I asked 20 people over 70 what they wish they'd known sooner—one answer came up every single time

Last month, I found myself sitting in my favorite coffee shop with a simple notebook and an even simpler question. After turning 70 myself this year, I'd been thinking about the lessons that take us too long to learn. So I decided to ask others who've crossed this milestone: What do you wish you'd known sooner?

I approached strangers at the library, old friends at book club, fellow volunteers at the food bank. Twenty conversations later, I noticed something remarkable. While people shared different regrets and various pieces of wisdom, one answer appeared in every single conversation, sometimes whispered, sometimes declared boldly, but always with the weight of hard-earned truth.

1. The answer that everyone gave

"I wish I'd known that other people's opinions of me mattered so much less than I thought they did."

That's it. That's what came up every time, though the words varied. A retired surgeon told me he spent forty years trying to impress colleagues who probably never thought about him after work. A grandmother of six admitted she'd chosen her first husband because her parents approved, not because she loved him. A former CEO said he'd worn uncomfortable suits for decades because he thought that's what successful people did.

Have you ever changed your mind about something you wanted to do because you worried what someone might think? I spent years pretending to enjoy golf because the other teachers at my school played. Years! Every Saturday morning, dragging myself to the course, making small talk about birdies and bogeys when I would rather have been home reading or gardening. The irony? When I finally quit, nobody cared. Not one person tried to convince me to come back.

2. Why we care so much when we're younger

During these conversations, I started to understand why this particular regret runs so deep. When we're young, we're still figuring out who we are, and other people's reactions feel like vital information. We think their approval confirms we're on the right track, their disapproval means we need to course-correct.

A woman I met at the library put it beautifully: "I thought everyone else had the instruction manual for life, and I was just winging it." She spent decades deferring to others' judgment because surely they knew better. It wasn't until her sixties that she realized everyone was winging it.

The need for approval often ties back to something deeper too. After my breast cancer scare at 52, I finally understood that my desperate need to be seen as competent and put-together came from being a single mother. I thought if I showed any cracks, people would judge me as failing my children. So I never asked for help with childcare, never admitted when I was struggling financially, never let anyone see me cry in the school parking lot. Looking back, I see how that isolation made everything harder than it needed to be.

3. The real cost of living for others

What struck me most in these conversations was the tangible cost of caring too much about others' opinions. People didn't just share philosophical regrets; they shared specific dreams abandoned, relationships endured, opportunities declined.

One man told me he'd always wanted to be a chef but became an accountant because his father said cooking was "women's work." He's 74 now, finally taking cooking classes, making beautiful meals for his grandchildren who couldn't care less about outdated gender roles. But he mourns the restaurants he never opened, the culinary adventures he never took.

Another woman stayed in her hometown for forty years because leaving would have disappointed her mother. She watched travel documentaries every Sunday, collecting brochures for trips she never took. Her mother passed five years ago, and now she's trying to see the world, but her health isn't what it used to be. "I gave up Paris at 35 for someone who wouldn't have remembered my sacrifice a week later," she told me.

4. What changes when you stop caring

Here's what fascinated me: everyone could pinpoint when they stopped caring so much about others' opinions, and it was rarely gradual. It was usually triggered by something specific—a loss, an illness, a moment of clarity.

For me, it happened at that school fundraiser where I met my second husband. I was bidding on a weekend getaway I didn't even want, just because I thought it would look good to support the school enthusiastically. When I accidentally outbid this charming stranger, instead of being embarrassed, he laughed and asked if I'd like a coffee to discuss shared custody of the trip. In that moment, I realized I'd been performing enthusiasm instead of feeling it. That coffee led to dinner, dinner led to love, and love led to finally understanding that authenticity attracts the right people while performance just exhausts you.

The people I interviewed described similar transformations. When they stopped filtering every decision through the lens of others' potential reactions, they found their days had more space, more peace, more possibility. One woman started wearing purple every day because it made her happy. A man joined a community theater at 71 after hiding his love of musicals his entire marriage. Small acts of rebellion against the tyranny of others' opinions, but revolutionary in their own lives.

5. Starting today, no matter your age

You don't have to wait until 70 to learn this lesson. In fact, everyone I talked to wishes they hadn't. The question isn't whether other people will judge your choices—they will. The question is whether you'll let their judgment steer your life.

Think about one thing you're not doing because of what someone might think. Just one thing. Maybe it's taking that art class, wearing that bold lipstick, admitting you don't actually enjoy hosting big holiday dinners, or saying no to commitments that drain you. What would happen if you did it anyway?

As I've written in a previous post about finding purpose after retirement, the freedom to be yourself is a gift you can give yourself at any age. But the sooner you unwrap it, the longer you get to enjoy it.

Final thoughts

After all these conversations, I keep coming back to something Maya Angelou wrote: "I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." The twist is, the person who most needs to feel the authentic you is you.

Those 20 people over 70 weren't telling me they wish they'd been selfish or inconsiderate. They were saying they wish they'd known the difference between kindness and performance, between respect for others and abandonment of self. They wish they'd known that the people who truly matter will love you more, not less, when you show up as yourself.

So perhaps the real question isn't what others think of you, but what you think of the life you're living. Is it yours, or is it the one you think you're supposed to live? The answer to that question might be the wisdom you'll wish you'd known sooner.