The other morning, while walking Lottie through the park, I ran into an old colleague from my office days. He looked exhausted, stressed about some merger at his company, worried about his portfolio, and constantly checking his phone. As he hurried off to another meeting, I stood there with my dog, feeling the morning sun on my face, and realized something profound: I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt that kind of anxiety.

Turning 70 doesn’t automatically grant you wisdom or peace. But if you’re lucky, and if you pay attention, the years teach you what truly matters and what’s just noise. After seven decades on this planet, I’ve discovered that true peace comes not from adding more to your life, but from letting go of the things that never mattered in the first place.

1. What other people think of your choices

Remember when you bought that car, chose that career, or married that person partly because of how it would look to others? Yeah, me too. I spent decades curating my life like it was a museum exhibit for other people to admire.

These days? I wear my comfortable sneakers to fancy restaurants. I tell people I’d rather stay home and read than attend their networking events. I’ve stopped pretending to enjoy things just because they’re sophisticated or trendy.

The truth is, most people are too busy worrying about their own lives to judge yours. And those who do judge? They’re usually the ones most unhappy with their own choices. Once you internalize this at a bone-deep level, the freedom is intoxicating.

2. Keeping score in relationships

“You forgot my birthday three years ago.” “I always call you first.” “Remember when you didn’t support me during that thing?”

Sound familiar? I used to keep a mental spreadsheet of every slight, every imbalance, every time someone didn’t meet my expectations. It was exhausting, and it poisoned relationships that could have been beautiful.

Now I understand that keeping score in relationships is like trying to win at breathing. Nobody wins, and everyone suffocates. Some friends will disappear when you need them most. Others will show up when you least expect it. Your spouse will hurt you sometimes, and you’ll hurt them. That’s not failure; that’s human connection.

Love isn’t a transaction. Friendship isn’t an accounting exercise. Once you stop tallying points, you start actually experiencing the people in your life.

3. Having the last word

There was a time when I’d lie awake at night, crafting the perfect comeback to an argument from three days ago. I’d rehearse conversations, determined to prove my point, to be right, to win.

What a colossal waste of energy.

These days, when someone wants to argue about politics at a dinner party or insists they know better about something inconsequential, I just smile and say, “You might be right.” The look of confusion on their faces is priceless. They came ready for battle, and I refused to show up.

Being right feels good for about five seconds. Being at peace feels good forever.

4. Perfecting your appearance

At 58, I had a minor heart scare that landed me in the hospital for two days. Lying in that bed, hooked up to monitors, do you think I cared about my grey hair or the wrinkles around my eyes? The only thing that mattered was whether my heart would keep beating.

That experience shifted everything. I still take care of myself, but the goal has changed. I exercise to feel strong, not to look young. I eat well to have energy for my morning walks with Lottie, not to fit into smaller pants.

Your body is going to age. You can either fight it with increasing desperation or accept it with grace. Guess which approach leads to peace?

5. Living up to your potential

“You could have been a doctor.” “You should have started that business.” “You wasted your talent.”

The ghost of unlived lives can haunt you forever if you let it. I spent years wondering what would have happened if I’d taken that job in London, if I’d pursued writing earlier, if I’d been braver.

But here’s what I’ve learned: potential is just another word for “things that didn’t happen.” You can’t live all possible lives. You can only live the one you’ve got.

Maybe you didn’t become the person everyone thought you’d be. So what? You became the person you are, and that person has stories, experiences, and wisdom that Potential You would never have gained.

6. Impressing strangers

Do you know how much mental energy goes into impressing people you’ll never see again? The perfect witty comment to the barista. The sophisticated book you read on the plane so others think you’re intellectual. The designer label that announces your success to random passersby.

I think about all those school plays and soccer games I missed because I was trying to impress some client or boss whose name I can’t even remember now. The regret is sharp, even after all these years.

Strangers don’t care about you nearly as much as you think they do. Your family does. Your real friends do. Your dog definitely does. Focus your energy there.

7. Controlling the uncontrollable

Weather, traffic, other people’s decisions, the passage of time, the economy, your adult children’s choices – the list of things outside your control is endless. Yet how many hours do we spend raging against them?

I discovered meditation a few years back through a community center class. At first, I thought it was just sitting quietly, but it taught me something profound: the only thing you can control is your response to what happens.

My daughter married someone I wouldn’t have chosen for her. My son lives across the country. The world feels more chaotic than it did when I was young. I could spend my remaining years angry about all of it, or I could accept what is and find peace within it.

Final thoughts

True peace at 70 isn’t about having everything figured out. It’s about finally understanding what was never worth figuring out in the first place. It’s about loosening your grip on things that were never yours to hold.

Every morning at 6:30, regardless of weather, Lottie and I take our walk. She doesn’t care about my past failures or future worries. She just cares about this moment, this walk, this life we’re living right now.

Maybe dogs have it figured out better than we do. Maybe peace isn’t something you find after 70 years of searching. Maybe it’s what remains when you finally stop caring about everything that doesn’t matter.

The sunrise looks the same whether you’re worried or at peace. But only one of those states lets you actually see it.