Leaving the World a Better Place: The Impulse Hidden in the Attic of the Old

Dreams propel us through life, and they’re not limited by age.

Many grandparents play an irreplaceable role in their grandchildren’s lives. Biba Kayewich

Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow.

That poem by Langston Hughes applies to all ages. The 6-year-old who wants to become John Wayne and ride across the West chasing down bad guys soon grows out of that ambition, but he has learned to dream. As he grows older and his dreams mature, his vision and imagination carry him forward as part of the equipment necessary for manhood and life.

Like that little boy who learned to dream in the playgrounds of the imagination, our adult dreams shift in size and scope, growing and changing as we grow and change, and helping us to keep moving forward. These visions of the future give us purpose, and purpose leads to actions.

No matter how old we are.

Many grandparents play an irreplaceable role in their grandchildren’s lives. Biba Kayewich

In Dreams Begin Deeds

In 2023, four octogenarians completed the USA Track and Field 100-mile championships in Henderson, Nevada. The overall winning time for this event was about 14 hours, but the winner for his age group, 80-year-old David Blaylock, took almost 16 more hours to cross the finish line. A father of seven, Mr. Blaylock became a runner only after turning 50. He once told a local reporter: “I have absolutely no talent for running. No one wanted me on their track team, ever.”

Helen Hooven Santmyer (1895–1986) was an educator and librarian who wrote a few books that received little attention. After retiring, she spent years writing a novel, “And Ladies of the Club,” which found a small publisher when Santmyer was 87 years old and suffering from emphysema and encroaching blindness. This 1,300-page magnum opus, a story of families, marriages, child-rearing, and community set in a fictional Ohio town, caught another publisher’s attention and became a blockbusting bestseller.

Though many judge his presidency a failure, Jimmy Carter’s life after leaving the White House provides a stellar example of selfless giving. He and his wife, Rosalynn, had long dreamed of helping others, and they put that vision into action through Habitat for Humanity. The Carters personally helped to refurbish or build several thousand houses over a 35-year period.

Mr. Blaylock was inspired to begin running after watching other older men, and he, in turn, inspired others such as fellow runner Craig Lloyd. Ms. Santmyer’s novel of small-town life, families, and America brought hope and pleasure to many readers. The Carters’ dedicated and joyous building of homes prompted many others to take up a hammer and nails through Habitat for Humanity.

Worthy dreams and deeds are contagious, no matter the age of the dreamer.

An Army of Dreamers and Doers

Volunteering, whether at the public library, homeless shelter, or at an organization close to your heart, is a great way to touch the lives of others. Biba Kayewich

And for every David Blaylock, Helen Santmyer, and Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter, there are tens of thousands of older Americans dreaming and doing, bringing their own gifts to those around them. They volunteer their time and energy, for example, by shelving books in the public library or serving up lunches in a homeless shelter. Some I’ve known have worked as museum docents, poll watchers during elections, and teacher’s aides.

One man, retired Army Col. Stan Polonsky, volunteered for years at the Casemate Museum in Virginia’s Fort Monroe and taught chess in an after-school program. Another retiree, radio announcer Don Matney of North Carolina, played piano in nursing homes and hospitals twice a week for almost two decades.

And then there are the multitudes of grandparents. Ask them to compose a curriculum vitae listing their experiences in that role, and many of them could fill several pages: babysitter, coach, cook, housekeeper, chauffeur, referee, storyteller, comedian, and more. Among my siblings and acquaintances are a dozen grandparents who stand in the gap when parents have to work, become ill, or simply need a helping hand.

Ask them why they devote so much time to the young ones, and most might say, “I love my kids and grandkids, and I want to help.” Ask those seniors who are volunteers and you’ll get a variety of answers, but all have love as part of the equation. “I just love books,” the library volunteer might tell you. “It gives me a chance to whip up some soups people really appreciate,” explains the woman on the other side of the counter at the Salvation Army shelter kitchen.

Good reasons all, and the seniors involved certainly give and gain.

And yet, that library volunteer could sit all day in the library reading rather than working, and thus satisfy her affection for books. That volunteer chef at the shelter could be making good money in a restaurant. Even those grandparents could pull back in their efforts, tending to a garden rather than to their grandchildren.

Something else is going on here; some other often-unspoken impulse is at work. And I think I know what it is.

The Dream That Drives the Desire

For the first three decades of our lives—sometimes more, sometimes less—most of us expend vast amounts of energy getting educated, honing our skills, and finding our place in the world. If we then marry and have children, we spend many more years providing for them, showering them with love and attention, and in the case of children, guiding them into adulthood.

The children eventually leave home, and more years pass. Some of us retire, others cut back on work, and slowly, old age creeps in. Most of us lack the knees or the desire to enter an ultramarathon like Mr. Blaylock, but we’re still running the race that begins at birth and ends with death. In this autumn of our lives, however, perhaps for the first time since we were children, we have the time and the eyes to observe the world with a different pair of glasses.

And whether we realize it or not—and I suspect many seniors don’t—we who are old often experience a deep and intense desire to leave this world a better place for future generations. We’re like those outdoor enthusiasts who, having enjoyed a pleasurable stay in a woodland, realize that it’s soon time to break camp, and thus set to work to improve the site, making it cleaner and nicer than we found it, fresh and sparkling for the next group of campers.

To leave a piece of ourselves behind, to help those we love, to paste a little glue onto the fractured world—that’s the dream that drives the desire and leads to the deeds.