In My 20s, I Disrespected Older Colleagues. In My 60s, The Tables Turned.
My ageist attitude resulted in cosmic payback.
fizkes | Canva Early in my career, I took a job as a marketing manager for a local bank. I reported to a man called Barry, who was old enough to be my grandfather.
We were a study in contrasts. I took pride in dressing stylishly. Barry rotated the same five navy blue suits. I was ambitious and itching to shake things up. Barry was cautious and focused on keeping the status quo.
And then there was the fact that I was brand-new to the bank, while Barry had been there for decades. (The joke around the office was that he had run the place since the US Treasury started printing money.) Little did I know that our differences would nearly tear us apart.
The horrible slow-motion meeting
Each week, I was required to present a written report on my projects to Barry. At the end of each meeting, Barry filed my update in one of the many metal filing cabinets lining his office.
Our meetings always started the same way: I’d place my report on his big desk. Barry would pick up his pen, adjust his reading glasses, and begin his inspection.
Sometimes he’d jot little notes in the margins. Sometimes he’d run a few numbers through his calculator. Sometimes he’d stop to clear his throat or reach for a tissue to blow his nose.
But one thing never changed: Barry’s painfully slow, methodical pace. As I perched on the edge of his guest chair, I fussed and fidgeted and tried to swallow my growing frustration. I had places to go and projects to conquer! But Barry? He was as plodding and antiquated as an old Studebaker.
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Out of synch and out of touch
During one particular meeting, while I was anxiously tapping my foot, Barry looked up from my report, squinting. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing to one of my bullet points. “This new MCIF system?”
I explained it was a Marketing Customer Information File — a database that would segment our customers and prospects for actionable marketing campaigns, helping to generate more revenue. Barry removed his glasses and sighed. “Look, we know our customers,” he told me — as if addressing a grandchild. “Why would we run their records through a computer program? If someone needs to know more about our products, they can always give us a call. Why would we spend good dollars on something we already have?”
To Barry, these were all reasonable questions. To me, they were shockingly outdated and short-sighted. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes and snatching my report right out of his wrinkly, age-spotted hands. For Christ’s sake, I told myself, this is 1995, and my dinosaur of a boss is still frozen in the era of disco. I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could take.
From young and green to old and seasoned
Fast forward 30 years. I’m in my 60s, handling marketing at a large healthcare system. Now I’m the one with deep experience, having served in my field for more than four decades.
I didn’t stuff file cabinets with reams of reports or wear the same five blue suits, as my old boss Barry. But I did have the distinct impression that Barry and I now had something in common: the young people we worked with didn’t like us much.
It was impossible to miss the signs. Around the water cooler, the 20-somethings regularly reported on their weekend exploits, recounting tales of meeting up with new friends and chasing new adrenaline rushes.
My contributions to the conversation— more along the lines of “I read a great book and fixed a great dinner” — were met with silent stares of pity. I could practically hear my young coworkers thinking, “Who else but a boring old lady would spend their weekends like that?”
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The divide widens
During meetings, the 20-somethings snapped open their laptops and toggled effortlessly between applications and websites. They texted on their phones at lightning speed, using double thumbs. They bounced ideas back and forth like popcorn, filling the conference room with raw, unbridled energy.
At the end of the table, things were different. Before speaking, I always took a few seconds to gather my thoughts. When taking notes, I maintained my long-established habit of writing longhand. And on Zoom calls, I was that flustered participant who forgot to take herself off mute. I could sense my coworkers’ judgment and derision. Sometimes, I overheard their snickers.
Despite my exclusion from the “cool kids group,” I was shocked by what happened next: An aggressive young woman who outranked me removed me from my leadership position on a high-profile project. Although she never told me why, she confided privately to others that the campaign “needed younger blood.”
At this humiliating and painful point — three years before my planned retirement — I decided to turn in my laptop. Licking my wounds, I took my last paycheck and headed for home.
Brains differ at different ages
Now that I’m retired, I have the time to look back on my experiences and try to make sense of them all. Why, I needed to know, would corporate life bring out such brattiness from me in my youth, which then turned on me in my late adulthood?
The answer may lie in how our brains perform differently at different ages. According to research by UC Davis psychology professor Dean Keith Simonton, success and productivity typically peak early in a person’s career around the ages of 20–40.
This is evident when you consider entrepreneurs such as Steve Jobs and Mark Zuckerberg, who achieved fame and fortune in their 20s. According to the Harvard Business Review, founders of Silicon Valley’s most valuable companies tend to fit within the age range of 20–34.
Other research has found that the most common age for producing a magnum opus is the late 30s. In Major League Baseball, the best-performing home-plate umpires are 33 years old, Boston University has found. Compared to the worst performers, the best umpires are 23 years younger and have 18 fewer years of experience.
The flow of young intelligence
As scientists have discovered, people in their 20s and 30s possess a special type of intellectual ability that British psychologist Raymond Cattell dubbed fluid intelligence. This capacity to quickly reason, analyze, and solve new problems peaks in young adulthood and diminishes in middle age.
But this superpower comes at a price: happiness. Research from Stanford University psychologist Laura Carstensen suggests the happiness of most adults declines throughout their 30s, 40s, and 50s. After that, contentment starts to rise again, making people less prone to anxiety, depression, and anger.
Years after publishing her research, Carstensen formulated her hypothesis on why this happens: How we seek to spend our time depends on how much time we believe we have. In other words, when we’re young and healthy, we think we’ll live forever. Thus we’re free to self-actualize — plugging into bigger streams of knowledge and seeking deeper networks of connection.
But when our horizons contract — when we see fewer years in front of us than behind — our focus narrows and shifts to the present, to everyday pleasures and the people we hold most dear. In my 60s, here’s the way this played out for me:
At home, I sought comfort in simple joys, such as family, friends, good food, and good books. At work, I became more deliberate and cautious. I was less interested in racing up the corporate ladder, comparing myself to others, and chasing adrenaline. In short, I had lost my edge.
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What goes around, comes around
Aging is a strange thing. As US President Joe Biden said at the recent Democratic National Convention, “I was elected to the Senate when I was too young to serve, and now as President, I’m too old to serve.”
Indeed, the gulf between young and old can be difficult to navigate. The prejudice of ageism blocks the way. Worse, it often presents twice — once, in our youth, as we perpetuate ageism, and again in late adulthood, as we’re victimized by it.
Barry was a good man and a good boss. He didn’t deserve my snotty, entitled attitude. As Laura Carstensen’s research predicted, I did it because I felt restless and unsatisfied. In my youth and ambition, I didn’t know any better.
As for the aggressive young woman who pulled the power play on me? She also didn’t know any better. I’m confident that in time, she’ll learn. So I can’t say my experience was due to “cosmic payback” as much as it was due to basic ignorance. The truth is, at many points in our lives, we simply don’t know what we don’t know.
So for now, I’m focusing on a single objective: treating everyone I encounter with kindness and compassion. That means assuming the best in everyone, at all times — at whatever age they are or at whatever stage of life they’re going through.
Kathleen Murphy is a longtime writer and frequent contributor to Medium.com where she specializes in physical health, emotional wellness, and successful aging.