in people-pleasing.

A boundary is not a brick wall; it’s a clear door with a handle on your side.

Decide your office hours, your response times, and where your “no” lives.

Longevity loves well-guarded energy.

6. Eating for the long arc, not the next selfie

Our bodies don’t need perfection; they need patterns.

The pattern that seems to endure: mostly plants, enough protein, plenty of fiber, and fats that do good work.

I eat fewer “products” and more ingredients.

I plate half vegetables, one-quarter protein, one-quarter starch, and add something fermented.

That formula is boring enough to be sustainable and flexible enough for dinner with friends.

Supplements can help, but they’re not a substitute for meals that look like food.

Cook one thing in bulk each week—beans, roasted vegetables, a pot of soup.

Convenience you made yourself is the least stressful kind.

7. Emotional literacy as a daily practice

Long life without emotional skills can feel long in the wrong ways.

The elders I trust talk about learning to name and befriend their feelings decades later than they wish.

Here’s the short practice I lean on most days:

• Pause and locate the sensation in your body.

• Name the feeling with one word.

• Breathe into the area for five slow breaths.

• Ask, “What is this emotion trying to protect or request?”

This is backed by insights from Rudá Iandê, who reminds us that “Our emotions are not barriers, but profound gateways to the soul—portals to the vast, uncharted landscapes of our inner being.”

When I actually listen to anger or fear, I find specific requests: a boundary, a break, a conversation I’m avoiding.

Responding to the request moves the emotion; resisting it keeps it stuck.

We save enormous life-energy when we stop wrestling what’s inside us.

That energy becomes health.

8. Investing early in relationships that can weather storms

Longevity research often points to social ties, but the elders I admire talk about depth, not breadth.

They regret chasing networking over nourishing.

Choose a few relationships to water consistently.

Schedule recurring check-ins.

Start rituals—Wednesday walks, Sunday soup, birthday voice notes.

Repair quickly after conflict.

As Rudá also writes, “When we let go of the need to be perfect, we free ourselves to live fully—embracing the mess, complexity, and richness of a life that’s delightfully real.”

This has changed my marriage.

We’re not performing “the perfect couple.”

We’re practicing two real humans learning to love, which means honest apologies, time apart, and a shared Google Calendar for logistics.

A good life is often a well-tended web of imperfect people who keep choosing each other.

9. Designing a life that’s simple enough to enjoy

I slid into minimalism because clutter made my mind noisy.

What I didn’t expect was how gentle it is on the nervous system.

Less searching, cleaning, and decision fatigue means more attention for what matters.

Design your life so the default is healthy: shoes by the door, water bottle filled, fruit visible, dumbbells beside the couch, vitamins next to the kettle.

Automate bill payments.

Batch errands.

Make your phone boring.

When friction drops, follow-through rises.

This isn’t aesthetic minimalism; it’s functional.

You get time back.

You get quiet back.

And that quiet is where you hear what life is asking of you next.

Final thoughts

Before we finish, there’s one more thing I need to address.

Many people wait for a crisis to start these habits.

You don’t have to.

You can gather tiny wins this week and let them compound.

Start with one habit and lower the bar: five squats, a ten-minute walk, a two-minute check-in with your feelings, lights out fifteen minutes earlier.

To borrow another reminder from Rudá’s book, “You have both the right and responsibility to explore and try until you know yourself deeply.”

I keep that close on the days my motivation is thin.

If you want a thought-provoking nudge as you go, his book—Laughing in the Face of Chaos—inspired me to question my autopilot and simplify my routine even more.

I’m not chasing perfect health. I’m building a life I can carry with me for a long time.

Which habit will future-you be grateful you started this month?