There’s a quiet thrill in beginning something for the first time. It’s not always dramatic. It doesn’t have to involve parachutes or passport stamps. But deciding, at this stage of life, to try something new, something you’ve never done before, carries its own quiet kind of courage. Not because the task itself is hard, necessarily, but because it asks us to step into unfamiliar space. To say: I don’t know how to do this, but I’m going to try. 

For much of our lives, we’re rewarded for knowing things. For being competent, dependable, in control. There’s a comfort in that. But it can also leave us wary of being a beginner again. We tell ourselves it’s too late, or that it’s not worth it, or that we wouldn’t be any good. We forget that not being good at something, at first, is part of the joy. 

Trying something new at sixty or seventy isn’t about proving anything. It’s about staying open. It’s about saying yes to curiosity. It might be something creative, learning to paint, picking up an instrument, writing a short story. It might be physical, trying yoga, joining a walking group, learning to swim. It could be something small and solitary, like cooking a new dish or growing a plant you’ve never tried before. Or something shared, like taking a class, joining a choir, or volunteering for a cause that’s always mattered to you. 

The beauty of starting something new now is that the stakes are lower and the rewards often higher. There is less pressure to achieve. We are not building careers or collecting certificates. We are doing it because we want to. Because it interests us. Because we’ve carried a quiet longing for years and finally have the time to follow it. 

Sometimes, beginning something new brings unexpected energy. The mind wakes up. Time takes on a different texture. Days are shaped not just by routines, but by discovery. We laugh at ourselves, fumble through instructions, make mistakes. And then, slowly, we learn. Or perhaps we don’t, but we enjoy the trying. 

There is something profoundly life-affirming about continuing to grow. It reminds us that we are not fixed, not finished. That there are still parts of us unfolding. Still experiences waiting. Still wonder to be found. 

Not everything will stick. Some things will be more enjoyable in theory than in practice. But that, too, is part of it. Part of being alive. The point is not mastery. It’s engagement. Connection. A willingness to move, however slowly, towards something that sparks interest or joy. 

And who knows, the thing you try now, on a whim or a dare or a quiet impulse, might become something you can’t imagine your life without in ten years’ time. 

So whatever the idea is, the class you keep meaning to join, the instrument you always wished you could play, the thing that tugs at you when you see someone else doing it, maybe now is exactly the right time. Not in spite of your age, but because of it. 

There is, after all, no expiry date on joy. No deadline on curiosity. And no reason not to begin.