Nobody warned me that anxiety after 65 would come with its own AARP discount. You’d think that after decades of surviving jobs, kids, bills, in-laws, caretaking, widowhood and whatever that was in the back of the fridge, I’d be immune. But no. Anxiety has apparently decided I’m worthy of its long-term timeshare.

Recently, I was asked to help with an event in our very small town that has been a very big deal for sixty-five years.

Being asked to help with an event in lovely. But I soon became overwhelmed with details, as I said yes to more and more and more… Well. You get it. My anxiety first heard the word event and began a PowerPoint presentation of, “101 Ways This Could go Wrong”.

My normal brain replied, “It’ll all be fine!” But anxiety reminded me that the community thinks this is such a huge tradition, that if I fail, I may need to move to a new state.

I know me well enough to know that I would definitely be over-prepared, which is basically the same thing as being confident, just with more sweating. After all, this is as important as hosting the Super Bowl or planning the Met Gala!

But there are always new triggers for anxiety, it seems. Sometimes even the trivial things seem overwhelming.

The New Triggers

• Mail. Not just bills. All mail. Every envelope is now a potential summons, medical bill, or worse: a notice that my prescription refill has been denied because apparently I’ve “already picked it up.”
• Technology. Passwords, apps, two-factor authentication. I’m not trying to hack the Pentagon, I just want to order socks online without being interrogated like a spy.
• Doctor visits. Why do they always say, “Let’s run a few tests,” with the same tone you’d use to say, “Let’s play Russian roulette”?
• Social Media. So much information. So much Drama. Did I just post that on the wrong timeline? Do I even know this person? Their profile picture is either so filtered I don’t recognize them or it is fuzzier than an image of a UFO siting.
• Cars. At 65+, every little noise in the car sounds like the opening notes of your bank account draining. “Is that a rattle? A squeak? Do I need a new engine? Or maybe it’s just my hearing aid buzzing?” By the time the mechanic tells me it’s only a $40 fix, I’ve already mentally sold the car for parts and signed up to ride the OATS bus and aired the tires on the bike in the garage.

The Classics Don’t Go Away

Anxiety still shows up for the usual suspects: did I lock the door? Did I unplug my curling iron? Will the neighbors care I haven’t cut the grass and trimmed the weeds? Is the opossum residing on my deck at night rabid?

Coping Skills at 65+

The bright side? I’ve got senior-level coping strategies:

• Nap it out. If you nap during the anxious moment, chances are the crisis will either resolve itself or at least look fuzzier when you wake up.
• Pretend it’s cardio. Heart racing? Palms sweating? Congratulations, you’ve just completed your daily workout without even putting on sneakers.
• Perspective. At this age, I can honestly say: “Well, if it kills me, at least I don’t have to file next year’s taxes.”
• As my friend reminded me after “the event” when I complained that I was too old for all this. We have a lot to bring to the table as far as experience and expertise.

Final Thought

Anxiety may have followed me into retirement, but I’ve decided to treat it like an eccentric roommate. It’s loud, inconvenient, and eats all the snacks—but hey, at least it keeps things interesting. And really, if I can survive polyester jumpsuits, station wagons with wood paneling, spiral perms and disco, I can survive this too.

Donetta’s Takeaway

Here’s the thing I’ve finally learned: anxiety lies, but experience tells the truth.

Anxiety whispers that every mistake will be remembered forever, every challenge is too big, and every “yes” could become a disaster. Experience gently reminds me that I’ve handled hard things before. I’ve buried people I loved, started over, solved problems I never saw coming, and somehow kept putting one foot in front of the other.

Maybe growing older doesn’t mean we stop feeling anxious. Maybe it means we stop believing everything anxiety says.

So now, when it starts rehearsing worst-case scenarios, I try to smile and say, “Thank you for your concern, but I’ve been doing impossible things for more than six decades. I think I’ve got this.”

And if I don’t? Well… there’s always tomorrow, a good friend, a hot cup of coffee, and possibly a nap. Sometimes that’s more than enough.