I'm Seventy. Try to Keep Up.
A field report from someone who had a plan, blew it up, and built something better in its place.
Seventy
There it is. Just sitting there. A number that tends to land somewhere between “good for you” and “are you feeling alright?” And before you answer that, let me tell you I am more than alright. I am thriving. Loudly. Definitely with dancing. And with just enough attitude to make a few people slightly uncomfortable, which I have decided is a sign of a life extremely well lived.
But first, let me tell you about the plan.
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The Plan Was Magnificent. It Lasted Eleven Minutes
The plan was to retire gracefully. Ease into a slower pace. Read more. Maybe garden. Drink better wine. Finally, work through all those documentaries piling up in my queue with the quiet confidence of someone who had absolutely earned the right to nothing.
Here is what actually happened. The documentaries stayed in the queue, and the garden did not get planted. I did, however, read one book. Just one. But it turned out to be exactly the right one.
David Brooks wrote The Second Mountain: The Quest for a Moral Life, and I picked it up the way you pick up something that does not look urgent, only to find you cannot put it down. Brooks argues that we spend the first part of our lives climbing what he calls the first mountain: the career, the credentials, the identity, the whole elaborate structure of proving ourselves. And then something happens. You reach the top, or you fall off, or the mountain turns out to be considerably smaller than it looked from the bottom. Either way, you end up in a valley, slightly winded, wondering what comes next.
And that, Brooks says, is where real life begins. The second mountain. The one you climb not for yourself but for something greater. The one where the question shifts from “what do I want?” to “what does the world need from me?”
I read that while sitting in my living room and thought: that is the whole story, right there.
There is a phrase I use throughout this blog: try to keep up. I say it because seventy feels faster and fuller than I ever expected, and because it is an invitation, not a taunt. You still have tread on your tires. I mean that warmly.
Try to keep up.
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The Valley Was Not Optional
My valley arrived without warning or invitation: I lost my job unexpectedly. No graceful wind-down. No farewell luncheon with a tasteful card, no parade! Just the particular silence that follows the end of something you had not quite finished.
Nobody glides gracefully from mountain one to mountain two, no matter how it looks on social media. What nobody tells you about retirement, voluntary or otherwise, is that stopping is quite difficult. Not the logistics. The identity. You spend thirty years answering the question “What do you do?” and then one day no one asks anymore. We carefully plan the money. We almost never plan for the morning when your calendar is empty, your inbox is quiet, and no one expects you anywhere. That morning is its own kind of reckoning.
Brooks calls this the valley experience, and he is right that it is unavoidable. It is where you shed the old self so a new one can emerge. There are no shortcuts. I tried several. But then I hired a coach. Not just any coach. A thought leadership coach, which sounds very impressive but turns out to involve a great deal of uncomfortable self-reflection and at least one conversation in which the coach tells you to write a blog. “Do your research,” he said. “Find your niche. Share what you know. And honestly, you should probably write a book.” (Thank you, Peter!)
I nodded. I smiled. I thanked him warmly. Then I went home, sat down, and had a completely private, entirely dignified meltdown that I will describe only as spirited. Action absorbs anxiety, so once the spirited moment passed, I got to work.
Try to keep up.
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The Second Mountain Has a Name. It Is Retire with Equity
I started writing. Article after article, something unexpected happened: I found my voice. It turns out my voice is part educator, part agitator, and part hilarious, where kitchen-table logic meets a spreadsheet. I began calling her Aunt Equity, and she has been absolutely delightful company ever since.
A word on naming your alter ego after a financial product: no one recommends it. No self-help book has a chapter that says ‘step three, create a persona rooted in home equity solutions and give her a sassy name.’ And yet Aunt Equity arrived fully formed, with opinions, a logo, and an inexplicable amount of charisma. She is part brand, part character, and entirely my fault. I am keeping her.
For Brooks, the second mountain is a calling, not a career move. For me, it is a community. The Canadian retirement community. The people who built this country, paid into it, raised children in it, and are now quietly panicking about whether they have enough to keep going. That community. They are my people, and this is my mountain and I have built my company, Retire with Equity to support it.
And I will be honest: this mountain is considerably steeper and way more fun.
Try to keep up.
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What Is Your Second Mountain?
Here is where this stops being about me and starts being about you. The second mountain is not one thing. It is not a prescription. It is not reserved for people who write blogs, build platforms, or have particularly spirited meltdowns. It is waiting for you, wherever you are, whatever you are carrying, whether you are fifty or seventy or somewhere in between and still not entirely sure you are allowed to want something new.
The second mountain looks different for everyone, and that is entirely the point. Also, a feature, not a bug.
For some people, it is family. Really showing up for grandchildren in ways that a demanding career never allowed. Being present, not just present-ish. Taking the grandkids to school on Tuesdays because Tuesday is your day now and the best day of the week. Becoming the person in the family who holds things together, not because you have to, but because you finally have the time and the wisdom to do it right.
For others, it is community. A neighbourhood organization, a cause that has been pulling at you for years, or a faith community that needs exactly the skills you spent a career building. Brooks tells the story of a woman who was moving out of a rough Chicago neighbourhood, looked out the window, saw little girls playing with broken bottles in an empty lot, turned to her husband, and said: we are not leaving. She ended up running a major community organization. She did not set out to build a movement. She just decided not to look away.
And then there are the callings that have been patiently waiting in the back of a drawer since approximately 1987. This is my personal favourite category because it is full of people who surprise themselves completely.
Andrea, whom I see every week at the gym, spent her late fifties doing something most people her age were emphatically not doing: she went to law school. In London, England. A yearning carried for decades, quietly set aside while she built a career and raised a family. Then one day she stopped being polite about it and went. She is one of the most alive people I know.
David discovered painting. Not dabbling. Painting. He picked up a brush at a class a friend dragged him to, and something clicked open that had apparently been waiting for that exact moment. He paints almost every day now, and the look on his face when he talks about it is that of someone who found something he did not know he had lost.
If you are sitting there thinking you have left it too long, or that your moment has passed, that is a you problem, and I say that with complete affection. The door is still open. Walk through it.
Brooks calls it the place where your deep gladness meets a deep hunger in the world. I think of it as the morning when you wake up and you are not just filling time. You are fulfilling a purpose.
Try to keep up.
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What Actually Works (And What Dottie Has to Do With It)
I have a ten-pound dog named Dottie. She is the canine embodiment of purposeful living and, frankly, an unsolicited life coach. Full speed, tail up, no apologies. I take notes.
The retirements that work, the ones people describe as genuinely meaningful rather than merely solvent, share a few things in common.
They move. Consistently, enjoyably, sustainably. The body is not a liability to be managed in retirement. It is an asset, and it responds remarkably well to being treated like one.
For me, part of that meant I needed a break from drinking, and the origin story is not glamorous: I woke up one morning and could not remember how the movie I watched the night before ended. That was the moment. What began as a one-month experiment quietly became almost two years. I sleep better, think more clearly, and no longer find myself wide awake at 2 am doing mental arithmetic about nothing. I feel sharper and more energized at seventy than I did a decade ago. The fifties, it turns out, were not the peak. They were the warm-up act. And for the record, I still cannot remember how that movie ended some mornings. Some things are beyond even sobriety.
Physical vitality expands your options. Financial clarity reduces your dread. Purpose gives both of those things a reason to matter. Tend to all three. Not perfectly. Just intentionally.
Dottie, for what it is worth, nails all three before anyone else in the house has had coffee. If she is the bar, she is not wrong to set it there.
Try to keep up.
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A Confession. Then a Celebration
Almost five years into this accidental, exhilarating, occasionally terrifying reinvention, I still do not have it entirely figured out. The documentaries remain unwatched. I still cannot tell you how they end.
What I do have is this: evidence, personal and otherwise, that the second mountain is real and better. Not easier. Better. Because when you are climbing toward something that matters beyond your own resume, the climb itself changes. The effort feels different. The setbacks feel survivable. And the view, when you get there, means something.
You do not need to have it figured out before you start. You just need to take a step. Then another. Then hire a coach, have your spirited moment, and remember: action absorbs anxiety. Say the number out loud, whatever it is. Forty, fifty, sixty, seventy. Say it. Then decide what it means, because that part is entirely up to you.
The first mountain shows you what you are capable of. The second one shows you who you actually are. If you have not read David Brooks’ The Second Mountain, put it at the top of the list. The documentaries can wait. I have confirmed this from personal experience.
The Friday night of my birthday week, there was an epic dance party at a local brewery, organized by my wife Bonnie, the woman I met on a dance floor thirty-three years ago and have been dancing with ever since. Bonnie deserves more than a shout-out here. She deserves a medal, a monument, and honestly, serious consideration for sainthood. For over three decades, she has lived with my schemes, my pivots, and my absolute certainty that each new thing is the thing. She has never once wavered. Bonnie is the reason any of this works, and the reason that dance floor was full of people who love me. I am, by any objective measure, an extremely lucky person. I am also aware that she will read this, so I want to be clear: yes, I mean every word, and no, this does not get me out of whatever I am currently scheming.
The glow of that party remains, and I know I have truly arrived because there was even a party crasher. I named her Mona. Mona could not resist the pull of that much joy and some absolutely kickin’ eighties music. The story of Mona, the early thirties party crasher, is being reserved for another time, but know this: if your birthday celebration attracts a stranger named Mona, you are doing seventy exactly right.
The second mountain, it turns out, has a very good playlist. And if you are worried you are not quite ready for it, or that the moment may have passed, I want to leave you with this: you still have tread on your tires. So does everyone in this community.
And if you cannot keep up, at least come dance. You might surprise yourself. Just ask Mona.
I am seventy. I am on my second mountain. Come find yours.
Try to keep up.
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Warmly,
Sue Pimento
Founder & CEO
Retire With Equity
www.retirewithequity.ca
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.