I don’t know these things because I’m smart. It’s because I’m old.

What Will My Life Be Like in Three Years?

When you reach a certain age, you stop predicting the future and start recognizing patterns. Life repeats its lessons until you finally learn them. So when I think about what my life will be like in three years, I can answer with some confidence—because it will look a lot like the life I’ve built through decades of choices, good and bad.

In three years, I’ll be well over seventy years old—a number that would’ve scared me to death when I was fifty. Yet fifty feels like yesterday. I don’t feel old. I feel thirty inside, the same curious, restless soul who still wants to build, learn, and explore. The mirror might disagree, but the man inside hasn’t changed much. Time moves fast, but energy and curiosity have a way of outrunning the years.

Three years from now, I’ll still be doing the things that give my days meaning—writing, working with my hands, learning new things, and spending time with the people who make life worth living. My routine will probably look familiar: mornings with purpose, afternoons of reflection, and quiet evenings where gratitude fills the air. I’ll still be active, still driven by the long game.

I’ve learned that life doesn’t suddenly transform with the passing of years—it deepens. The choices I’ve made have already set much of my course. I’ve chosen simplicity over complication, gratitude over complaint, and health over indulgence. And because of that, my future feels steady.

Health, above all, has become the true measure of wealth. I once heard a saying that stuck with me: “A well-off man has many problems; a sick man has only one.” Those words ring louder with every passing year. In three years, if I’m still healthy, then I’ll still be rich in all the ways that matter. I’ll keep moving, keep eating clean, keep tending to this vessel that carries me through time.

Financially, I’ll remain cautious, steady, and debt-free. I’ve learned that peace of mind is far more valuable than anything money can buy. My home will be organized, my days uncluttered. I’ve lived enough life to know that possessions and obligations can weigh you down more than they lift you up. By owning less and needing less, I’ve made room for more of what matters—family, peace, and purpose.

I’ll continue to surround myself with the voices I trust—the people who tell me the truth even when it stings, and who remind me who I am when life gets noisy. I’ll keep dreaming, not because I’m chasing some grand ambition, but because dreams are what keep the spirit alive. Whether it’s a new idea, a story, or a project, I’ll always be building something.

And yes, I’ll keep taking stock each year. I’ll still ask myself: Am I better than I was last year? Have I learned something new? Have I loved well? These questions don’t change with age—they just become more important.

I’ll continue to carve out quiet spaces in my days. The older I get, the more I value silence. It’s in those still moments that I think the clearest and feel the most grateful. In a world that never stops talking, silence is where I recharge. Rest, too, will remain a priority. I’ve learned that rest isn’t laziness—it’s fuel for everything else.

In three years, I’ll still be married to the woman who’s walked beside me through every season of life. Our faces will have more lines, but our laughter will come easier. Our shared history—decades of moments big and small—will be the foundation of everything we are.

I won’t waste time on arguments or grudges. Those are luxuries for the young. I’ll choose peace over pride every time. Life is too short to prove points that don’t matter. I’ve learned it’s far better to win people over than to win an argument.

And I’ll still live by the same simple code that’s guided me this far: Be fair. Be curious. Be grateful. Keep learning. Help when you can. Treat your reputation like the rare asset it is.

So what will my life be like in three years? It will be peaceful, steady, and meaningful. It will be filled with family, laughter, and work that matters to me. I’ll still have my share of problems—everyone does—but I’ll face them with a clear mind and a thankful heart. Because at this age, I’ve learned that joy isn’t something you chase; it’s something you protect.

And if I’m lucky enough to still wake up each morning with energy, curiosity, and love in my heart, then I’ll already have everything I need.