While society obsesses over physical fitness and memory tests, the truly extraordinary septuagenarians are quietly mastering nine profound abilities that have nothing to do with touching their toes or remembering where they put their keys.
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Last week at the grocery store, I watched two women, both clearly in their seventies, navigate the same challenge: the store had rearranged every single aisle. The first woman stood frozen near the entrance, overwhelmed and muttering about how nothing stays the same anymore. The second? She grabbed a cart and declared to no one in particular, "Well, this'll be an adventure!" Twenty minutes later, I saw her helping the first woman find the bread aisle, both of them laughing about the store's "creative" new layout.
That encounter got me thinking about what truly sets apart those rare souls who don't just survive past seventy but continue to thrive with a vibrancy that defies every stereotype about aging. After years of observing, learning, and yes, becoming one of these seventy-somethings myself, I've noticed certain abilities that distinguish these extraordinary individuals. If you can still do these nine things, you're not just aging well—you're one of those once-in-a-lifetime souls who reminds the rest of us what's possible.
1. Learn something completely new without apologizing for being a beginner
Remember when you were five and proudly showed everyone your wobbly attempts at writing your name? Somewhere along the way, most of us lose that fearless beginner's spirit. We start apologizing for not knowing things, for taking longer to learn, for asking questions.
When I sat down at a piano bench at 67, my fingers felt like they belonged to someone else entirely. The teacher, probably half my age, watched as I fumbled through scales that children master in weeks. But here's what I discovered: the moment you stop apologizing for being a beginner, magic happens. Your brain, that supposedly declining organ everyone warns you about, suddenly remembers how to play. Not the piano—but the game of learning itself. Three years later, I can play a respectable rendition of "Clair de Lune," but more importantly, I've remembered that expertise isn't the point. The willingness to be terrible at something new? That's the real gift.
2. Change your mind about something you've believed for decades
How often do you hear someone say, "I used to think that, but I've changed my mind"? As we age, our beliefs can calcify like old bones, becoming brittle and prone to breaking rather than bending. The exceptional souls among us maintain what I call intellectual flexibility—the ability to examine long-held beliefs and say, "You know what? I might have been wrong about that."
This doesn't mean abandoning your core values or becoming wishy-washy. It means staying curious enough to question your own assumptions. Maybe it's about politics, parenting, or even something as simple as how you've always made coffee. The ability to evolve your thinking at seventy-plus isn't just rare; it's revolutionary.
3. Make a new friend, a real one
Not an acquaintance you chat with at the mailbox. Not someone you see at weekly bingo. I'm talking about a genuine, call-them-when-you're-scared, laugh-until-you-cry friend. After sixty, making new friends requires a kind of vulnerability that many of us have spent decades avoiding. It means risking rejection, admitting loneliness, and opening yourself up to new hurt when you've probably already experienced plenty.
The process taught me something profound: friendship after seventy requires intention. You can't just wait for it to happen like you did in school or at work. You have to pursue it, nurture it, and yes, sometimes feel foolish doing it. But those who can still forge these deep connections late in life? They're the ones who understand that emotional courage doesn't diminish with age—it just becomes more precious.
4. Laugh at yourself with genuine joy
There's a difference between self-deprecating humor that masks pain and the liberating laughter that comes from true self-acceptance. Can you tell a story about your most embarrassing moment without wincing? Can you find humor in your forgetfulness without immediately spiraling into fears about cognitive decline?
The other day, I spent ten minutes looking for the glasses that were on my head. Instead of panicking about what this might mean, I called a friend to share the ridiculous image of me patting down couch cushions while wearing the very thing I was searching for. We laughed until we wheezed, and in that moment, I realized that taking yourself lightly while taking life seriously might be the ultimate wisdom.
5. Dream about the future without living in the past
Ask someone over seventy about their plans, and too often you'll hear a sigh followed by some variation of "At my age..." But the remarkable ones? They're planning trips for next year, starting projects that won't be finished for months, planting trees they might never see fully grown.
This isn't about denying mortality or pretending time is infinite. It's about refusing to let the shortness of time steal its sweetness. When I started learning Italian at 66, people asked why I'd bother when I might never become fluent. But fluency wasn't the point—the planning, the dreaming of cobblestone streets and perfect espresso, the future-facing hope of it all, that was the point.
6. Express anger without bitterness
Anger gets a bad reputation, especially for older women who've been taught to smile through everything. But there's a profound difference between the clean, purposeful anger that demands justice or change and the corrosive bitterness that poisons everything it touches.
Can you be furious about injustice without letting it turn you cynical? Can you express frustration without it becoming your entire personality? The souls who master this balance understand that anger can be fuel for change rather than a prison of resentment.
7. Accept help without losing your sense of independence
Pride and aging make terrible dance partners, constantly stepping on each other's toes. The extraordinary person over seventy has learned the graceful art of accepting help while maintaining their dignity. They understand that needing assistance with a jar lid doesn't negate decades of capability.
This might be the hardest item on this list because it requires reimagining what strength looks like. Sometimes strength is admitting you can't do something alone. Sometimes independence means being interdependent, knowing when to lean and when to stand.
8. Find beauty in ordinary moments
Do you still notice the way afternoon light falls across your kitchen table? Can you find wonder in the familiar pattern of birds visiting your feeder? This isn't about forced positivity or pretending everything is beautiful. It's about maintaining the capacity for wonder when the world gives you plenty of reasons to become jaded.
The once-in-a-lifetime souls have learned that beauty isn't just in sunsets and grandchildren's smiles (though those certainly count). It's in the perfect temperature of morning coffee, the feel of clean sheets, the sound of rain on windows. They've discovered that attention itself is a form of love.
9. Love someone or something new
Not just maintain existing loves, but create new ones. Maybe it's falling for a new author's work, discovering a passion for bird watching, or yes, even opening your heart to romantic love again. The capacity to form new attachments when you've inevitably lost so much—that's not just resilience, it's a form of everyday heroism.
When my body reminds me daily of its limitations, I've learned that my spirit doesn't have to follow suit. The ability to love anew is proof that while our bodies age, our capacity for connection can remain endlessly renewable.
Final thoughts
If you recognized yourself in most of these abilities, congratulations—you're rarer than you might think. If you didn't, here's the beautiful secret: every one of these abilities can be cultivated, no matter where you're starting from. Being a once-in-a-lifetime soul isn't about being born special; it's about choosing, again and again, to remain open when the world gives you every reason to close. It's about understanding that the number of your years matters far less than the life you pour into them.
