If you’d told me twenty years ago that I’d be happier in my seventies than I was in my forties, I would’ve laughed. Back then, happiness felt like a finish line—something I’d reach once I earned enough, achieved enough, or finally felt “settled.”

But somewhere along the way, I realized that chasing happiness is a bit like chasing your own shadow: the harder you run, the further it seems to move away.

Now, at 73, I wake up most mornings with a deep, quiet sense of contentment. I’m not rich. I have a few aches that announce themselves before I’ve had my morning coffee. But I’m genuinely happy—more at peace than I’ve ever been.

And it didn’t happen because of what I added to my life. It happened because of what I stopped doing.

Here are the 10 things I stopped doing that changed everything.

1. I stopped trying to control everything

In my younger years, I was a world-class control freak. I had spreadsheets for vacations, backup plans for backup plans, and an allergy to uncertainty.

But life has a way of humbling you. Careers end, health changes, people leave. Eventually, I learned that control is an illusion—and a stressful one at that.

When I finally loosened my grip, something incredible happened: peace crept in.

Now, instead of forcing outcomes, I try to meet life as it is. I still plan, but I don’t panic when things shift. I trust that I’ll handle what comes when it comes.

It’s the single biggest weight I’ve ever dropped from my shoulders.

2. I stopped comparing my life to everyone else’s

Comparison was my favorite form of quiet self-torture. I’d look at friends who retired early, traveled constantly, or seemed effortlessly fulfilled and wonder, What am I missing?

Social media only made it worse. Scrolling through highlight reels of perfect families and spotless kitchens had me convinced that I was doing life wrong.

But around 65, I began to realize that everyone’s story unfolds at its own pace—and most people’s highlight reels don’t show the messy middle.

So I started focusing on my lane: my family, my routines, my joys.

The less I compared, the more I noticed how full my own life already was.

3. I stopped pretending I had endless time

In your twenties, you think you’re immortal. In your forties, you still think you have “plenty of time.”

But something shifts when you hit your seventies—you begin to feel time’s texture differently.

Instead of depressing me, that awareness sharpened my gratitude. I stopped putting off joy for “someday.”

If I want to call an old friend, I do it. If I feel like watching the sunset, I don’t check my calendar first.

Ironically, by accepting the limits of time, I began to feel time more fully. Every day feels richer when you stop treating it as disposable.

4. I stopped chasing approval

For decades, I lived half my life in other people’s mirrors—constantly trying to look successful, kind, respectable.

And to be fair, some of that comes from good intentions. You want to be liked. You want to be seen as dependable. But over time, it becomes exhausting.

One day, my granddaughter asked me, “Grandpa, why do you always say yes to things you don’t want to do?”

That question landed like a lightning bolt.

Since then, I’ve learned to say no when I need to. To speak up even when it’s uncomfortable. To stop performing for invisible judges.

When you stop living for applause, you can finally hear the quiet voice inside that tells you what actually matters.

5. I stopped holding grudges

If you live long enough, you collect disappointments—people who wronged you, friendships that faded, words that stung.

I used to replay old arguments in my head like an endless courtroom drama. But I eventually realized that resentment doesn’t punish the other person—it punishes you.

So I made peace with my past, not by pretending it didn’t hurt, but by deciding it didn’t need to run my life anymore.

Forgiveness, I’ve found, isn’t about approving what happened. It’s about reclaiming your own mental freedom.

Now, when I think about old wounds, I feel a kind of compassionate distance. I wish those people well and let it be.

6. I stopped ignoring my body’s signals

When I was younger, I treated my body like an afterthought—something that existed to carry my brain around. I’d ignore fatigue, push through stress, skip meals, and call that “discipline.”

Now, I treat my body like an old friend I want to keep around for a while.

I listen when it whispers: Rest. Stretch. Slow down.

Happiness, I’ve discovered, is deeply physical. A walk in the park with Lottie, the smell of fresh rain, a hot shower on a cold day—those small bodily pleasures remind me I’m alive.

At 73, I’ve learned that joy doesn’t always come from the mind. Sometimes it starts in the bones.

7. I stopped trying to fix everyone

When my children were younger, I felt responsible for their every mistake. If they struggled, I’d rush in with advice, solutions, or worry disguised as love.

But that kind of “help” often backfires—it robs people of their own strength.

Now, when my kids or friends face challenges, I listen more and rescue less. I offer empathy instead of answers.

There’s a humility in recognizing that other people’s journeys aren’t yours to direct. You can walk beside them, but you can’t carry them.

It’s strange, but once I stopped trying to fix everyone, my relationships became deeper—and calmer.

8. I stopped fearing solitude

I used to equate solitude with loneliness. The idea of eating alone at a restaurant or spending an evening in silence made me uneasy.

But solitude, I’ve come to realize, is one of life’s great teachers.

It’s in solitude that I hear my thoughts clearly. It’s where I reset after the noise of the world.

Some of my happiest moments now are the simplest: sitting on a park bench watching leaves fall, or brewing tea in the early morning with no phone nearby.

Being alone stopped feeling like absence and started feeling like presence—the presence of myself.

9. I stopped measuring success by external markers

For much of my life, I believed happiness followed achievement. Promotions, income, milestones—they were supposed to fill some invisible quota of worthiness.

But the older I got, the more I realized that external success never fills the internal gaps. You always want more.

So I redefined success. Now it looks like this: waking up without dread. Having dinner with people I love. Doing work that feels meaningful.

Psychologists call this “intrinsic motivation”—finding satisfaction from growth, not comparison.

That shift changed everything. Success became a feeling, not a scoreboard.

And if you’re in that stage of life where you’re starting to ask what really matters now, I can’t recommend Your Retirement, Your Way by Jeanette Brown enough. It’s not just a course—it’s a six-module journey that helps you rediscover who you are beyond your job title, reignite your passions, and design a retirement that feels deeply fulfilling.

Whether you’re excited or uncertain about what’s next, it’s a warm and practical guide to thriving in your 60s and beyond.

10. I stopped postponing gratitude

For years, gratitude was something I reserved for big moments—births, weddings, breakthroughs.

But real gratitude, I’ve learned, lives in the mundane.

It’s in the way my dog Lottie greets me like I’m a rock star every morning. It’s in the sound of my grandson’s laughter echoing down the hallway. It’s in the softness of an ordinary Tuesday.

When you train your eyes to see small miracles, life stops feeling like something you’re surviving and starts feeling like something you’re savoring.

I keep a small notebook by my bedside and jot down three things I’m grateful for before I sleep. It’s a simple ritual, but it shifts my perspective every single night.

The quiet freedom of letting go

If I could offer one piece of advice to anyone younger, it would be this: happiness isn’t something you acquire—it’s something you uncover.

You don’t find peace by adding more. You find it by removing what blocks it.

All the things I stopped doing—controlling, comparing, performing, fixing—had one thing in common: they came from fear. Fear of not being enough, of being left behind, of losing control.

When I began letting those fears go, what replaced them wasn’t emptiness—it was lightness.

Letting go isn’t passive. It’s an act of strength. It takes courage to release your grip on who you thought you needed to be and to embrace who you already are.

A personal reflection

If I could offer one piece of advice to anyone younger, it would be this: happiness isn’t something you acquire—it’s something you uncover.

You don’t find peace by adding more. You find it by removing what blocks it.

All the things I stopped doing—controlling, comparing, performing, fixing—had one thing in common: they came from fear. Fear of not being enough, of being left behind, of losing control.

When I began letting those fears go, what replaced them wasn’t emptiness—it was lightness.

Letting go isn’t passive. It’s an act of strength. It takes courage to release your grip on who you thought you needed to be and to embrace who you already are.

That’s why I find something like Your Retirement, Your Way by Jeanette Brown so meaningful. It captures this exact truth—retirement isn’t an ending, it’s a renewal. Through six beautifully crafted modules, Jeanette helps you rediscover purpose, vitality, and confidence in this next phase of life. With tools like the 65-page Retirement Thrive Journal and self-coaching exercises, it’s not about following someone else’s script—it’s about designing a life that feels truly your own.

If you’re ready to trade fear for freedom, to stop merely easing into retirement and start thriving in it, I can’t recommend this journey enough. Check it out here.