7 min
The Biological Clock Nobody Talks About
Biology is ageist. There. I said it. Young people have a biological clock that ticks toward new life. It is loud and urgent, and it comes with its own well-funded industry of apps, doctors, and anxious dinner-party conversations. Ours ticks too, but more quietly. Less “the nursery won’t paint itself” and more “the knees are filing a formal complaint.” Same clock. Wildly different countdown. Young people race toward a beginning. We are racing toward… what, exactly? That is the part nobody warned us about in the brochure. I have been thinking about this clock a great deal lately, not in the abstract, philosophical, this-would-make-a-good-dinner-party-topic way. In the personal, slightly unsettling, why-am-I-like-this way. Because somewhere between turning seventy and watching my brother nearly run out of time entirely, I started to suspect that the clock is not just ticking quietly in the background of my life. It may be driving much of my behaviour, and not always in directions I am proud of. At seventy, I have become mildly obsessed with squeezing every drop out of life. Partly because of the birthday. Partly because 33-year-old entrepreneur Steven Bartlett recently declared that a couple of glasses of wine can derail several days of optimal living, causing poor sleep, missed workouts, reduced productivity, and full-scale biological chaos. The internet, predictably, exploded. One side applauded his discipline. The other suggested he put down the smartwatch and pick up a personality (Bartlett, 2025). Then broadcaster Greg James offered a counterpoint worth sitting with maybe measuring every step, calorie, and heartbeat is not making us happier. Maybe it is making us anxious (James, 2025). Let that idea marinate. It hit me harder than I expected. If I call balls and strikes here, I may have become a card-carrying member of Team Optimize. I teach fitness classes. I went back to school. I write books. I hike mountains. I track protein. I have voluntarily reached the age when discussing fibre intake is considered a contribution to the dinner conversation. Normal retirement behaviour, said no one ever. Apparently, I have a track record with this sort of thing. I have written before about my addiction to home improvement, the kind that finds a project the house did not actually need. Self-improvement, I am beginning to suspect, is the same compulsion wearing a different outfit. What I am exploring here is whether I am actually growing, or, as I am increasingly suspecting, just optimizing out of panic. So, I started asking myself an uncomfortable question, one that keeps circling back to that same clock. Am I pursuing excellence, or am I negotiating with my biological clock? Researchers studying aging have found something fascinating about how that clock changes us. As people become increasingly aware that time is finite, their priorities shift: less interested in accumulating and more interested in meaning, less interested in status and more interested in relationships, and less interested in “someday” and more interested in today. Psychologist Laura Carstensen’s landmark work on socioemotional selectivity theory suggests that it is not age itself that changes us. Rather, it is our perception of the time we have remaining (Carstensen, 2006; Carstensen et al., 1999). I am not sure I have made that shift. Not fully. If I am honest, I wonder whether all the doing, the relentless forward motion, is less about passion and more about outrunning something. Maybe I think that if I keep running, Father Time will not catch me. I can smell a fool’s errand a mile away, and yet here I am, lacing up my shoes … possibly while listening to a podcast on slowing down. I have a theory about this. I call it FORO, the Fear of Running Out. Most people assume it means Fear of Running Out of money, and money is certainly part of it. But lately I think money is just the socially acceptable thing we admit to worrying about. The less acceptable version is the fear of running out of time, energy, relevance, and chances to matter. FORO does not always show up as worry. Sometimes it shows up as motion. Another course. Another project. A new certification nobody asked for. A calendar so full it functions less as a planning tool and more as an alibi. If I cannot stop the running out, I can at least look busy while it happens. That is not ambition. That is panic, wearing a blazer and carrying a planner. Then something happened that stopped the clock cold … or at least kept me from ignoring it. Recently, one of my brothers suffered a massive heart attack. One moment, life was proceeding as planned. Next, he was in intensive care fighting for his life. Thankfully, he survived a quadruple bypass and is now on the long road to recovery. I am still processing it. Watching someone you love close to the edge clarifies things faster than any amount of journaling ever has. Suddenly, nobody is talking about productivity hacks or sleep scores. The conversation gets very simple. More time. More laughter. More family dinners. More life. His clock nearly ran out. Mine, presumably, has not. The question is what I plan to do with the difference. And I sat with that, quietly, for a while. Because his heart attack did not just scare me. It held up a mirror. If the people who matter most to me were sitting across the table right now, would they say I have been present, or would they say I have been busy? I am not sure I want to hear the answer. But I think I already know it, because my wife Bonnie and my dog Dottie have been telling me for a while now, in their own ways. Bonnie has not complained, not really, though I have noticed the particular quiet of someone who has learned not to wait up and has become quite good at saving me half a plate of dinner without asking what kept me. That quiet has nothing to do with her and everything to do with me. Dottie has taken a more direct approach. She has started leaving passive-aggressive stuffed toys outside my office door, which I choose to interpret as a formal grievance filed by a ten-pound dog with excellent comic timing. Both have been waiting for me while I try to sort this out. But patience, like biology, has its limits. Here is where I have landed, at least for now. Retirement, at its best, should be a contact sport: full-bodied, fully engaged, leaning into life with both hands. But there is a trade-off in the pursuit of optimization that no one puts on the inspirational poster. By filling every available hour with the next worthy initiative, I risk alienating the very people for whom “more life” was supposed to be. That is not ambition. That is a quietly self-sabotaging way of running out the clock on the wrong things. I do not have a tidy resolution. Maybe it means resisting the urge to add more simply because I can. What I keep coming back to is this: presence, being genuinely and unhurriedly present with the people I love, might be the optimization I have been overlooking all along. Not because it is hard to measure, but because it is hard to schedule, and even harder to admit I have been avoiding it. What I want, at the end of the day, is to be as present as humanly possible. Not present in the mindfulness app, remember-to-breathe sense. Actually present. Available. Unhurried. With Bonnie. With Dottie. With the people who have been waiting for me to look up. I am not going to pretend I have made this shift. I have not. But I have started doing something that feels different from doing nothing while thinking deeply about it, and I will take the small win. I dropped one school course this term. I have started leaving my phone in another room during dinner, which Dottie has not noticed, but Bonnie absolutely has. I am trying to ask myself, before I say yes to the next worthy thing, whether I want it or whether some part of me is still trying to outrun a clock that cannot be outrun. Some days I catch myself in time. Other days I sign up for the nine-week certificate anyway and figure it out later. Progress, not perfection. If you are reading this and recognize yourself, or someone you love, the invitation is not to overhaul your entire life by Tuesday, or to ask them to. It is to ask the same question I am still learning to ask. The next time your calendar fills with another worthy thing, pause and ask who benefits from that time. If the honest answer is mostly you, and mostly in a way that keeps you safely too busy to sit still with the people who love you, that might be worth a second look. Not guilt. Just a look. Which brings me back to the clock, because it always does. The biological clock of aging is not warning us that time is running out. It is reminding us that time is valuable, and that the people keeping time with us deserve more of it than the leftovers. Young people hear the clock and ask, “When should I start?” Older people hear the clock and ask, “What am I waiting for?” I think I finally know the answer. It is not another course. It is not another goal. It is them. Turns out the clock was never my enemy. It has been my alarm, going off for months while I kept hitting snooze and signing up for another nine-week certificate instead. The good news is I have finally found a project worth finishing. The bad news is it does not come with a certificate of completion, only my loved ones and whatever time the clock decides to give me to enjoy them. Biology may be ageist, but it is also, infuriatingly, right. 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 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.





