Staying Young By Lee Haponski and ChatGPT

Staying Young By Lee Haponski and ChatGPT

In a few months, I’ll turn sixty-nine.

I say that out loud sometimes just to see how it sounds.

It still surprises me. Not in a bad way—more like when you look at a familiar street and realize the trees are taller than you remember.

Here’s the part that really makes me laugh: at this age, I’ve started a new business. Not a hobby. Not a

“keep my brain busy” project. A real, boots-on-the-ground, learn-new-things, make-mistakes, publish-stories-for-actual-readers business.

And what am I writing?

Stories about young people.

Falling in love.

Finding their way.

Discovering desire, confidence, intimacy, purpose.

There is something deliciously ironic about that.

Some people think staying young is about pretending you’re not aging—fighting wrinkles, denying numbers, clinging to the past like it owes you something. I don’t buy that. Staying young, to me, has nothing to do with erasing time.

It has everything to do with engaging it.

Youth isn’t an age. It’s a posture. It’s curiosity instead of certainty. It’s willingness instead of resignation. It’s asking, What’s next? instead of saying, Well, that’s done.

When I write about young people stepping into love and sexual fulfillment and self-discovery, I’m not trying to relive my twenties. Thank goodness. I already survived them once.

What I’m doing is remembering what it feels like to be new to yourself.

That moment when you realize:

Oh. I’m allowed to want this.

I’m allowed to choose differently.

I’m allowed to be bold and awkward and hopeful all at once.

That feeling doesn’t belong to the young. It belongs to the alive.

Starting this writing business has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. I’m learning new tools. New markets. New rhythms. I’m studying what modern readers love, not to chase trends, but to understand desire—because desire is timeless.

Love is timeless.

Longing is timeless.

The urge to be seen, chosen, cherished—that doesn’t retire.

Some days I’ll be working on a scene where two characters finally stop circling each other and say the thing that scares them. And I’ll realize I’m smiling—not because I wish I were them, but because I recognize the courage it takes.

That courage? Still available.

At sixty-nine.

At seventy-nine.

At any age we’re willing to say yes to growth.

Staying young, I’ve learned, is about staying in motion—not frantic motion, but meaningful movement. It’s about choosing projects that pull you forward instead of keeping you comfortable.

It’s about laughing at yourself when you’re the beginner again. Especially then.

I don’t feel younger because I write about youth.

I feel younger because I’m still creating, still learning, still risking small failures in service of something that excites me.

And maybe that’s the real secret.

Youth isn’t something we lose.

It’s something we stop practicing.

So here I am, approaching sixty-nine, building a business, telling stories about love and desire and becoming—and feeling deeply grateful that life keeps inviting me to participate.

Not as I was.

Not as I think I should be.

But as I am, right now.

And honestly?

That feels pretty young to me.