Even though I’m 63, I still find ways to participate—and maybe that’s the secret to aging with purpose. It’s not about keeping up with the 22-year-olds or trying to outpace time. It’s about showing up, finding your place in the mission, and doing what you can—not lamenting what you can’t.

Yesterday, I had the honor of being part of a 22K Ruck. It was organized to remember the Veterans we’ve lost and to raise awareness around the heartbreaking issue of suicide among Veterans and first responders. That number—22—represents the average number of Veterans lost to suicide each day. It’s staggering. It’s painful. And it’s also why this event mattered so much.

Now, I wasn’t out there rucking the 22 kilometers with a heavy pack on my back. Believe me, I considered it. But I also know my limits, and I’m not quite there yet. Instead, I found my place in the mission: I helped set up and staff a water station.

You wouldn’t think handing out water could be emotional, but it was. Watching people push themselves—sweating, limping, determined—was incredibly moving. Some were walking with photos pinned to their shirts. Some were quiet. Some cracked jokes as they came up for water. All of them carried a story. And I was there, not just handing them a bottle of water, but handing them encouragement, support, and a reminder that they weren’t alone.

That’s the thing I’ve learned—support comes in many forms. You don’t always have to be front and center to make an impact. Sometimes the most meaningful work happens on the sidelines, where you can lift others up while quietly staying in the fight.

And I am in the fight.

In July, I’ll be swimming a 1K to raise money for Veteran Service Organizations. That might not sound like much to some, but for me, it’s a big goal. I’ve been training steadily, and with every lap I swim, I feel myself getting stronger. There’s something deeply satisfying about setting a goal in your 60s that stretches you—not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. I’m not the same person I was at 30, and I don’t want to be. This version of me? She’s earned every wrinkle and every ounce of wisdom.

I love May for a lot of reasons, but mostly because it feels like renewal. The world wakes up. We come out of our winter hibernation, shake off the dust, and suddenly the calendar fills with events that bring us together. Memorial walks, fundraisers, cookouts, garden club meetings, veteran outreach activities—you name it. There’s a different kind of energy in the air. It’s like the world is saying, Get up. Get out. Do something good.

That’s what I’m trying to do. Show up. Do something good.

People ask me sometimes if I ever wish I had started things earlier—this level of involvement, the physical challenges, the advocacy. And sure, maybe in my 30s or 40s I would’ve tackled a 22K ruck without blinking. But honestly? I don’t dwell on that. Because the truth is, I’m here now. And now matters.

At 63, I understand that showing up doesn’t look the same for everyone. It’s not supposed to. Some people carry the weight. Some people pass the water. Some people raise the money, write the checks, tell the stories, or simply hold the signs. All of it counts. All of it moves us forward.

So no, I may not be rucking 22K just yet. But I’m training for my swim. I’m staffing the water station. I’m lifting up those around me. And I’m still in the fight—every single day.

That’s what service looks like at 63.

And to be honest? It’s never felt more right.