When we talk about aging in place, we usually think about the place. We love our homes. We want to stay where it’s familiar, and we want to be safe.
As we get older, we start thinking about other things we never thought about before. Are there stairs? Do we need an elevator now? Can the bathroom be adapted with higher toilets and grab bars? Are hallways wide enough for wheelchairs if that ever becomes a necessity? Is medical care nearby? Who will be there if I try to age in place?
In my apartment building, a newly restored colonial building in Cuenca, Ecuador, I met two women; the three of us are in our 70s. Blake is widowed with a grown child. Emma is divorced and now living alone. And I am a perennial single woman.
Blake rents, while Emma and I own our apartments.
None of us moved into the building looking for aging-in-place partners. We simply discovered that we liked one another. I call them my “thinking friends” because our conversations are substantive and deep. We offer advice when asked, mostly let each other talk, and really listen. And because we cheer one another on in our successes and show up when life throws us a curveball, it doesn’t get much better than that in the ...