Okay, so I’m not the first to acknowledge that the older we get, the fewer dumb moves we perform… in theory. But this past September, at age 68, I underwent Transplant Surgery, and my perspective on life—my new life—has caused me to become more cerebral, more understanding–and thanks to the healthcare system– more patient.

I never took time in my past life to examine why I thought the way I did. But now, after a traumatic and very humbling experience, I find I am taking more time in my decisions and plans for the future. Changes are subtle at this point (about 2 months post surgery), but the underlying revelation is that I am no longer trying to build an empire, challenge societal and corporate-based rules, or strive for the next shiny new toy (that last one has me marvelling).

When I first got sick, I got to the point where I simply couldn’t work anymore. I couldn’t physically meet with clients in my real estate business, and my creative drive disappeared in my writing business. For several months I focused on navigating the healthcare process that was preparing me for either a new liver… or death. Combined with massive weight loss and a loss of muscle mass, I thought of nothing other than survival.

Being on the other side now, I find some of my fundamental desires have returned (a need to work and write), but my motivations have changed drastically. I developed a campaign for attracting new investor clients to my real estate business and I knew my peers would find it unusual, maybe even foolhardy, but it was an important first step. Oddly, I found my need to maintain my real estate business (as opposed to retiring) wasn’t because I needed the money. Remarkably, to me, I found I missed the smile on people’s faces when they found a great investment property; the thrill of quoting a good price on renovations, and relaying the good news; and finally, the satisfaction of finding a tenant willing to pay the rent we had anticipated. I had achieved those successes before, but hadn’t thought about them much. I didn’t realize how much those reactions from clients actually meant to me. The money has become a sidebar; necessary for continuing, but no longer the motivation.

The same with my writing. I had thought I was done. With 13 books under my belt, I felt I didn’t need to slave away at that anymore. But I was wrong. By the third month of recovery, I was heavily into writing not one but two novels simultaneously.

And something was definitely different this time around. I had been examining my feelings and desires carefully. My son—the one who gave me part of his liver—had gone through his own metamorphosis and as I watched him interact with virtually anyone in his daily path, I realized that he had learned something I was only beginning to acknowledge. He genuinely cared about what people thought, felt, and experienced. His interaction with a street vendor outside the hospital one day startled me. I was proud of his ability to delve into conversations with unlikely strangers and make them feel important and heard. I never dreamed my 30-year old son would teach me humbleness and patience, but that is, in fact what I got from my interactions with him while we both healed.

Aren’t I the older one, the supposedly wiser one?

Humbleness and patience go hand in hand when realizing that your life has been spent pursuing success when real achievement is in making someone else—even a stranger you’ll never see again—feel good about themselves, just by interacting with them.

My goal now isn’t about making money, supporting my family, or building a legacy (all of which were valid goals when I was younger), but more about letting my experiences help others reach their goals. The patience that comes with age (and a near-death experience) enables me to take the time to listen, contemplate, and respond with knowledgeable actions that others can consider.

The same is happening in my writing. I find that since jumping back in, my characters are changing. There is more narrative (thoughts into words), and their reasoning is less driven by action and reaction than by thoughtful revelation. There are still twists and turns in my stories (what I’m known for), but now they are often internal (a revelation in the mind) rather than external (physical distress).

Even this blog post is different to anything else I’ve written online. I’m not trying to influence or sell something but rather laying out my simmering thoughts and feelings for all to see. In that way, I can reasonably ask others to do the same. Then, together, we can utilize true wisdom when contemplating next steps in all our lives.