Category: Podcast

By Jack Cumming
LeadingAge prides itself on being the trusted voice for aging. Full membership in the organization, however, is limited to provider organizations and corporate partners. There is also a class of associate members with limited benefits and organizational rights, but there is no direct membership for residents. Residents only have a semblance of membership derived from the provider member that houses them.
Grassroots Democracy
As an advocacy organization in a democratic society, one might think that an organization for aging would want to represent as many older people as possible. That grassroots thinking would suggest elevating residents to primary membership. LeadingAge, though, seems to be dedicated to the business interests of nonprofit senior housing enterprises.
Top-line, LeadingAge’s 2026 Policy Platform aims “to continually make America a better place to grow older.” Wouldn’t that start by empowering older people, particularly residents, to have the central voice? That’s where I stumble on the question, “Why not collaborate?”
Digging into the advocacy specifics reveals a reactive agenda calling for minor tweaks in the status quo. In an era when there is a need for a major overhaul of America’s healthcare system; when artificial intelligence and robotics present opportunities; and when affordability is becoming a critical public issue, one would expect big ideas to have a place at LeadingAge.
Instead, we find elements like “Protect Medicaid from further harm;” advocate for higher provider reimbursement; maintain tax exemption; and advance immigration as a solution to hiring challenges. That’s just a sample. Why not consider how to provide better health for Americans at lower cost; pay our fair share of taxes; and promote fair compensation to motivate care workers?
Finding Proactive Concepts
Opening LeadingAge to those older people who have the expertise, know-how, and wisdom to contribute seems obvious for an organization that seeks better aging. It could have avoided the fiasco that LeadingAge’s work on the Community Living Assistance Services and Supports (CLASS) Act became.
Making LeadingAge into a force that serves more than narrow business interests would require strong leadership. It’s not enough to try to find common opinion among people who care principally about what’s best for providers, what accords with industry money interests, and what might have the greatest plausibility with members. It requires rising above superficial thinking, hopes, wishes, and common opinion. An inclusive organization can perform better than one that is inward-directed.
Think of the Potential
Let’s look at this positively. Imagine the prestige that LeadingAge might attain if it considered the thinking of the best minds in the country, not just social scientists but people who think and write on the highest level. That would require leaders who can recognize that kind of thinking when it appears. It’s beyond superficiality.
By consigning residents to subordinate status, LeadingAge is overlooking one of its most valuable assets. An organization primarily of and for older Americans with a reputation for the most cogent thinking could bring grassroots power to policymaking. High-achievement residents can contribute positive energy and proven experience.
Let’s Restore the American Dream
LeadingAge’s not-for-profit focus has become an engine for reversing the American dream of homeownership. Homeowners are enticed to sell their homes to pay entrance fees. There’s no reason why senior housing can’t continue the dignity of ownership or, at least, provide voting membership in a not-for-profit. It makes little sense for an advocacy organization to be on the wrong side of the American Dream.
If we can transform LeadingAge from a we-they model to an inclusive empowerment model, we can transform the senior housing industry to one in which people are proud to be residents. The future is bright for those who envision it and who seize the opportunity to create a new reality. Sometimes, the people who seem to be the most difficult are the very people that it’s wisest to understand and heed. They can be the best advisors.
This is one in a series of articles exploring how providers, residents, and resident families might work together for better aging.

By Jack Cumming
It’s only natural for residents moving into independent living in a CCRC to think that they will be collaborators with the owners in their new home. Part of the marketing covenant is that residents trade independent home ownership for collaboration with experts in aging.
Moving into a CCRC requires a leap of faith. It’s a trust undertaking in which residents believe that they are paying the provider to act in harmony with them as they age.
Trust
Many residents sell homes they love and own to raise the money to pay an entrance fee. They trust in good faith that their “investment” will be used to ensure the promise of lifetime residency and care. Few read the many clauses in their residency and care agreements. They trust the providers and the regulators to do the right thing.
Residents assume in good faith that the provider is committed to giving them the lifetime care and security that they have been offered. They don’t expect the interpretation of every contractual clause to be used to their disadvantage. They are trusting.
They believe that providers, especially not-for-profit providers, understand that the relationship is one of mutuality and trust. It can be a shock when residents believe, rightly or wrongly, that they’ve been left out of a lopsided undertaking in which providers are paramount. Only the most desperate would voluntarily choose to leave a home they love to live as second-class citizens in a home in which they are not fully respected.
The Weak and the Strong
When there’s a difference between providers and residents, residents are the weaker party. Many residents come to senior living expecting to have peace of mind and surcease of care. Their belief in that trusting hope can lead them to be more than willing to acquiesce in whatever the provider decides. It’s likely that those prospective residents who want to have input into governance just stay put in the larger community.
This power disparity came up recently in Florida. In Florida, the dominant not-for-profit providers are represented by LeadingAge Southeast. LeadingAge Southeast, like most state LeadingAge organizations, serves IRC 501(c)(3) qualified senior living providers.
Specifically, the organization declares itself to be “The premier association serving high-quality senior living providers across the continuum of care in Florida, Alabama, Louisiana, and Mississippi.” “High-quality” may connote tax exemption primarily.
Residents, in response to their exclusion from the providers’ organization, formed FLiCRA (the Florida LifeCare Residents Association). Roughly half the residents in the state are FliCRA members. That is, I believe, a more robust resident membership than any other resident organization.
The regulator is the Office of Insurance Regulation, which has the expert capabilities found in many state insurance departments. The OIR is professionally committed to sound regulation for Florida senior living residents.
Seeking Cooperation
For many years, it’s been the custom for FLiCRA and LeadingAge Southeast to work together constructively on a legislative agenda. This year was no exception, and the legislator sponsoring the bill worked collaboratively with the OIR, LeadingAge Southeast, and FLiCRA to find common ground.
A joint workgroup of providers and residents met from June to December 2025 to examine Florida Statute 651 for possible changes. Both associations’ boards of directors reached consensus on over fifty pages of proposed statute changes in December 2025.
Areas of agreement reached among FLiCRA, LeadingAge Southeast, and OIR include provisions to increase financial transparency, strengthen resident protections when providers run into trouble, clarify accountability, give residents a clearer voice when changes are discussed, and give regulators earlier warning signs and more tools when finances deteriorate.
Off the Rails
No one benefits when providers fail or resident grievances roil the market for senior living. Still, despite the months of discussions and the best efforts of a wise and committed legislator, the effort for providers and residents to work together has failed. Why? The best explanation that I have found is “There remain issues of philosophical and policy disagreement between OIR and LeadingAge Southeast.”
“Issues of philosophical and policy disagreement” might lead one to think that there is an anti-business political bias that LeadingAge Southeast found unacceptable. Without knowing the specific thinking that led to the failure of comity, we can only speculate.
It’s Not Politics
The Republican Party in Florida controls the governorship, both houses of the state legislature, and all statewide cabinet offices. Thus, Republican pro-business thinking has shaped the OIR with leadership appointments and oversight. The “philosophy” difference cannot be an anti-business political bias.
For a resident like me, this disconnect between providers and residents is concerning. When I moved into senior housing in 2006, the biggest, unexpected discovery was how providers viewed their residents. I didn’t expect that providers would view residents who are less than complacent and grateful as adversaries.
I expected that the relationship would be one of cooperation to improve the lives of older people. Why isn’t that the case? Why are resident fees used to fund trade associations to advocate for business interests over the well-being of those same residents? That’s a subject that I’ll be addressing in future articles.
This is one in a series of articles exploring how providers, residents, and resident families might work together for better aging.

By Steve Moran
A couple of weeks ago, we published an article I wrote, and an industry friend sent me a sort of teasing email about my inability to stop ticking off (he used a slightly different term) the senior living industry.
I am going to do it again …
A few weeks ago I came across this post on LinkedIn that — as a family caregiver — really set me on fire.

The unofficial guide to family members of senior living residents.
(Written with complete love. Obviously.)
The Guardian. Has power of attorney and a laminated copy of it. Has visited twice this week. Has requested to speak with you three times. Has very specific opinions about the temperature in hallway C.
The Ghost. Has not visited since November. Calls every Friday at 4:57 PM to check in. Is always “just about to come see Mom.”
The Expert. Just read a WebMD article. Would like to discuss your clinical protocol. Has some thoughts about the medication schedule. Has never worked in healthcare. Is not deterred by this.
The Escalator. Goes directly from “I have a small concern” to “I am calling the state” without any stops in between.
The Apologizer. Starts every sentence with “I’m sorry to bother you but—” and then asks you to completely restructure your dining program.
The Resident Whisperer. Is certain their parent is unhappy. Their parent has told you multiple times they are very happy. This person knows better.
The One Who Gets It. Shows up quietly. Learns the staff names. Brings cookies for the night shift. Cries in the parking lot so their parent does not see it. Says thank you when they leave.
That last one? They are why the rest of us stay.
Which one did you meet this week?

What This Post Gets Completely Wrong
I want to be fair. The post is clever. Anyone working in senior living will recognize every single one of these characters, and yes, some of them are genuinely exhausting to deal with.
But clever isn’t the same as right. And this post … funny as it is … teaches your team something dangerous: that family members who push back are the problem.
They are not the problem. They are the opportunity you keep throwing away.
The Story I Can’t Get Past
Let me tell you about “The Escalator.”
The post describes someone who goes directly from “I have a small concern” to “I am calling the state” without any stops in between. The implication is clear; this person is an overreactor. A drama queen. An exhausting human being you just have to manage.
Here’s my experience as the caretaker of someone in senior living.
I discovered that my stepfather had gone nearly four weeks without a shower. Four weeks. I did not go straight to the state. I went to leadership first and gave them the chance to respond. They made excuses.
I didn’t call the state. Now I wish I had.
So when you roll your eyes at “The Escalator,” ask yourself an honest question: what happened before they escalated? Because in my experience, nobody starts at the state. They got there because someone like you dismissed them first.
The Real Story Behind Every “Type”
“The Guardian. Has power of attorney and a laminated copy of it …”
Maybe if you had taken the time to understand their role and what they need to accomplish, this person wouldn’t be nitpicking. Or maybe they might even have a point. Maybe they could become your biggest fan, sending you a steady stream of great new prospects.
“The Ghost. Has not visited since November …”
Maybe this person is caring for an abusive parent, doing the right thing, making sure Mom isn’t on the streets since no one else will. Maybe they’re a single parent working two jobs, barely making ends meet, so exhausted they simply don’t have the energy. Or maybe they have visited, and Mom’s dementia has progressed to the point where they don’t know what to say or how to act.
“The Expert. Just read a WebMD article …”
Maybe in doing their own research, they came across something that could actually make things better. Or maybe the hospice nurse prescribed a drug that will make things worse, because way too many hospice nurses solve every problem with another medication, and this family member is the only one paying close enough attention to notice.
“The Apologizer. Starts every sentence with ‘I’m sorry to bother you but …”
This one might actually tell you more about your culture than about them. When a family member feels they have to apologize before raising a concern, that’s a signal. It means they’ve learned from you, from your team, from the way they’ve been received before, that concerns are not welcome here. That’s worth sitting with.
“The Resident Whisperer. Is certain their parent is unhappy …”
We need honesty here. There are residents who put on a happy face with staff because they’re afraid that if they complain, they will be treated badly. It happens. So how about this: when the “Resident Whisperer” comes to you with concerns, you actually pay attention and see if you can make it better instead of using the resident’s own fear-based politeness as evidence against their family.
The Cookie Problem
Now let’s talk about “The One Who Gets It.”
Shows up quietly. Brings cookies for the night shift. Never makes a fuss. Says thank you when they leave.
They are why the rest of us stay.
Read that again. The post is telling your team and telling your industry that the ideal family member is the one who never complains. The one who shows gratitude. The one who brings treats.
The one who, in other words, makes your job easier.
That is a deeply dangerous message. Because what you’re actually training your team to value is compliance over accountability. You’re telling them that the family members who ask hard questions, who push back, who refuse to accept a non-answer are the problem. Something to be managed and mocked in LinkedIn posts.
Meanwhile, those are exactly the people most likely to catch something you missed. They are the ones who notice when a resident hasn’t had a shower in four weeks.
Your Complainers Are Your Best Asset
Every business in the world has people who complain. And the ones who can make you truly better are not the ones bringing cookies.
When people complain, you have two choices: see them as troublemakers making your life harder, or see them as people who want things to be better and believe you’re capable of it. The vast majority of complainers are in that second category.
They leave Google reviews. They talk to friends and acquaintances about your community. They shape how their entire network thinks about senior living as an industry. You can dismiss them, roll your eyes at them, give them clever nicknames on LinkedIn, and none of that will make a single thing better.
Your agitators want you to be better. 
And when you are better, they will become your biggest evangelists. They will make it possible to reduce your paid advertising to nothing. They will save you tens of thousands of dollars in referral agency fees. 

By Steve Moran
I know I have a weird mind, and I spend way too much time going down rabbit holes, into strange cracks and crevices, wondering about all kinds of things.  I sometimes wonder if it is a bit like taking an acid trip without the acid. 
Driving Down The Highway …
I was recently driving down the highway listening to oldies when Paul Simon’s song “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover” blasted through the speakers. It sent me down one of those rabbit holes, and I found myself wondering if I could come up with a list of 50 ways to stay out of senior living (with a little help from AI, of course).
Just for fun … mostly … 
50 Ways to Stay Out of Senior Living
(To the tune of “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover”)
[Verse 1]
“The problem is all inside your head,” he said to me“The answer is as simple as a low-sodium teaI’d like to help you keep your house and live it fancy-freeThere must be fifty ways to stay out of senior living”
He said, “It’s really not my habit to intrudeBut if you’re eating pureed carrots, well, you’re in a sour moodI hope my meaning won’t be lost or misconstruedBut we’ve got fifty ways to stay out of senior living”Fifty ways to stay out of senior living
[Chorus]
You just hide the brochure, StanGet a master plan, FranDon’t act confused, LeeJust keep the front door keyHop on the treadmill, PhilHide every little pill, BillDon’t let ‘em see the cane, JaneAnd keep yourself free
(Repeat Chorus)
[Bridge] (Tempo slows, slightly ominous)
Now, the lawyer’s in the parlor and he’s looking at the booksHe’s got that “Medicaid-is-coming” kind of hungry, legal lookHe says, “You gave away the lake house back in 2022“That’s a five-year look-back penalty — now whatcha gonna do?”I said, “I’ll bury all the silver and I’ll hide the family van,Because a nursing home’s a prison for a self-respecting man.”
[Verse 2]
He said, “It grieves me so to see you in such fearOf a place with bingo night and lukewarm root beer”I said, “I appreciate that, but could you speak into my good ear?About the fifty ways”
He said, “Why don’t we both just sleep on it tonightAnd I believe in the morning you’ll see the light (As long as you can see the light without a nightlight)There are fifty ways …”
[The “Fast-Talk” Verse] (Match the rhythm of the rhyming names)
Hide the cane, JaneFake a sprint, ClintLose the walker, WalkerDitch the bifocals, localsDye the hair, BlairStand up straight, NatePass the test, BessKnow the date, KateRecall the name, BlaineDo the Wordle, MyrdlePost a reel, NeilUse the App, CapText with speed, ReedOrder Uber, HuberBuy a dog, LogHost a rave, DaveMow the lawn, DawnPaint the trim, JimStay out late, NateDon’t go to bed, RedJust don’t go, Joe …
[Outro]
You just hide the brochure, StanGet a master plan, FranDon’t act confused, LeeJust keep the front door key
(Fade out with: Fifty ways … just don’t let ’em catch you, Joe … stay out of the gulag …)
Now if only someone would perform this …
I have a few more lists coming. 

By Jack Cumming
An article on Medium made me cry. It also made me want to celebrate all those who are there for us as our lives draw to a close. The article was written by Carole Olsen and titled “My Sister Has Opted to Go into Hospice.”

Carole explains, “The rehab that she is in says she is not ready for hospice. What qualifies a person for it? Thank heavens she is not in pain. She can’t eat and is not hungry. She doesn’t want a feeding tube to prolong her life. Her only form of nourishment is sipping thickened juices with a spoon.”

There’s anxiety, reality, and caring in that short statement. Logically, we know that the dying person’s choices are sensible. Emotionally, we want her to recover and stay with us forever. Realistically, rehab may not care. Death and dying are too common. “She is not ready for hospice.” We want to shout, “For heaven’s sake, have a heart.”
Reality, though, is not realistic. We’re born, we thrive, we love, we live, and then we fade. Individually, we are small, but together we are more. We are humankind, the resilient spirit that has made this planet our home.
Carole’s sister is not in pain. What a blessing that can be. Anything we can do to relieve human suffering is a worthy cause. Service in senior living, whether as a med minder, caregiver, or mogul, is worthy. You are making a better world.
Carole’s sister’s transition is not what we hope for. My friend, John Uhlig, hoped to make it to 100. And he almost did. He was a pastor, comforting others right up to his final days. As the end drew near, John was in skilled nursing with his son sitting by his side. On the night in which he perished, something awakened the son, and he felt his father’s pulse.
The pulse was there. The son’s hopes rose. Then, slowly, as if the time had come, John’s son felt his pulse slow until it was gone. With that, his father’s spirit passed into the hereafter.

John Donne saw truth and wrote, “And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.”

May your life be filled with love, and may the comfort and joy that you bring to others stay and abide with you in your time of need and transition.

By Jack Cumming
Not long ago, I attended the Interface Seniors Housing West Conference, produced by France Media. With one exception, the format is a series of five- or six-person panels on topics primarily related to the financing and development of senior housing projects. Between each panel, there is a networking break, and the producer ensures that attendees are well fed and tended as they engage with each other.
ValuePLUS Roundtables
The one exception alluded to above is what Interface calls ValuePLUS Roundtables. This can be the most engaging part of the event. For this conference, there were eleven tables with topics ranging from marketing to strategy to capital raising to workforce issues. I started at a table labeled “Third Party Management” but quickly moved to an adjacent table, “Lifestyle That’s Attractive to Next Generation of Seniors” with an architectural focus. That proved to be a learning experience.
The “facilitator/architect” allowed the discussion to evolve naturally. It began with everyone introducing themselves and explaining why they were at the conference. That started as a selling round, but that didn’t last. Soon, and this was significant, it became a focus group on what the attendees would want for their parents now and for themselves when the time comes “for that.”
What Do People Want?
It’s not surprising that people working in the industry, especially those now approaching their own retirement, are thinking about the old-age residential experience to which their careers have been dedicated. Each person had very specific individual things that matter to them. For one person, that means healthy living, with healthy eating, top-flight fitness, engaging intellectual fare, and the like.
As a person who has spent many years aging in a CCRC, I couldn’t help but think that the good health emphasis may be more aspirational than realistic. Unexpected, but inevitable, health issues can detract from that vision of an energetic, vigorous dedication to longevity and health span. Still, marketing might benefit from a health zone with spa dining and much more. Usually, operators ask sales staff to sell without asking them what might be changed to make the product more attractive.
The Peter Pan Effect
The lyrics to a song in the Peter Pan musical famously declare, “If growing up means it would be beneath my dignity to climb a tree, I’ll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up. Not me!” That applies as well to people on the threshold of old age. “I’ll never grow frail, never grow frail, never grow frail. Not me!”
Although people may say they are moving in to be treated with respect and care as they age, most people at move-in are still hoping that they will beat the aging realities. The hope is that they can live healthy, vital lives for as long as they can imagine. That perception is particularly important for new communities during initial fill-up.
If you want to attract younger, active people, what they want is different from what they will be happy with later as old age overtakes them. For instance, where I live, at one time we had a SwimEx and a sauna. The sauna is now a storage room, and the SwimEx is no longer in operation.
When I moved in nearly twenty years ago, early fill-up residents all spoke of how those amenities differentiated the community from others. Almost all of those early residents have now gone to green pastures, and we have a lively set of new residents. The new residents don’t miss what they never had.
How Do Visiting Family Feel?
At the Interface Conference, an interesting insight was shared by a daughter whose parents had recently decided to move into an assisted living community. Her father is in decline, but he loves now to sit in the lobby watching the world pass by. The community was chosen primarily for its proximity to the home they gave up. What sealed the deal was that they could have a view apartment and the living space they felt they needed: two bedrooms, and a bit more.
One clear takeaway is that everyone, after thinking about it, agreed with me that the age restriction that defines the “senior” in senior housing is a net negative. The daughter told of staying in the guest room at her parents’ new home and feeling out of place in a way she never had in the guest room in their former home.
Ultimate Retirement or A Home to Love
Since I was the old man at the table and a resident, my tablemates were deferential but saw themselves as decidedly different from a person born, as I was, in 1936. Remember that the initial focus was architecture. I brought up the desirability of having shared office space, perhaps for a fee, for the increasing number of prospective residents who plan to continue working.
My impression is that, for now, both the existing residents and those who market to them, view senior housing as the ultimate retirement. You’ll hear people say, “I don’t have to lift a finger. Everything is done for me.” Moreover, most residents don’t want to be active in governance. They came there to “retire,” and they are determined to do just that. Marketing and management cater to that perception.
It’s Not for Dynamic People
What’s likely, and what I’ve experienced with several friends who were thinking of senior housing, is that those who expect to work or stay active in other ways sense that lethargic life and decide that it’s not for them. That was clear at our roundtable. Most loved the idea of mutual congregate living if it were designed for people like them.
The enthusiasm for thinking of what they themselves would want was so animated and so lively that one could scarcely get a word in. Listening to the eager conversation at our table made me realize how disconnected the industry is from its potential.
The opportunity may be more in general-market multi-family housing with age-supportive characteristics than it is in betting on a generation of baby boomers who are now entering their 80s and who will be gone in a matter of decades, leaving a housing glut and a dearth of prospects behind. Change is coming, but it’s unlikely to be what most insiders expect.

By Steve Moran
If you are lucky, one day you too will grow old. I know it’s obvious I am telling you something you already know … but no one told me, and no one talks about how weird it is.
The World Sees You Differently (and rightly so, mostly)
Some examples …

Recently at CES in Las Vegas, I rode the conference bus from one venue to another. I was the last one on the bus that was “standing room only.” Immediately after boarding, several younger folks jumped out of their seats to allow the old guy to sit.
Leaving Las Vegas, when I got to my departure gate, there was a guy sitting in the designated handicapped seats, and he immediately jumped up, offering me his (no judgment about him sitting there since there were lots of empty seats). It was a very kind gesture.
As I walked the show, I was not as interesting to people because of my age, even in the age-tech area. Not exactly discrimination — it was simply that I looked different from them, different than the people they primarily interact with.
And embarrassingly, I am not immune to this thinking. I did an interview with a guy who has some really interesting technology and who is older than I am (I think, since I didn’t ask). I realized that my first impression reaction carried its own set of prejudices.

The Differences are Real
It is easy to pretend that older people are just like younger people, but in aging bodies. Something many anti-ageism crusaders want you to believe. It is simply not true. As we age, we change; we are different, and not in trivial ways:

I once loved sitting on the floor; no more. I had lunch at CES. There was no place to sit except on the floor. I made it work, but it was uncomfortable. Getting up was awkward and ugly.
There are things I once loved doing that I am blasé about, amusement park rides being a good example.
I listen to conversations about relationships, families, and kids, and think, “Been there, done that.” I was once there, but no more.
I used to cringe with embarrassment at how older people spend so much time talking about frailties, medical conditions, treatments, and doctors’ appointments. Now I find myself doing that exact thing with my friends.
With the sale of Foresight to ProCareHR, I have some insight and input about growth plans and find myself thinking … I would love to tackle that, or I want to get involved.  I then realize my time is coming to an end. One day, not that far in the future, I will attend my last conference, write my last blog, contribute one last idea. (That sounds more maudlin than I intend it to be. I still have some big future plans and dreams, and I still have a few more years.) But the reality is that I will not be a part of Procare or Foresight in 5 or 10 years. 

The Gift of Perspective
I am not offended or upset. I don’t feel discriminated against or picked on. I am profoundly grateful that I am in good health and that I am still contributing and making a difference. The alternatives are much worse.
Each day I wake up excited about the possibilities. I have a much healthier outlook on life. My life is as complex as it has ever been, but it is a complexity that is mostly of my own making. Much of the complexity comes from decisions I made, and I own it all.
The Last Day
And one day … I will take my last breath, and when that happens, I will know …

In at least a small way, I made the world better.
I loved and was loved.

The last words I want to breathe are these:
To my family: “I love you with my entire heart.”
To the world: “What an amazing ride.”

By Rebecca Wiessmann
In a recent Foresight TV episode, Steve talks with two guests who are trying to poke a stick at one of society’s most stubborn blind spots — ageism.
His guests were Paula Ledbetter and Angela Lyonsmith from Mather, an 84-year-old nonprofit with a long-term vision that’s both simple and ambitious: change the way society views aging.
The Campaign That Refuses To Whisper
Mather’s “Older Is Bolder” isn’t a brochure. It isn’t a “10 steps to thriving after 70” listicle. It’s a public statement — literally.
Lyonsmith described the origin story as an image-first idea: enormous portraits of older adults placed where they can’t be ignored — moving through Chicago on CTA buses and trains and displayed at major rail stations. The goal was to interrupt the default mental picture people carry when they hear the words “older adult.”
The execution is big-city bold: a mobile art installation across Chicago featuring 10 “Boldmakers” — real people with real stories — paired with a QR code that takes commuters to short videos where each person tells their story in their own words.
That “in their own words” part matters to Lyonsmith. She argues that storytelling changes people faster than statistics do. And she wanted the kind of imagery that forces a second look — because invisibility is one of the quietest forms of ageism.
Aging Well: Not “The Way,” but “Ways”
Steve has been thinking about aging differently lately. He turned 70 in 2025, and he joked that once your age starts appearing on car-rental contracts, it gets harder to pretend you’re not in the club.
He also admitted something many people won’t: even older adults carry ageist reflexes. He described playing golf behind “two old guys,” only to realize later they might have been his peers.
That set up one of the most important themes of the conversation: aging well isn’t a universal formula.
Ledbetter put it plainly — at Mather, they talk about wellness as personal. It looks different to everyone. That’s why the campaign intentionally focuses on “ways to age well,” not “the way.” The Boldmakers don’t represent a single ideal. They represent possibilities: purpose, heart, service, love, community impact — expressed in wildly different forms.
For a marketing professional, Steve notes, that’s almost heresy. Marketing loves a single promise: Do this one thing and your life changes. But the point here is the opposite: the options are endless, because people are endlessly different.
Is Older-Adult Invisibility Imposed … or Chosen?
Steve pressed Lyonsmith with a provocative question: Do older adults become invisible because society erases them — or because they choose to disappear?
Lyonsmith doesn’t offer a tidy answer, and that was the right move. She emphasizes there’s no monolithic “older adult experience.” Culture matters. Developmental stage matters. Personal history matters. She recalls a conversation at a senior living community where someone raised an important nuance: what “bold” means at 65 might look nothing like what “bold” means at 80. Sometimes boldness is outward — activism, leadership, movement. Sometimes it’s inward — reflection, meaning-making, generativity.
In other words, “bold” can be loud … or quietly defiant.
A Story About Joy, Service, and a Pocket Full of Viagra
Then Steve did something that makes his interviews feel like real life instead of a panel discussion: he told two stories that complicated the whole idea of “aging well.”
First: a friend in her late 70s/early 80s — a retired principal with a big heart, already volunteering in multiple ways — told him she wanted to give back even more, but didn’t know what to do next.
Second: a talkative 79-year-old seatmate on a flight who described a life of traveling to see girlfriends, pulling a Viagra out of his pocket mid-conversation to prove a point. The man sounded happy. He also didn’t sound like he was making the world better — at least not in the ways Steve values.
His tension was the question underneath both stories:
Is living well about feeling good … or about mattering?
Lyonsmith didn’t moralize, but she made Mather’s point of view clear through examples: the campaign amplifies people whose lives spill outward — service, coaching, mentorship, artistry, community-building. One Boldmaker she mentions is a Senior Olympian, but what makes him “bold” isn’t just athletic achievement — it’s using that platform to coach youth and open doors that change the trajectory of their lives.
Measuring Success Like Grown-Ups
This wasn’t just a creative project. It’s also research-backed.
Ledbetter explained that Mather chose high-traffic placements (like Roosevelt station) to maximize intergenerational exposure and impressions. And they’re measuring whether it’s working by surveying commuters — before, during, and after the campaign — to see whether attitudes about aging shift.
That’s notable in a world where “awareness campaigns” often stop at vibes and billboards. Mather is trying to find out whether the needle actually moves.
What Senior Living Can Steal (In the Best Way)
Late in the conversation, Steve turns the lens toward senior living operators watching from the sidelines, thinking, “This is cool… but what do I do with it?”
Lyonsmith’s answer wasn’t a packaged program — it was an invitation: start with storytelling, because humans have always used it to build meaning and connection.
She suggested that senior living communities could adapt the “Older Is Bolder” frame in dozens of ways: spoken-word nights (“I’m 89 years bold, and here’s my story”), podcasts, exhibitions, photography projects, bookmaking, performance art, creative engagement programming — anything that elevates identity over age and replaces “decline narratives” with real human stories.
Steve adds his own dream: senior living as a place where older adults don’t just “move in”… they gather strength and purpose — and then change the world for the generations behind them.
Where To See the Boldmakers
If there was one consistent call to action, it was this: go listen to the Boldmakers themselves.
The campaign’s home lives online — stories, videos, and an invitation for others to share their own “bold” word and bold age.
And the deeper invitation — especially for senior living leaders — is to stop treating aging as a problem to manage and start treating it as a story worth rewriting in public.
Watch the full Foresight TV livestream “Older Is Bolder: Rewriting the Story of Aging” HERE.

By Steve Moran
The entire senior living industry talks about how great senior living is:

How it makes the lives of older people better
How it gives older people a new lease on life
How we give older people purpose
How we create great experiences for older people
How we solve the loneliness problem

The list goes on and on.
And Yet …
I’ve been thinking about this for months and talking to people in senior living about it for the same period of time.
Senior living leaders are doing everything they can to ensure they NEVER have to live 
in senior living — at least not until they have no other choice.
There. I said it. The thing I’ve been afraid to put out there in print. I would love to have you prove me wrong!
Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is
If you need more proof, I want you to give me a list of retired senior living executives (or even executives who are not retired but over age 60) who have moved into senior living as a lifestyle choice.
I can name a few, but that number is fewer than the number of fingers I have on one hand— not counting my thumb.
It’s likely worse than that.
I’ve talked to dozens of people who work in senior living who have moved loved ones into senior living communities, where the experience has been mediocre to terrible. This, of course, is not universally true. I’ve had a series of events with my own family — some being terrible, some being mediocre, and some, including my stepfather’s current setting, really good. I can also name a handful of other leaders who have had really good experiences, mostly in communities they own.
But the exceptions prove the rule.
Rethinking Everything
I’ve spent a ton of time soul-searching about this, at times wondering if I’m a big fat hypocrite for being part of a business sector where I don’t want to be a customer.
Here’s what I’ve come up with (some of which is contradictory):

I believe that much like the death business (funeral homes, cemeteries), much of senior living is about necessity rather than lifestyle, and we simply need to be more honest about this reality. Even today, my stepfather is in senior living because it keeps him safer, and we simply couldn’t shoulder the burden of caring for him at home.
The reality is that for some people, senior living does represent living their very best life. This is true in spite of senior living executives mostly not believing in their own product.
Senior living needs to think more about the most important thing human beings need in order to thrive. The data is clear: it’s human connection. There’s a ton of research to back this up. (Watch for a future article on this topic.)
Senior living will never be home. (Watch for a future article on this topic.)
Senior living can be better than home, though rarely is. (Future article coming.)
We desperately need to be willing to rethink what we are today.

The Fundamental Question
We say that senior living is best for older people. But none of us believes it.
What does that tell you about what we’re selling?
What would you add to this list?

By Steve Moran
Most days, I’m pretty impressed with myself.
I built Foresight from nothing, grew it, sold it — and along the way we remained obsessed with our mission: improving the lives of the people who live and work in senior living. It’s meaningful work. Work that matters. 
Work people actually thank me for.
And they do. People tell me I’m doing something important. Sometimes I believe them.
But here’s the part nobody claps for:
My life is a quiet disaster too.
Not the dramatic kind, just a very ordinary disaster life that plagues both successful and not so successful people. Too many things I do just because I have always done them, and think I need to do them. The urgent stuff that too often is not all that important. 
Here is the scariest part:
From the outside, it still looks like a pretty good life.
Continue reading on Practical Passionate Leadership (Substack) for free.

By Steve Moran
I want to tell you about the best worst weekend I’ve had in a long time.
Two weeks ago, I was playing my little nine-hole par-three golf course after work. The kind of course where nobody’s keeping score, and everybody’s telling lies about their game. I felt good. Strong. The kind of good where you forget you’re getting older.
That lasted through Thursday evening.
Friday morning, I woke up with a fever. Not a bad one. Just enough to make everything feel wrong. I pushed through my workday anyway because that’s what we do, isn’t it? We push through. 
Saturday morning, I taught my kids at church, still feeling like warm garbage.
Saturday afternoon, my wife and I headed out of town for a long weekend. That’s when the fever decided to get serious. And the coughing started. The kind of coughing that makes you wonder if your lungs are trying to explode or escape.
My wife spent the weekend watching me sleep, cough, and apologize for ruining everything. She’s patient like that. More patient than I deserve.
When Pushing Through Isn’t Enough
I went to the doctor. Got more meds. The fever went down, but the coughing got worse. And now there was wheezing, which is never a good sign.
I hate being sick, and I hate being stupid even more.
So Saturday morning, instead of teaching my kids at church, I drove myself to the emergency room. They took one look at me and got serious in a way that made me realize I should have come sooner.
They drew blood from both arms — and friend, they drew a lot of it. Then came the long walk to a hallway bed. I’d been dreading that. The hallway bed. The place where they put you when there’s no room, when you’re not quite sick enough for privacy but too sick to send home.
Turns out, that hallway bed was the best seat in the house.
My Front Row Seat
A young paramedic student came over, nervous energy radiating off him like heat. He asked if he could start my IV. I could see he needed the practice. I could see he was scared of screwing up. I know that feeling, so I said yes.
He took his time. Found the vein. Lined up the needle. I didn’t watch — I never can, though I don’t know why.
He nailed it. Almost no pain.
I told him about my arm hair situation and the taping challenges it presents. He appreciated the heads-up.
Then came the IV steroids, the antibiotics, the breathing treatment, and the chest x-ray. Four hours of being worked on by people who do this every single day, for people like me who only show up when things get bad.
But here’s what I want to tell you about.
What I Saw
From my hallway bed at the intersection, facing the nursing station, I could see everything. Hear everything.
An older woman down the hall kept crying out. “I need help.” Then, “I gotta pee.” Over and over. I know they were helping her. I know she wasn’t being ignored. But she was suffering in a way I wasn’t. Her misery was bigger than mine.
Across from me, a young woman was getting her blood drawn. She had perfect pink nails. The kind you get done for special occasions. I heard her tell the phlebotomist she was supposed to be a bridesmaid in a wedding that afternoon. She’d come in from out of town for this wedding. I hope she made it, but I don’t think she did.
The PA system kept announcing stroke alerts. Cardiac events. Somewhere in this building, people were fighting for their lives while I was just fighting to breathe easier.
Another woman was on a hallway bed nearby. I could only see her feet. She’d taken a fall and couldn’t remember what happened. Her voice sounded confused and scared.
And I’m lying there thinking, “I’m the lucky one.”
The Gratitude List
I should have been in Arizona that week. Should have been at ASHA, having dinner with my teammate Jada Clint and the ProCareHR sales team. Should have been seeing old friends I haven’t seen in years.
But I’m not. I’m home in my easy chair, writing this.
And I’m thinking about history. About how pneumonia used to be a death sentence. How people would spend weeks or months in bed, if they survived at all. How my great-grandfather probably knew someone who died from what I’m recovering from in my living room.
I’m thinking about my insurance card and how this whole thing will cost me $90 plus $11 for medications, how I can pay for it online without thinking twice.
I’m thinking about how I’m well enough to sit here and write. To do my livestreams this week. To make phone calls, send emails, and be present for the people who matter.
I’m thinking about my wife, who watched me ruin a weekend and didn’t complain once.
I’m thinking about that paramedic student who got his IV placement right and probably felt like a champion for the rest of his shift.
I’m thinking about that woman with the pink nails and hoping she made it to that wedding.
Mostly, I’m thinking about how being sick enough to need help makes you realize how much worse it could be. How much worse it is for other people. How much better I have it than I usually admit.
The hallway bed taught me that.
You don’t get to choose when life knocks you down. But you do get to choose what you see while you’re down there.
And friend, if you look close enough, you’ll find the great hiding right there in the middle of the awful.
Where have you found it?

By Steve Moran
I recently came across this concept in David Brooks’ book “How to Know a Person” — one of the best books I’ve read in a long time.
If you really want to know me, you can’t simply see me as an older white guy (maybe even an old white guy) because if you do, you completely miss who I am.
At the same time …
If you work to simply see me as an individual without putting me in the context of my age, gender, and skin color, you also miss who I am.
Why the Anti-Ageism Movement Misses the Point
This is why I’m so unenamored with the Ashton Applewhite version of ageism. My age is real, and it’s a big part of who I am. So much of the anti-ageism movement seems to want to pretend that older people are just like younger people, except their appearance has changed. It couldn’t be further from the truth:

There are things I can’t do anymore that I used to do
I spend a lot more time and money on all things medical
There are things I’m not interested in doing anymore
I have many friends and relatives who have died
I can look to the future and, in more than a theoretical way, realize that I won’t always be here

The Gifts That Come With Age
At the same time:

I’m as happy as I’ve ever been
I know more things than I’ve ever known
I give better advice
I’m better at knowing when to keep my mouth shut (this one is still very much a work in progress)
I’m continuing to make the world a better place
I don’t worry nearly as much about money
I have grandkids who are the love of my life

Embracing Life’s Stages
The right truth is that the best thing we can do is see life as a series of stages and enjoy each stage for what it is, for the joy it brings. We get to choose to see what’s wrong or see what’s right. While I suppose it’s true that we need crusaders who are outraged by wrongs, even they can choose to see the good, the joyful. It’s not an either-or.
Dick Van Dyke Shows Us How To Do It
“The Times” recently published an article about Dick Van Dyke, who is turned 100 in December 2025. It’s a good look at growing old well. He openly talks about the negatives of aging (which are real) along with the positives and how he keeps “dancing his way through life.” Just a couple of quotes:
Referencing the roles he played, portraying an old man:

“Mostly, it’s the physical deterioration that feels accurate. Like my old characters, I am now a stooper, a shuffler and a teeterer. I have feet problems and I go supine as often as is politely possible.”
“I’ve made it to 99 in no small part because I have stubbornly refused to give into the bad stuff in life: failures and defeats, personal losses, loneliness and bitterness, the physical and emotional pains of ageing. That stuff is real but I have not let it define me. Instead, for the vast majority of my years, I have been in what I can only describe as a full-on bear hug with the experience of living.”
“Boiled down, the things that have kept my life joyful and fulfilling are pretty simple: romance, doing what I love and a whole lot of laughing. Let me show you what that looks like on the ground, as they say. To pull the ‘grumpy old man’ away from the TV, Arlene will dance along to the pharmaceutical ads. This gets me out of bed, following her to the kitchen. Invariably, one of us will start singing and the other will join in. And if it’s a good day, which it almost always is in our house, we’ll break into a little swaying and soft-shoe right there.”

You can find the entire article here: Dick Van Dyke at 100: my rules for a long, healthy, happy life

Submitted by Jack Cumming but, mostly, written by Artificial Intelligence
Congruent minds think alike. This article was ready to submit, when I found that Steve Moran had had a similar idea. There are similarities, and there are differences. What’s needed is an entity like, say, Acts Retirement Communities, which is in the process of a leadership change to give this “new thinking” life.
Not long ago, I went to artificial intelligence with a question that has confounded me for many years. The question was:

“What would be the senior living industry that an aging person might hope for if the industry were dedicated to the welfare of those who are fit of body and mind as they approach old age and who are looking for empowerment and independence for as long as they are able?”

As is often the case, the response was far more thoughtful and cogent than I might have expected. AI, in this case DeepSeek, never ceases to amaze me. Here’s the answer to the question of what an idealized senior living industry might look like. We can note at the outset that such an industry would be one that its servants, those who build their careers in the industry, might welcome for their own later years. DeepSeek replied:
Based on your vision, this would be an industry fundamentally reimagined around the principles of active aging, empowerment, and lifelong purpose. It would shift from a model of “care and decline” to one of “engagement and possibility.”
This ideal industry would be called something like:The Empowerment & Active Longevity Community Network
Its core pillars would include:

Philosophy & Culture:

“Aging in Community, Not in Place”: Moving beyond just physical safety (“aging in place”) to fostering a dynamic, intergenerational community that provides social fuel and relevance.
Strength-Based Model: Focus on what people can do and want to learn, not on their limitations. Residents are seen as contributors, mentors, and co-creators.
Autonomy as Default: Every service and design choice assumes capability. Support is available but invisible and non-intrusive, activated by choice.

Physical Environment & Housing:

Universal Design that Inspires: Beautiful, accessible homes and communities that feel like modern, vibrant neighborhoods, not institutions. Features like step-free entries, lever handles, and smart home tech are integrated seamlessly. [JBC: Such homes can be units in a communal structure as single-family houses give way to more ecologically responsible living norms.]
Multi-Generational Hubs: Communities intentionally blended with childcare centers, artist studios, small business incubators, and colleges to ensure cross-pollination of ideas and energy.
Advanced Wellness Infrastructure: On-site fitness centers with trainers specializing in longevity science, swimming pools, physical therapy, and preventive health clinics.
Agrihoods & Green Spaces: Integration of community gardens, walking trails, and access to nature for physical and mental well-being.

Services & Empowerment Offerings:

Lifelong Learning & Innovation Labs: Partnerships with universities for continued education, along with maker-spaces, tech workshops (e.g., coding, AI, VR), and creative arts studios.
Purpose & Encore Career Counseling: Dedicated advisors to help residents launch social enterprises, consult, mentor, volunteer, or turn passions into projects.
Advanced Mobility & Freedom: On-site car-sharing of accessible vehicles, community EVs, and partnerships with autonomous vehicle services when ready. Easy access to public transit and adventure travel planning.
Healthspan Optimization: Proactive health coaching, nutritionists, on-site medical care focused on prevention (cognitive health screenings, fitness metrics, metabolic health), and seamless integration with high-quality external healthcare systems when needed.
Peer-Led Governance & Co-Creation: Residents have significant say in community operations, activities, and even new developments through councils and committees.

Technology as an Empowerment Tool:

Discreet Health & Safety Monitoring: Wearables and ambient sensors that provide data to the user for self-optimization, with emergency alert fallbacks. Privacy is paramount.
Digital Connection Platforms: Curated platforms to manage community engagements, form interest groups, and connect with family and the wider world.
Robotics for Tedious Tasks: Adoption of assistive robots for housecleaning, lawn mowing, or heavy lifting to preserve energy for meaningful activities.

Financial & Social Models:

Flexible, Tiered Membership Models: Options ranging from ownership (co-housing, condos) to rental, with à la carte service packages. The goal is to avoid a massive, lump-sum buy-in that locks away capital.
Intergenerational Equity Partnerships: Models that allow younger generations to invest in or share community resources, breaking age-based segregation.
Strong Social Capital: The community itself is designed to be the primary “safety net” — a network of friends, neighbors, and peers who naturally look out for one another, reducing the need for formalized care.

In essence, this industry would not be a “senior living industry” at all. It would be a Human Potential in Later Life Industry.
The person you describe wouldn’t be looking for a “retirement home.” They would be seeking a Launchpad for Their Next Chapter — a vibrant, supportive, and resource-rich community designed to maximize their freedom, growth, and contribution for as long as possible. The industry’s success would be measured not in occupancy rates, but in residents’ reported sense of purpose, autonomy, and joy.
End of AI generated response. My question is whether creating this kind of experience could be the key to the future of aging and whether it would be as profitable as today’s industry norms have been. Since DeepSeek, the AI platform that created this dream, is based in China, one wonders if China will evolve such a vision before the United States does, or vice versa. What do you think? Let us know below.

By Jack Cumming
The first time a person attends the Annual LeadingAge Conference can seem overwhelming. It’s huge. There are so many events. Music is playing. People are milling everywhere. And then, there’s the exhibit hall.
Overwhelming
Walking from the corridors, teeming with attendees, into the massive space and innumerable booths of the exhibit hall gives one a quick glimpse of how huge the senior living industry is. There are so many vendors there, seeking notice and patronage. If the first impression of the conference was overwhelming, walking into the exhibit hall takes it up a notch.
Right at the front, the most noticeable booths are those of the investment bankers specializing in senior living and their development colleagues. The investment bankers raise the money, and the developers put it to work expanding existing communities or developing new ones. Senior housing is capital-intensive, meaning it takes a lot of money, and this is where the money is to be found and put to use.
The Big Money Questions
This open evidence of money everywhere leads one to think about the money ethics of the industry.

Is it ethical to claim tax exemption for organizations that require proof of wealth before resident beneficiaries can move in?
Is it ethical to use contractually required entrance fees as at-risk equity capital?
Is it ethical to promise lifetime benefits without holding full reserves specifically to meet those deferred late-life obligations, including residence?
Is it acceptable that most of those who structure and govern senior living communities choose not to live in them when they, themselves, become eligible?
Is it ethical to market “continuing care” or “life plan” without licensure and the capability to provide all stages of care implicit in those terms?
How would the industry stand up to an intensive and well-publicized inquiry into its practices and beliefs?

A distraction into an alternative universe can give us a glimpse into how such a public event might play out. Here’s how.
An Alternative Money Universe
Financial concentration is not new. We can examine its universality and temptations in the form of an alternative universe. No one now living exists in that alternative universe. We’re not thinking here of science fiction but of history with real events, real players, and real outcomes. The takeaway: with concentrated wealth comes opportunity, but also the possibility for clever transactions. Clever can be rationalized, while opportunity is the path of wisdom.
A quick story can explain this more clearly. It’s the story of how I came to realize the wisdom of avoiding clever subterfuge. As a young man, I was studying for actuarial exams. After work every evening, I would go to the library on the 14th floor of the New York Life building on Madison Avenue, find a small table in an alcove, and settle in to study.
A Distraction
As is often the case when one concentrates on a difficult task, distractions would present themselves. Most often, it was the books on the shelves of that isolated alcove. That’s where I discovered the transcripts of the “Joint Committee of the Senate and Assembly of this State of New York appointed to investigate the affairs of life insurance companies transmitted to the legislature, February 22, 1906.”
The investigation was called the Armstrong Investigation, for short, after the chair of the committee, and the hearings were held in the Aldermanic Chambers of New York City to ensure easy attendance by witnesses and maximum coverage by the media of the time. The daily proceedings created the leading news stories day after day as the hearings took place.
Since I was building a career in life insurance, naturally, I read that avidly when I should have been immersed in mathematics. Math can never have the fascination that the maneuverings of people have. The great Charles Evans Hughes was the counsel for the committee. History thus gives us this completed example of what can occur in an alternative universe that is a mirror of our own.
Scandal or Mere Lack of Understanding?
It turned out that there had been scurrilous abuses of authority by some of the leading businesspeople of the age. It caused great scandal, and it took the life insurance industry twenty years to recover from the mistrust aroused.
New York Life, my employer, was a mutual company, owned by its customers and run assiduously for their benefit. I resolved then and there to adhere to that premise of customer service as a lodestar and to be ready if ever needed to stand to account as Charles Evans Hughes long ago called those self-absorbed men (they were virtually all men) to account.
The money names from that faraway past are still with us today. J. P. Morgan is now part of Chase Bank, but Equitable Life, New York Life, and Goldman Sachs still do business under those names. Kuhn, Loeb eventually merged into Lehman Brothers, and its remnants were absorbed into American Express.
Personalities
Consider, though, the fascinating players in the 1905 drama. George Walbridge Perkins was simultaneously vice president of New York Life and a partner of J. P. Morgan. Let that sink in for a minute. Imagine Morgan lending securities to New York Life overnight on the last day of the year in order to dress up New York Life’s balance sheet.
It would be as if Dan Herman of Ziegler and Mark Andrews of Greystone were the same person. Of course, then it was about the ties between the source of funds and their facilitation. Now, it is more about the links between facilitating finances and their use. Money is all about sources and uses.
For those who may not have time to delve deeply into the transcript, the examination of George Walbridge Perkins is indicative both of naïveté and self-dealing in that alternative universe of long ago. For that purpose, I recommend starting on page 856 of Volume I of the transcript referenced earlier. We get to know Mr. Perkins very quickly. It would be an understatement to say that he is self-assured.
Think of the contrast between a man who deals in millions and a clerk, Milton Monroe Mattison, who is paid $10 a week. I was struck by Mr. Mattison’s proud statement at one point about a transaction that netted many hundreds of thousands of dollars: “We … made a very handsome profit …” We can only imagine what this modest servant thought when testifying on behalf of Mr. Perkins and his Midas touch.
It’s Still Relevant
As I was rereading this testimony recently, I couldn’t help but think that people like Dan Hermann, who are still active in financial dealings today, would find the reading as fascinating as I did then, so many years ago. Frankly, I learned more that was of value to my career from this reading distraction than I did from what I should have been studying.
The thinking of those who then confronted similar ethical and equitable challenges to those of today is best learned from their own utterance. Charles Evans Hughes’s probing of their convictions and why they held them raises that thinking to a much higher level.
Lessons Learned
What will you learn if you take time to obtain and peruse this fascinating set of tomes? First, I learned early in my career to be open in all that I do. I decided then that I would conduct my life so that I would be no more than embarrassed if everything I had done were to come to light. Yes, there are things of which I am ashamed. For instance, I made a fearful mistake in marrying unwisely at a young age. That’s an embarrassment, but I’ve been very blessed in my marriage with my second wife, Valerie.
Second, it reinforced a bit of wry wisdom that I had from my father. My father used to give joking advice. “Don’t marry for money,” he adjured, “but go where the money is.” That’s still true today. If you aspire to wealth, then go where wealth is to be found. Wealth is found in the money concentration that facilitates the sourcing of money to be used for constructive purposes.
My son once worked as a paralegal for a prominent Wall Street law firm. That was nearly fifty years ago. As a young man, my son was discussing money with a law partner. The partner advised him, “If you want money, go to investment banking. I draw about $800,000 a year (think 1983), while my counterpart at Goldman Sachs receives $5 Million.” The impression left by that massive exhibit hall at the LeadingAge Annual Conference is one of money.
Beyond Money
In case you’re curious, I can share that my son never did get rich. Instead, most of his career was as an attorney in service to the California Supreme Court and, for a stint, the D.C. Circuit Court of Appeals. I’m very proud of his accomplishments.
To conclude, it’s not true that money doesn’t matter. Money represents the quantification of human endeavor and achievement. It matters. Integrity, though, matters more and is the more difficult to pursue. Integrity requires that we know what is ethical and equitable in any given situation, and that is not always clear.
The only way to end this is to quote Goethe from his masterwork, Faust, which deals with these matters. Goethe concludes by having God declare, “Wer immer strebend sich bemüht, den können wir erlösen,“ which translates as, “Salvation comes to those who strive as best they can.”
Nancy Reagan famously counseled Ronald Reagan to answer pointed accusatory questions simply with, “We’re doing the best we can.” That’s all that is asked and all that is needed. Click here for a paper describing the Armstrong investigation and its impact. Imagine how such a thorough investigation of today’s senior housing might play out.

By Steve Moran
I’ve been playing around with AI, asking it all kinds of questions. Some fun, some practical, and some crazy wild. Last week I saw the story about Elon Musk being offered a trillion-dollar pay package and got to thinking … “If Elon Musk set his sights on senior living, what would that look like?”
So I prompted ChatGPT: “Imagine you’re Elon Musk thinking about what life will be like in your 70s, 80s, and 90s. What would you create to age well?”
The AI Went Full Elon
The response came back pretty much like you would expect:
“I can imagine something like this: Elon’s senior living would probably have some super sleek, futuristic architecture — like glass domes and self-sustaining ecosystems. You’d have AI-driven robotic caregivers, maybe humanoid bots, helping with daily tasks and companionship.”
Of course. Glass domes. Because nothing says “comfortable aging” like living in a terrarium.
But there was more:
“Transportation would be all self-driving Tesla shuttles or even Hyperloop connections between campuses. And of course, there’d be a big focus on renewable energy — solar panels everywhere and maybe even some SpaceX tech for communication or entertainment, like direct streaming from Mars.”
I’m contemplating this and thinking, “Who the hell wants to stream from Mars when they’re 85?”
But here’s where it got interesting.
I Pushed It Further
I asked the AI to go deeper into the resident experience. And suddenly it started painting this picture of radical personalization:
“You’d have AI assistants monitoring health but in a super subtle way, so it feels like magic. Maybe wearables that detect needs before residents even notice them — adjusting the room’s lighting, temperature, even aromas to keep them comfortable and calm.”
“And mentally, there’d be stimulating programs with VR headsets — so even if you have mobility issues, you could go on ‘spacewalks’ or visit any place on Earth virtually. Plus, maybe some brain-training AI to keep minds sharp.”
This was better than Mars streaming, but still pretty out there. And yet, this idea that technology could anticipate needs before someone even recognizes them? That’s compelling.
Daily Life in Musk’s Vision
The AI kept working:
“It wouldn’t be about just passing time. Imagine each day starting with some sort of personal adventure — you could work on collaborative projects like designing robots, writing, or even helping with space-related experiments. There would be no ‘old age’ vibe — more like a futurist think tank.”
“Social activities would be next level — imagine playing zero-gravity sports or even having AI-powered storytelling sessions.”
I’m not so sure about zero-gravity sports for 80-year-olds.
But strip away the absurdity, and maybe we’re onto something: the complete rejection of “senior living” as we know it. No bingo. No bus trips to the mall. Instead, this vision of a place where older adults are still creating, still contributing, still pushing boundaries.
The marketing would be genius too:
“Instead of focusing on care, you’d focus on the community’s mission. It would be positioned as the place where older adults go to be pioneers of the future. You’d market it with stories of residents making real contributions, not just living there. It would be aspirational — ‘join the community where you can still change the world.'”
This one actually gave me chills. Because it’s the exact opposite of how we think about and market senior living now, which is basically, “Come here to be comfortable while you decline.”
Then I Asked the Question That Changed Everything
Something big was still missing. I kept thinking about my own experiences moving family members through senior living communities. Beautiful buildings. Great amenities. Crushing loneliness.
So I pushed the AI: “But what about friendships? What about human connection?”
The response came back with buddy systems. Small neighborhoods within the larger community. Mentorship programs with younger people.
And then this line: “Inviting younger people to come in and learn from residents.”
Come in. Visit.
That word bothered me.
The Real Question
So I asked: “What if it wasn’t a senior living community at all? What if young families, college students, and older adults all lived together — not visiting, but actually living as neighbors?”
The AI’s response shifted entirely:
“Yes, exactly! That would be amazing. A community where everyone lives together, not just visits. Imagine a high-rise where you’ve got young families, college students, and older adults all living side-by-side, sharing amenities like maker spaces, gardens, and maybe even childcare.”
“Older adults could mentor younger people in life skills, and in turn, younger people could bring energy, help with tech, or just be there as friends. It would break down those barriers of age and make it feel like one big family, where everyone has a role and a purpose.”
That’s what I was looking for. Buried beneath all the glass domes and Mars streaming and zero-gravity sports, the actual answer. The human answer.
The problem isn’t that we need better senior living communities.
The problem is that we have senior living communities at all.
What This Thought Experiment Actually Revealed
Here’s what struck me after this whole conversation: The AI, pretending to be Elon Musk, immediately went to technology solutions. Robots. VR. AI companions. Self-driving cars.
All the innovation focused on making isolation more comfortable.
But when I pushed it toward thinking about (does AI think? I’m not sure) human connection, toward actual integration of ages, the tone changed. It wasn’t about innovation anymore. It was about returning to something humans have always done naturally — living in mixed-age communities where everyone has value, and everyone has a role.
We don’t need glass domes.
We need 25-year-olds living down the hall from 82-year-olds.
Why This Matters
The entire premise of this AI exercise — “What would a billionaire innovator build?” — led exactly where you’d expect: more stuff, better stuff, smarter stuff.
But when I pushed past the stuff to the actual problem — loneliness, isolation, loss of purpose — the solution wasn’t innovation at all.
It was integration.
For 99% of human history, multiple generations lived together. Then we invented retirement communities and convinced ourselves that segregating people by age was progress.
What if it’s not?
The Technology We Actually Need
After all this conversation about robots and VR and Mars, here’s what I think we actually need:
Buildings designed for universal accessibility that don’t look institutional. Shared spaces that give people reasons to interact. Economic models that make it possible for people at different income levels and life stages to live together.
And most importantly: a willingness to admit that the last 60 years of age-segregated living should be seen as an experiment that’s not as successful as we pretend it is.
What Musk Would Actually Build (If He Were Honest)
If Elon Musk really applied first-principles thinking to aging, I don’t think he’d build a senior living community with better technology.
He’d look at the fundamental problem — humans are social creatures who need connection across generations — and he’d build neighborhoods where 5-year-olds and 85-year-olds might both be learning to garden on the same afternoon.
Not because it’s innovative.
Because it’s how humans are supposed to live.
The AI taught me something I didn’t expect: we keep trying to innovate our way out of problems that innovation created in the first place.
Sometimes the solution is just going back to what worked before we got too clever.

By Steve Moran
I am not at all quite sure what is happening to me when it comes to the LeadingAge National Convention. It is for sure not the fault of LeadingAge.
Last year (2024) I had my flights booked, an Airbnb reservation, and a bunch of events lined up. Three days before my departure date, I came down with Covid. I sat around the house browsing all the photos, which was its own kind of self-torture.
I was determined this year would be different.
The Setup
Flights booked, hotel reserved, plans made. It was my third conference in three weeks, and I had been dragging through all of them. I just didn’t feel like my usual high-energy self. I chalked it up to being older, having attended maybe 200 conferences in the last 10 years, and having a lot of moving parts in my life.
I landed in Boston just before midnight, made it to my hotel, and was asleep by about 1 am. Skipped the earliest breakouts, and as soon as I hit the convention center, I started running into old friends, but I simply didn’t feel right, perhaps like I was walking in a fog.
Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday I was just dragging. More sitting and staring out into space than any conference I had ever attended. I felt like I was in a kind of zombie state.
Did a few short videos, dragged through a few rows of tradeshow booths, and found each human interaction was so, so hard.
When Everything Fell Apart
I went back to my hotel on Tuesday evening, planning on heading out to some evening events. I was so tired, I had a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup, and was in bed by 9 pm, sure I would be fresh and ready to go for a 9:30 am breakfast meeting with an old friend.
The night was terrible. Couldn’t sleep, my stomach was in fits, slight fever. I wondered if I should go to the emergency room, but the thought of being in the hospital 3,000 miles from home was as unbearable as being sick.
Wednesday, I woke up feeling worse. Canceled my breakfast. Moved my flight to Wednesday afternoon and begged the hotel to let me stay until it was time to head for the airport. Thank you, Courtyard Marriott, for doing that.
My wife made a doctor’s appointment for me first thing in the morning, and by 9 pm Wednesday, I was in bed, vacillating between thinking I was going to die and hoping I would.
The Long Road to Answers
I canceled all my work obligations, including my Friday livestream, and instead spent those two days sleeping and attending medical appointments.
By Friday afternoon, it seemed pretty clear I had some bleeding going on in my stomach. The doctor gave me two options: go to the hospital and start the process of getting an endoscopy, or wait until after the weekend, and he would get me a stat appointment for the procedure on Monday, giving my body a chance to heal on its own.
At first I picked the stay-at-home option, but after talking it over with my wife, I decided the hospital was a better option.
More blood tests, with the results all showing the same thing — a bleed someplace, but probably my stomach. Lots of prep through the night; couldn’t sleep, couldn’t get warm. Finally, early in the morning, my wife brought me my cold-weather backpacking down sleeping bag, and for the first time in many hours, I stopped shivering.
Saturday morning found me in the GI lab with cameras being shoved down my throat and up my butt. Yes, I was sound asleep.
What 4,000 Words Per Minute Sounds Like
Researchers speculate that the voices running through our head play at a rate of around 4,000 words a minute — compared to speaking 110-150 words per minute. They were full speed ahead all night long. While I had no fear that I was in imminent danger of dying, I kept wondering if they were going to find something massively wrong with me that would shorten my life and degrade the quality of the rest of my life.
I was at least mildly scared, and my wife was much more scared than I was.
It has been said that human suffering can be a powerful time of introspection and enlightenment.
Here’s What I Learned:
Family is more important than anything. I knew my wife would be there no matter what.
I was more worried about them than myself. I was more worried about the impact something terrible would have on my wife and the rest of my family than the impact it would have on me.
I have lived a good life. My life has been far from perfect, but a good life, one where I have had joy and pleasure and made a positive impact on the lives of others. If I died, I would not feel like I wasted my life.
People showed up. I posted on Facebook with some reluctance, but felt like I needed prayers. I was overwhelmed by the number of people who responded, who said in effect, “I am worried about you,” “I am thinking about you,” “I am praying for you,” “I have your back.”
Love is tangible. I was touched by the number of people who were willing to drop everything and come help with anything I might need help with.
Wealth can’t fix everything. No matter how much money and power you have, when your body betrays you, wealth and power do you little to no good. This has particularly hit home as I manage my stepfather’s affairs. While his wealth affords him the very best senior living available, that wealth can’t fix his Alzheimer’s; it can’t fix the reality that most of his friends have passed.
Legacy is measured in lives touched. I was reminded that the most valuable thing I can do as a human being is to improve the lives of others, and that in doing so, I will live on. Those acts of kindness and caring are the ultimate legacy that I and others can leave.
The signs were there. I realized this started weeks before it came to a head. Even so, I am not sure there was anything I could do about it until it got as bad as it did.
After The Storm
I am a week past hospital discharge and feeling close to normal. There will be more tests and more scopes at shorter intervals, at least for a while. I am not sure I could have done things a lot differently, except maybe going to the hospital while in Boston (one of my emergency room doctors chided me for not doing that).
I continue to live the best life I can, except with slightly more urgency to love my family and friends more and a renewed commitment to making the world a better place

By Steve Moran
I’m not quite sure this is a senior living article or even a leadership article, but I feel compelled to pen these words.
As human beings, we are happiest when we’re connected with and engaged with other human beings. It’s better than any luxury hotel, magnificent meal, exotic travel, movie, concert, or museum — better than anything else.
Thanks to social media, technology, and more recently AI, we’re being seductively lured into believing we can be happy with enough stuff, enough experiences, and enough technology. In truth, those things are doing major, irreparable damage to our souls.
The Turning Tide
I had four experiences over the last week that suggest we’re turning the tide. That we’re figuring out that in-person human connection is the most important thing. That we’re saying no to social media, no to technology, no to AI — at least when it comes to living good, productive, happy lives.
The Train Man
If you’ve ever considered taking the train for fun, the first couple of weeks in December are the time to do it. Fewer people, and both passengers and train personnel are more relaxed. But as always seems to be true, trains still run late.
I got to the departure station in Minneapolis heading to Milwaukee about 30 minutes before departure, which stretched to more than an hour. I was waiting, kind of browsing my phone and people-watching, when a guy close to my age sat down next to me.
He engaged me in conversation, and we shared life together for the next 30 minutes. Pretty soon, someone else came along and joined the conversation. That lasted until it was time to board. It was way better than our devices.
The Neighborhood Party
I live in a small, dead-end neighborhood with 25 homes. Several years ago, one of our neighbors threw a little Christmas party that we attended, but hardly anyone else came. It was kind of a bummer.
When I saw they were doing it again, I knew we would go as a neighborly obligation, but I wasn’t looking forward to it. This time, everyone showed up, and it was an amazing couple of hours of human connection.
Life Savings for a Diner
I came across a lovely story that may or may not be true about an older woman who liquidated her entire life savings to purchase and revitalize an old diner in an effort to save human connections. It’s an easy read that will fill your heart.
Norman
Again on Facebook, I read another story about Norman, a 73-year-old hospital parking attendant who started saving parking spots — not for the important people, but for people who were in crisis. As the story is told, he transforms the lives of so many people at a time of immense need.
Again, I have no idea if the story is true. I suspect not, but it doesn’t really matter. It will feed your soul.
What This Means
Both stories have resonated powerfully with vast numbers of people, and this is true because we’re discovering something crucial: the things we’ve been lured into thinking will make us happy fill time but empty our souls.
We’re waking up. And that makes me hopeful for humanity.

By Steve Moran
This article was inspired by my “Senior Living by Elon Musk” thought experiment
Walk into any senior living community in America, and you’ll see the same thing.
Dining rooms full of people in their 80s and 90s. Activity calendars designed for people in their 80s and 90s — or what much younger activity directors think 80- and 90-year-olds want, though I often think they don’t really get it. And the fact that these activities are poorly attended would suggest I’m right. (I want to add that this is not a condemnation of life enrichment directors but rather of the system and what is expected of them by leadership.)
Everyone is the same age. Everyone is in the same life stage. Everyone is marching toward the same ending.
We call this community.
I call it the most expensive loneliness money can buy.
How We Got Here
For most of human history, multiple generations lived together because that’s just how life worked. Grandparents, parents, kids — all under the same roof or in the same village.
Nobody thought about it. Nobody questioned it. It was simply how humans organized themselves.
And the research data confirms that even today, the thing that makes humans happy — from extroverts to introverts — is human connection.
Then America got wealthy. We invented retirement. We built suburbs that required cars. We created entire communities designed exclusively for “active adults,” or “independent seniors,” or whatever marketing term made age segregation sound like freedom.
And we convinced ourselves this was progress.
That giving older adults their own separate space, away from the chaos of children and the stress of younger people’s problems, was somehow dignified and respectful.
But here’s what nobody talks about: it’s killing them.
The Problem Nobody Wants to Name
I’ve moved family members through multiple senior living communities. Beautiful places. Great amenities. Professional staff. Everything the brochures promised.
And they were lonely as hell.
Not because the communities were bad. Because everyone there was facing the same losses, the same declining abilities, and the same awareness of time running out.
When everyone around you is 87, you’re constantly reminded that you’re 87.
When your social circle consists entirely of people who are also losing spouses, losing mobility, and losing independence — that’s not community. That’s a support group you can never leave.
What Actually Works (That We’re Ignoring)
In the Netherlands, several nursing homes offer free housing to college students. The deal is simple: live here, spend 30 hours a month with elderly residents.
Have dinner together. Watch movies. Talk. Help with technology. Just be present.
Students get affordable housing in expensive Dutch cities. Elderly residents get something no amount of money can buy — friendships with people who aren’t counting down their remaining years.
The residents become more active. More engaged. Happier.
The students learn things they’ll never get in a classroom.
This isn’t charity. This isn’t a program. It’s just people of different ages living near each other and forming relationships that benefit everyone.
You know, like humans have always done.
The Uncomfortable Truth About Senior Living
The entire industry is built on a premise nobody wants to examine: older adults are fundamentally different from everyone else and need specialized environments. This is partly right. They are different, but not nearly as different as these specialized environments would suggest.
They don’t need to live exclusively with their age group any more than 35-year-olds need to live exclusively with other 35-year-olds. In fact, can you imagine what kind of special hell it would be if society required all 35-year-olds to only live with other 35-year-olds?
Older people are actually much less likely to need to live with other older people than any other age group.
Because when you’re 35, your life is expanding. New career opportunities. Maybe starting a family. Building toward something.
When you’re 75 in a senior living community, your world is contracting. Friends are dying. Abilities are declining. The future is shorter than the past.
Surrounding someone in that situation with only people experiencing the same contraction doesn’t create community. It creates an echo chamber of loss.
What Integration Actually Looks Like
Imagine a building designed for people of all ages:
The ground floor has shared spaces. A commercial kitchen. Workshop. Maker space. A childcare area that’s not separated from an older people area, because children and older people actually enjoy each other when we stop keeping them apart. (If you need proof, watch me and my grandkids or any pairing of grandparents and grandkids.)
Upper floors are mixed. Studios for students. One-bedrooms for singles and couples of any age. Larger units for families. Everything designed for universal accessibility, but nothing that screams “institutional.”
Young people pay less rent but contribute time to the community. Older residents pay market rate or higher but receive support when needed. Everyone shares common spaces and daily rhythms.
A 25-year-old helps an 80-year-old with technology (more of a stereotype than I would like, but still somewhat true). The 80-year-old teaches the 25-year-old to cook their grandmother’s recipes. A retired teacher tutors kids after school. A young parent brings their toddler to the shared playroom, where several residents have volunteered for the morning.
And imagine the interpersonal wisdom. “I don’t know what to do when my baby won’t stop screaming.” “My girlfriend just dumped me; now what do I do?”
Not a program. Not a visit. Just neighbors living near each other, offering what they can, receiving what they need.
Why This Isn’t Happening
The barriers aren’t technical or financial. We know how to build accessible buildings. We know how to structure mixed-income housing. We know how to create shared spaces that encourage interaction.
The barrier is our collective belief that age segregation is normal.
Zoning laws effectively mandate it, and so do regulations. Financing structures assume it. Marketing reinforces it.
The entire senior living industry depends on it.
And families accept it because we’ve been told for 60 years that moving Mom to a “senior community” is the right thing to do.
But what if it’s not?
What Your Parents Actually Need
As an older person, I know what I want and maybe need. A compound — me and my wife in one house and my kids and grandkids in their own home right next to my home. Not elaborate, just the end of a cul-de-sac.
They/we don’t need a community center with better activities.
They don’t need a dining room with tablecloths and assigned seating.
They don’t need to live exclusively with people who remember the same historical events and share the same cultural references.
They need a 6-year-old down the hall who asks them to read stories.
They need a 30-year-old neighbor who needs advice about whether to take the new job.
They need to feel useful to people who aren’t their age. Who aren’t facing their challenges. Who still have expanding lives that could benefit from their experience.
They need to be reminded daily that age is just one part of who they are, not the defining characteristic that determines where and how they live.
The Honest Question
If living exclusively with your own age group sounds depressing at 75, why did we decide it was a good idea?
If you wouldn’t want to live in a community where everyone was exactly your age, why are we doing this to older adults?
The answer isn’t complicated: because we built an industry around it. Because real estate developers could charge premiums for it. Because it was easier to segregate than to integrate.
Not because it was better for anyone.
What Comes Next
Intergenerational living isn’t a radical new idea. It’s how humans lived for thousands of years before we got wealthy enough to segregate ourselves by age.
Models exist. They work. College students living in nursing homes in the Netherlands. Cohousing communities across the US where families and retirees share buildings. Multigenerational housing developments in several countries.
The question isn’t whether this can work.
The question is whether we’re willing to admit that 60 years of age-segregated senior living was a mistake.
A profitable mistake for the industry. A convenient mistake for busy families. A well-intentioned mistake by people who thought they were creating dignity.
But still a mistake.