Today I Choose to be Learning – How to be Learning

At 60, I thought my learning curve would finally flatten out. Surely after 118 self-help books, decades of work, and raising a family, I’d be done with the hard lessons. But life keeps proving me wrong. Just last year, when Curtis was in the hospital, I had to learn an entirely new medical vocabulary overnight – white blood cell counts, kidney markers, oxygen saturation. At work, I’m still learning how to lead teams through financial chaos without losing myself in the numbers. And personally, I’m learning to give myself grace for not getting everything right the first time. Learning at this age is humbling, but it’s also oddly comforting. It reminds me that as long as I’m still learning, I’m still growing. And isn’t that a kind of victory?

The hospital learning was brutal. One day I’m a CFO who understands complex financial models, the next I’m googling “what is creatinine” at 2 AM, trying to understand if 3.4 is catastrophic or just concerning. The doctors would rattle off numbers – “His white count is 18,000, hemoglobin at 7.2, BUN at 45” – and I’d nod like I understood while frantically taking notes to research later.

I became a medical student at 60. Not by choice, but by necessity. And you know what? My brain, which I thought was full, made room. Suddenly, I could explain kidney function, interpret blood gas results, and understand the relationship between sodium and confusion. Learning wasn’t optional. Curtis’s life depended on my understanding.

The Myth of Being “Done” Learning

Somewhere around 50, I started believing I’d learned most of what I needed to know. I had my systems, my approaches, my ways of doing things. The big life lessons? Check. The professional expertise? Accumulated. The personal growth? Surely I’d done enough therapy and read enough books.

What arrogance.

Life laughed at my assumption. Here, it said, learn this: How to advocate for a delirious husband. How to navigate insurance appeals. How to run 18 companies’ finances while sleeping in hospital chairs. How to find hope in statistics. How to be strong when you’re terrified.

And I’m still learning. Every day brings something I don’t know how to do, some situation my 60 years haven’t prepared me for.

The Different Types of Learning Now

Crisis Learning
This is the learning that gets forced on you. Medical terminology during health crises. Legal language during estate planning. Technology when systems change overnight. You don’t want to learn it, but life doesn’t ask permission.

Last month: Learning how to use AI tools for work because my team adopted them. Me, who still occasionally prints emails, suddenly navigating ChatGPT and Claude. But I learned. Because relevance requires it.

Humility Learning
This is learning from people younger, less experienced, or different from you. Tyler teaching me about cryptocurrency. Jesse explaining art techniques. My youngest employee showing me a better way to organize projects.

The ego wants to resist. I’m 61, what can a 25-year-old teach me? Everything, if I listen.

Unlearning Learning
Perhaps the hardest – unlearning what no longer serves. The belief that rest is laziness. The assumption that my worth is my productivity. The pattern of saying yes when I mean no.

Unlearning is harder than learning. It requires admitting you were wrong, or that what worked before doesn’t work now.

The Physical Challenge of Learning

Let’s be honest – learning at 61 is physically different than at 21. My brain doesn’t absorb as quickly. I need to write things down or I forget. Complex new concepts require multiple exposures before they stick.

Learning Curtis’s medications — 14 different drugs with interactions and side effects — took charts, phone reminders, and a color-coded system. Twenty-year-old me would have memorized it instantly. Sixty-year-old me needs systems.

But here’s what I’ve gained: patience with the process. I don’t expect instant mastery anymore. I give myself time to learn, to make mistakes, to circle back. The pressure to be a quick study is gone.

Professional Learning Never Stops

Running 18 companies means constant learning. New regulations, changing markets, evolving technology. Just when I think I understand something, it changes.

This year alone:

• New accounting standards that changed how we report revenue
• AI tools that transformed our workflow
• Remote team management strategies I never needed before
• Cryptocurrency implications for business
• Social media algorithms for Enlightenzz

Some days I want to scream, “Can’t things just stay the same for five minutes?” But they won’t. And if I stop learning, I become irrelevant. So I learn.

Personal Learning Is the Hardest

The professional learning is straightforward – there’s usually a right answer. But personal learning? That’s where it gets messy.

Learning to set boundaries after 60 years of people-pleasing. Learning to rest without guilt. Learning that my value isn’t tied to my output. Learning to ask for help without feeling weak.

Last week, I had to learn (again) that I can’t fix everything for everyone. Tyler called with a problem, and my instinct was to jump in, solve it, make it better. But I’m learning to ask, “Do you want advice or do you just need to vent?” Revolutionary at 61.

The Grace of Getting It Wrong

“Learning to give myself grace for not getting everything right the first time” — this might be the biggest learning of all.

I mixed up Curtis’s medications once. Gave him the evening pills in the morning. Nothing catastrophic happened, but I beat myself up for days. How could I make such a mistake? But mistakes are part of learning. They always have been. I just forgot that grace applies to me too.

Now when I mess up, I try to say, “I’m learning.” Not “I’m stupid” or “I should know better.” Just “I’m learning.” It changes everything.

Learning Through Teaching

Enlightenzz has taught me that teaching others solidifies my own learning. Writing these articles forces me to examine what I think I know. Often, I discover I’m still figuring it out.

When readers respond with their own experiences, I learn from them. A woman in Ohio taught me a better way to think about grief. A reader in California shared a perspective on aging that shifted mine. We’re all teaching each other, all learning together.

The Unexpected Joy of Being a Beginner

There’s something liberating about being bad at something at 61. When I started Dutch pour painting, my first attempts were disasters. Muddy colors, no flow, complete mess. But being a beginner meant no expectations. Just experimentation.

The pressure to be expert at everything is exhausting. Being a beginner is freedom. You can’t fail if you’re just learning.

Learning From Loss

The hardest lessons come from loss. Losing Dad taught me that grief has no timeline. Curtis’s near-death taught me that control is illusion. Career setbacks taught me that identity can’t be tied to position.

These aren’t lessons I wanted. But they’re perhaps the most valuable. They’ve taught me resilience, acceptance, and the ability to find meaning in difficulty.

The Technology Learning Curve

Can we talk about technology? Every time I master something, it updates. Or disappears. Or gets replaced by something “better.”

I finally understood Facebook, and everyone moved to Instagram. Mastered Instagram, they’re on TikTok. Figured out Zoom, now it’s Teams. It’s exhausting.

But I keep learning because connection requires it. If I want to reach people with Enlightenzz, I need to learn where they are. If I want to stay relevant at work, I need to speak the digital language. So I learn, even when I’d rather not.

Learning From My Body

My body is teaching me things I didn’t want to learn. That joints need different care now. That energy isn’t infinite. That rest isn’t optional. That what worked at 40 doesn’t work at 61.

I’m learning to listen to these lessons instead of fighting them. When my knee says stop, I stop. When my energy flags at 3 PM, I rest. My body is a teacher, and I’m finally becoming a student.

The Community of Learners

What’s beautiful about learning at this age is the company. We’re all figuring it out together. My friends learning to be grandparents. Colleagues learning to lead remotely. Curtis learning to manage his health. We’re all beginners at something.

There’s less shame in not knowing now. We can admit confusion, ask questions, say “teach me.” The pretense of having it all figured out is gone. We’re all just learning as we go.

Today’s Choice

Today, choose to be learning. Not because you have to (though sometimes you do), but because learning means you’re still engaged, still growing, still alive to possibility.

Embrace being bad at something new. Ask questions without shame. Let younger people teach you. Let experience teach you. Let mistakes teach you. Let life teach you.

Give yourself grace when learning is slow. Celebrate when something clicks. Share what you learn with others. Remember that confusion is the beginning of understanding.

At 61, after 118 self-help books and decades of experience, I’m still learning. Curtis’s hospital stay proved I could learn anything when necessary. Work proves I need to keep learning to stay relevant. Life proves that learning never stops.

And that’s not a burden — it’s a gift. Because as long as I’m learning, I’m growing. As long as I’m growing, I’m living. Really living, not just existing.

The learning curve hasn’t flattened. It’s just changed shape. And I’m okay with that. More than okay — I’m grateful. Because a life where you know everything is a life where surprise is dead. And I’m not ready for that kind of death.

So here’s to learning at 60, 70, 80, and beyond. Here’s to being eternal students in the university of life. Here’s to never being done, never knowing it all, never stopping the beautiful, humbling, victorious process of learning.