Sue Pimento

I have a confession to make. My wife Bonnie and I are addicts. Not the kind that requires an intervention, exactly, but close. We are addicted to home improvement. We are always planning the next upgrade, the next project, the next thing to tear apart and make better. It gives us genuine pleasure and a profound sense of accomplishment. Bonnie leads most of these endeavours. She is remarkably capable with power tools and can pull off a tool belt like she is strutting down a Home Depot runway (aisle). Our shared obsession has even spawned a series of Facebook posts called the 2 Capable Women, where we document everything from felling trees to the deeply humbling art of Ikea assembly. So there we were, driving in traffic, and Bonnie was telling me about her next project: removing the circa-1960 wood panelling and replacing it with modern shiplap. Mid-conversation, she went quiet for a moment and said, almost to herself, “I guess I need to allow myself the grace to fail.” I nearly drove off the road. You must understand something about Bonnie. She is a self-declared perfectionist. Not casually. She is committed to being a perfectionist at being a perfectionist. So, hearing those words come out of her mouth, unprompted, while discussing a renovation project, was like hearing your accountant quote Oprah. It stopped me completely. The truth has a certain ring to it. I heard that bell loud and clear. Because sometimes wisdom does not arrive in a lecture hall or a leadership book or a TED talk. Sometimes it arrives in a car, in traffic, from the person sitting next to you holding a coffee and thinking about shiplap. That phrase has not left me since. Many of us do this. We replay mistakes endlessly, convinced that self-criticism is somehow productive. We lie awake revisiting conversations and missteps, assuming that if we beat ourselves up long enough, we will emerge wiser. All we accomplish is a thorough self-beating followed by self-flagellation. Lots of noise. Zero progress. Zero calories burned. This is not just a problem for people climbing mountains or starting businesses. It plays out in perfectly ordinary moments. You send an email and immediately wish you had worded it differently. You make a comment at dinner that lands wrong and spend three days replaying it. You make a small error at work and carry it around like luggage for a week. The inner courtroom convenes regardless. Most of us are not failing spectacularly. We are just living, occasionally getting things slightly wrong, and treating that as evidence of something deeply and permanently wrong with us. It is not. It is just Tuesday. I have been thinking about this a lot lately because I am in the middle of my MBA at the Sprott School of Business. I wrote about My MBA at age 69 in Part I and Part II. Back in graduate school after four decades in the workforce, opportunities to feel uncomfortable, uncertain, and occasionally like you have wandered into the wrong building are plentiful. A recent assignment on crafting Team Charters and enhancing my leadership skills inspired me to write a personal manifesto for my graduate studies and to take a closer look at myself. You can read mine here. While working through it, I made a surprising discovery. Most of the commitments I was making to myself had nothing to do with school. They were about life. Read the instructions carefully. Ask for help sooner. Pay attention to what your emotions are trying to tell you. Trust your experience. Hold yourself to your own standards. And this one, which stopped me cold, and sounded very familiar: Allow yourself the grace to fail. There was that bell again. Those six words turned out to be the most important thing I wrote. Not because failure is something to celebrate, but because the willingness to risk it is the price of admission for virtually everything worth doing. Failure is not a topic most of us rush toward. It is about as pleasant as stubbing your toe in the dark. Yet every meaningful thing I have ever done required me to risk it. Starting a new career. Leading a sales team. Launching a business. Climbing a mountain. Writing a book. Going back to school at 69. None of it came with guarantees. All of it came with uncertainty, mistakes, and moments where I genuinely wondered whether I had lost my mind. The jury is still out on some of those. The irony is that failure and growth are inseparable. Dweck (2006) found that people who view setbacks as learning opportunities rather than evidence of inadequacy are more likely to persevere and ultimately succeed. Duckworth (2016) agreed, and in Grit, one of my favourite books, long-term success depends less on talent and more on the willingness to keep going after things fall apart. Neff (2023) added that people who respond to failure with self-compassion rather than harsh self-judgment show greater improvement and are more likely to try again. The friction produced by failure is often exactly what generates learning, but only if we give ourselves enough grace to stay in the game. I see this everywhere. Professionals are staying in jobs they no longer enjoy because starting over feels too risky. Retirees hesitate to try something new because they might not be good at it right away. Students who will not ask a question because they do not want to appear uninformed. And if I am being honest, I see it in myself. Every time I hesitate to contribute to class because everyone else seems younger and sharper. Every time I catch myself wondering whether I belong in the room. One exercise has helped me enormously. When I catch myself spiralling into negative self-talk, I imagine my five-year-old self standing beside me, listening. Would that little girl feel encouraged? Not a chance. So why do we think inner dialogue helps us? A recent example: I made a point in a meeting that got a polite nod and complete silence. You know the silence. The one that could mean anything from “interesting” to “what on earth did she just say?” I replayed that moment for two days. Eventually, I asked a colleague how the meeting had gone, and she said she barely remembered it. The forensic investigation was conducted entirely in my own head. I am not suggesting we lower our standards. We should hold ourselves accountable, learn from our mistakes, and strive to do better. But there is a meaningful difference between accountability and cruelty. Between reflection and rumination. Between learning from a mistake, and building a summer cottage on top of it, and checking in every long weekend. I worry about what this means for the generation behind us. Research by Professor Gabriel Rubin at Montclair State University found that despite living in one of the safest periods in history, Gen Z perceives risk virtually everywhere (Rubin, 2023). They have grown up knowing that at any moment, someone has a phone. One stumble, one terrible dance move, and the clip is posted before you catch your breath. Permanent, searchable, shareable public failure is something entirely new, and the consequences are showing up in surprising places. Monocle magazine noted young people standing completely still on nightclub dance floors, phones in hand, unable to lose themselves to the music. The club has become a stage, and the crowd has become the content. Instead of dancing, people film. Instead of connection, there is performance. This is not a small thing. Dancing is how humans have always signalled availability, built trust, and found each other. It requires a willingness to look slightly absurd. If we have raised a generation so terrified of being captured mid-stumble that they will not move to the music, we have handed surveillance culture a victory it does not deserve. Calculated risks lead to new opportunities, foster innovation, and teach lessons that comfort never could (Rubin, 2023). Risk aversion makes short-term sense. As a way of life, it quietly closes doors that were never meant to stay shut. Give yourself and the young people around you, explicit permission to be unpolished in public. To dance badly. To say the wrong thing and survive it. The phone will always be there. So, fortunately, will the music. Here is what I keep learning inside this MBA: wisdom arrives disguised as failure. The assignments that challenge me teach me more than the ones that come easily. The questions I most resist asking are usually the most important. I did not expect graduate school to teach me this. Then again, I did not expect to be here at seventy. I no longer think in terms of Wins and Losses. Those categories are too simple. I think in terms of Wisdom and Learning. Success builds confidence. Setbacks build insight. Both move us forward. Read that again. So the next time you find yourself at two in the morning replaying something you said three days ago, ask whether your five-year-old self would find your internal monologue useful. If the answer is no, offer yourself a little grace. Which brings me back to Bonnie. Last weekend, she pulled off that 1960s panelling. Every last piece. It was messy and uncertain, and at several points she was unsure what she would find underneath. There were surprises. There were moments of doubt. She kept going anyway. By the end of the weekend, the shiplap was going up, clean and bright and exactly right. She did not do it perfectly. She did it anyway. And it is beautiful. That is the whole lesson, right there, delivered by a woman with a pry bar and a tool belt, on a weekend in June. Failure is not the enemy. Most of the time it is just fear wearing a funny hat. And if you are lucky, it will teach you something genuinely worth knowing. Sometimes it comes from a research paper. Sometimes it comes from your wife, in a car thinking out loud about shiplap. Either way, listen for the bell. Writing my manifesto was one of the most clarifying things I did this year. Not because it solved anything, but because it forced me to decide, on paper, who I was going to be when things got hard. I want that for you, too. So I created the ReWirement Manifesto: a simple template for anyone navigating a new chapter, a big transition, or simply a Tuesday that did not go as planned. It is not a bucket list. It is not a vision board. It is a set of honest commitments you make to yourself, in your own words, that you can return to when your inner courtroom calls you to order. Download your free ReWirement Manifesto template here. Fill it in. Keep it somewhere you can find it. And the next time you are staring at a wall of 1960s panelling, wondering if you are in over your head, remember: the grace to fail is not a consolation prize. It is the whole point. Don’t Retire…Re-Wire! Sue My Book is Now Available for Pre-Order I hope you will consider pre-ordering a copy of Your Retirement Reset for you, a friend or loved one. It's available September 8, 2026 published by ECW Press You can now order at Indigo or Amazon. And if you love supporting Canadian booksellers, please also check with your local independent bookstore. Most can easily order it for you.

My friend, Linda, retired at 66 after 35 years as a school principal. She had done everything right. Pension. Savings. No debt. A financial plan so airtight that her advisor framed it. On her first Monday of retirement, she drove to the grocery store, stood in front of the fancy olive oil, and put the $23 bottle back on the shelf. She grabbed the $10 one instead. That night, she called me, genuinely distressed. "Sue," she said, "I don't know how to spend the money." Linda is not alone. Her problem is not a math problem. It is a brain problem. Welcome to the neuroscience of aging and money, where biology is ageist, your prefrontal cortex is quietly retiring before you do, and the financial industry has somehow spent decades teaching you to save without ever explaining how to stop. What Is Actually Happening in That Brain of Yours As we age, the prefrontal cortex, the part of your brain responsible for planning, decision-making, and impulse regulation, starts to lose its edge. Meanwhile, the amygdala, the emotional centre, gains more influence. The result? Decisions that feel more emotional, more risk-averse, and sometimes more impulsive, depending on which way your wiring maps. Research published by Agarwal, S., Driscoll, J. C., Gabaix, X., & Laibson, D. found that financial decision-making peaks around age 53 and then declines steadily. This is not because older adults are less intelligent, but because the cognitive systems that weigh risk and reward begin to operate differently. Biology is ageist, as evidenced by the fact that your brain begins to change its relationship with money before you have even figured out what to do with it. A recent study from the National Bureau of Economic Research found that older adults are significantly more likely to make financial mistakes on both ends of the spectrum: excessive caution and excessive spending. The brain does not uniformly tighten the purse strings. It amplifies whatever pattern was already there. If you were a careful saver, you would become an Olympic penny-pincher. If you were a spender, you would become a one-person economic stimulus package. You become an exaggerated version of your younger self. Which is charming in theory and occasionally catastrophic in practice. Team Tight-Wad: All Chips, No Salsa You know the type. Actually, you might be the type. These are the people who still have their first chequebook, who compare per-unit prices for paper towels with the focus of a neurosurgeon, and who have not eaten at a restaurant without a coupon since the second Harper government. They are not cheap. They are terrified. As the prefrontal cortex loosens its grip on rational future planning, the fear of running out, what I call FORO (Fear of Running Out), takes the driver's seat. It whispers things like: what if the market crashes, what if I get sick, what if I live to 102 and run out of money at 99? And so the tight-wad doubles down. The $23 olive oil goes back on the shelf. The vacation gets postponed. The grandchildren's birthday gifts get slightly less grand. All chips, no salsa. You have built a pile of financial security and are sitting on it, stiff, virtuous, and mildly hungry, while the dip goes untouched. The tight-wad's greatest risk is not poverty. It is regret. Researchers at Cornell University found that people in the final chapters of their lives consistently reported regretting what they did not do far more than what they did. That trip not taken. That renovation not done. That bottle of good olive oil not purchased. FORO kept them safe and small, and the memory of that smallness stings. Team Spend-Thrift: All Salsa, No Chips On the other side of the spectrum, we have the spend-thrifts. As the emotional centres become more active and impulse regulation less reliable, some people lean into the "you only live once" philosophy. They book the trip to Portugal. They buy the golf club they do not need. They pick up the tab for dinner for eight people they met three hours ago. They are generous, spontaneous, and occasionally mystified by their bank statements. Research from Harvard Business School confirms that spending money on experiences and on others generates a meaningful boost in wellbeing. Spend-thrifts are onto something. The problem is sustainability. If the prefrontal cortex is not doing its job by asking "do we actually need this," the credit card bill arrives, and this is why we can't have nice things. Spend-thrifts also tend to underestimate longevity. A 65-year-old Canadian woman today can expect to live, on average, past 87. That is more than two decades of retirement to fund. All salsa, no chips is a delicious way to start a party and a terrible way to sustain it. The Gap Nobody Talks About: Permission to Spend Here is where I want to say something that gets almost no airtime in the financial services industry. We have an enormous education gap on this side of retirement. The entire financial industry, including the advisors, the institutions, the calculators, the seminars, and the books, has spent decades teaching people how to accumulate money. How to save. How to invest. How to sacrifice the latte. The message has been so relentless that it has rewired the way people feel about spending. And then retirement arrives. And nobody says: Okay, you can stop now. You can actually use this. This is what it was for. Switching from accumulation to decumulation requires real support, real education, and genuine permission. It is not a switch you flip. It is a gear shift that many people never make successfully. They arrive at retirement financially prepared but psychologically stuck. Honestly? The mother of all eye rolls is reserved for the financial institution that still calls it a savings account when you are 72. You are not saving anymore. You are managing a spending pool. Here is my modest proposal: once you turn 65, your savings account becomes your spending account. Not a radical rebranding. A psychological one. Words matter. Framing matters. Every time you log in and see the word "spending," your brain starts to normalize the idea that this money has a purpose, and that purpose is your life. Clients need financial therapists as much as they need financial planners. They need someone to look them in the eye and say: you earned this, you saved this, and spending it wisely and joyfully is not a failure of discipline. It is the entire point. Self-Awareness Is the Cheapest Investment You Will Ever Make Recognizing your pattern is step one. If you have not bought anything for yourself that was not on sale in the past calendar year, that is data. If you cannot remember the last time you checked your balance before a purchase, that is also data. Neither is a character flaw. Your brain is doing what it is supposed to do. Step two is to get the right support and give yourself explicit permission. A good retirement income specialist asks what you want your money to do for you now, not just how long it needs to last. A financial therapist helps you untangle your emotional history with money. At some point, you write it down: I am allowed to spend on things that bring me joy, keep me healthy, and connect me to the people I love. Post it somewhere you will see it when you are standing in front of the fancy olive oil. The Punchline Linda eventually bought the $23 olive oil. It took four months, a conversation with her advisor, and an honest chat with her daughter, who pointed out that Linda had about 90 jars of tomato sauce in her basement and no good reason to be rationing condiments. The brain changes that come with ageing are real. They are not personal failures. They are biology doing biology things, loudly and without your consent. But brains are also remarkably responsive to information, reframing, and the occasional kick in the pants from someone who loves you. You spent decades building financial security. The goal was never to die with the most money. It was a good life. All chips AND salsa. The full spread. The $23 olive oil on the good bread, with the people you love. Your spending account is waiting. Honestly, it has been waiting long enough. Because nobody wins a prize for being the richest person in the graveyard. Don’t Retire…Re-Wire! Sue My Book is Now Available for Pre-Order I hope you will consider pre-ordering a copy of Your Retirement Reset for you, a friend or loved one. It's available September 8, 2026 published by ECW Press You can now order at Indigo or Amazon. And if you love supporting Canadian booksellers, please also check with your local independent bookstore. Most can easily order it for you.

If you haven't read Seniors and AI (Part 1) What Could Possibly Go Wrong?, catch up here. My friend Gloria told me she asked her AI assistant what to do about a “sore knee,” and it suggested she might be experiencing “symptoms consistent with early-stage gout, possible DVT, or referred pain from lumbar stenosis.” Gloria is 74, lives alone, and spent the next three hours convinced she was dying. She was not. She had slept on the couch in an awkward position. This is Part 2 of our look at Seniors and AI. If Part 1 was about the laughs, Part 2 is where we put on our reading glasses and pay attention. When technology moves from ordering groceries to offering medical advice or emotional support, the stakes get considerably higher than an accidental pineapple on your pizza. AI and Medical Advice: The Good, the Bad, and the “You Googled What?” Let’s give credit where it’s due. AI genuinely helps in healthcare in meaningful ways. It’s available at 2 AM without judgment. It translates medical jargon into plain English. It can help you walk into a doctor’s appointment with better questions instead of the usual panicked stare. But here’s what it cannot do: see you, touch you, or notice you’re limping. It can’t smell an infection, hear the wheeze in your chest, or detect the subtle signs that something is wrong. At its core, it is an elaborate and very polite Google search. Not a doctor. Takita et al. (2025), in a systematic review and meta-analysis published in Digital Medicine, found that the overall diagnostic accuracy of generative AI models is about 52 percent. Read that again. Fifty-two percent. Suitable for a second opinion, nowhere near sufficient to replace an experienced clinician. And yet, we hear a confident-sounding response and think, “Well, the computer said so.” Confidence and correctness are not the same thing, a lesson most of us learned the hard way in our thirties. When AI Is Safe (and When It Is Decidedly Not) Go ahead and ask AI about: What does that lab term on your bloodwork actually mean Common side effects of medications you’re already taking Questions to bring to your next appointment General information about a health condition Do not ask AI about: Anything you’d describe as “just making sure it’s not something bad”? Chest pain, sudden numbness, or anything that begins with “I’ve never felt this before” Whether to stop taking a medication Whether your symptoms are serious enough to go to the ER Think of AI as the helpful intern, not the chief medical officer. You’d let the intern look something up for you, but you wouldn’t let the intern prescribe your blood pressure medication. Bottom line: if you wouldn’t trust your toaster to measure your blood pressure, don’t trust a chatbot to diagnose your heart. AI Therapy: Comfort or Catastrophe? Mental health chatbots promise empathy. Let’s be precise about what that means: they simulate compassion, not feel it. There is a difference, and it matters. A Stanford University study (Moore & Haber, 2025) warns that therapy chatbots can reinforce stigma or provide genuinely unsafe responses. They can’t detect tone, see tears, read a room, or call for help when things turn dark. This is especially concerning for older adults. Loneliness and depression are common among seniors and are routinely dismissed as “just slowing down” or “getting older.” That’s not aging. Those are invisible illnesses that deserve real attention and real human connection. The Signs We Miss According to the National Institute on Ageing’s 2025 Ageing in Canada Survey, 57 percent of Canadians over 50 report feeling somewhat or very lonely, and 43 percent are at risk of social isolation. These figures haven’t changed since 2022. This is not a fringe problem. It is a quiet epidemic hiding in plain sight. Watch for these signs in yourself and in the people you love: Pulling back from activities they once loved Sleeping too much or not nearly enough Loss of appetite or unexplained weight changes Talking nonstop when the company finally arrives (that’s hunger or severe loneliness, not chattiness) Inventing reasons to call or visit Self-deprecating humour that feels a little too real. Here’s a small but important piece of advice: don’t ask, “Are you lonely?” You’ll get a cheerful “Of course not!” Pride and independence run deep, especially among a generation that survived things we can’t imagine. Instead, act as if. Drop by with coffee. Ask for help with something they are well versed in. Bring the dog. Go for a walk. Sit quietly and watch a show together. Share a meal. Loneliness doesn’t always need a conversation. Sometimes it just needs to know someone showed up. What Your Elder Is Thinking (But Will Never Tell You) Tread carefully here. These thoughts tend to live in the quiet spaces between sentences, felt but rarely spoken. How much time do I have? Have I done enough? Will my money run out before I do? Will anyone remember me? Do I still matter? Why do I feel so sad? Why are my friends getting sick and slipping away? Will I get sick? Who will look after me? Do my children know I love them? What if I start to forget? The creeping fear of losing names, faces, the stories that make life feel like mine. Am I a burden? (This one usually hides behind a joke.) What if my best days are already behind me? Some of these will surprise you. Some won’t. Some will make you want to pick up the phone right now. That’s the right instinct. You don’t need to fix these feelings. Sometimes, sitting quietly with someone in the silence between their words is the most healing thing you can offer. For the Family: What to Watch For and What to Do A quick note for the kids, grandkids, nieces, nephews, and anyone who forwards funny videos to their grandparents: your elders are going to experiment with AI. Probably the same way you experimented with your first beer or a regrettable tattoo: curious, enthusiastic, and occasionally overconfident. Watch for these warning signs: Increasing withdrawal from real-world activities and people Confusion about what is real versus AI-generated Replacing actual conversations with chatbot exchanges Acting on AI medical or financial advice without verifying it with a professional Being secretive or evasive about what they’re doing online Here is what you can do: Connect regularly. Ask what they’re learning or laughing about. Create opportunities for in-person time. FaceTime counts in a pinch, but in-person is irreplaceable. Know when to call the doctor. Know when all they need is your time. Don’t lecture. Don’t infantilize. Just stay connected. The best firewall against the risks of AI is not better technology. It’s better relationships. The Real Threat: Replacing Connection Here is the uncomfortable truth. AI is tempting. It’s always available, never interrupts, doesn’t judge, and responds instantly without getting distracted by its own problems. For someone who feels lonely, invisible, or like a burden, that can feel like a lifeline. But it’s a false one. AI cannot hold your hand or share a meal. It can’t laugh at your jokes in a way that truly counts. It cannot offer the warmth of human presence, which is what we need most, especially as we age. The danger isn’t primarily that AI will give bad medical advice, though it might. The danger is that it will replace human connection altogether. And that is a problem no algorithm can solve. CTRL ALT DEL: Now Go Call Someone AI is a tool. Part marvel, part mistake, and entirely dependent on who holds it. Use it wisely. Enjoy the entertainment. Stay curious. And remember who is actually in charge. Technology will keep getting smarter. It will not get warmer. It will not hear the sound of your laugh, remember the story you’ve told seventeen times, or show up at the door with soup when you’re not feeling well. That is still us. That will always be us. So yes, let Gloria ask her AI about her knee. But let’s also make sure someone calls Gloria on Tuesday. Key Takeaways Use AI for information, not diagnosis or treatment. Stay alert to signs of loneliness in yourself and in the people you love. Stay genuinely connected with older family members and friends. When in doubt, choose the human over the algorithm. The greatest upgrade to AI isn’t a newer version. It’s showing up. Sue Don't Retire...ReWire! My Book is Now Available for Pre-Order I hope you will consider pre-ordering a copy of Your Retirement Reset for you, a friend or loved one. It's available September 8, 2026 You can now order on the ECW Press site here. And if you love supporting Canadian booksellers, please also check with your local independent bookstore. Most can easily order it for you.