This month I’ll celebrate my 86^th birthday.

It carries a quiet weight. I feel that weight more physically now than I did at 60, or even 80. My movements are slower, my steps more deliberate. Some days, I rely more on memory than motion. Age, as they say, is not for the faint of heart.

And yet, this year, like so many in my journey through science, has offered unexpected gifts.

Last year, a new paper of mine was published—a collaborative effort that confirms the membrane hypothesis of aging and the importance of cellular hydration to counteract many of the degenerative effects we associate with getting older. After all these years, it’s deeply gratifying to continue to contribute to the field that shaped my life and, I daresay, has helped shape medicine itself. The excitement of discovery hasn’t dulled; if anything, it’s intensified with the awareness that time is precious.

Last December I had the honor of receiving the Frontiers of Science Award from the Society of Cosmetic Chemists (see photo). It still humbles me to be recognized in this way, especially among such a distinguished field of scientists pushing the boundaries of human understanding. I accepted the award with deep appreciation, not just for the recognition, but for the ongoing relevance of our work.

In May 2025, I will have the honor of receiving an honorary doctorate from Long Island University—where I completed my pharmacy degree. Receiving this honorary doctorate will symbolize coming full circle—offering a moment of reflection and gratitude. The honor isn’t just for me, but for decades of colleagues, students, and friends who’ve challenged and inspired me.

These days, I think often about legacy. Not in the statues-and-streets-named-after-you sense, but in the quieter ways: the questions we leave behind, the minds we help shape, the kindness we extend in the lab and beyond.

I’ve lost some physical dexterity over the years, yes. But I’ve gained something else: perspective, patience, and a deepening appreciation for the privilege of a life spent in science. At 86, I’ve never been more convinced that curiosity is the best elixir for aging.

To all the young scientists reading this: your energy is our future. Keep asking questions that scare you. Keep challenging the textbook. And remember that success is sweeter when shared.

Thank you to everyone who’s walked with me on this long and remarkable path. I’m still walking—maybe a little slower—but still forward, always forward.

I don’t blow out candles with quite the same ease anymore, and my knees protest a bit more than they used to—but age, for all its inconveniences, has brought with it some surprising compensations.

And that’s perhaps the greatest lesson I’ve learned: curiosity is timeless.

People often ask me how I keep going, what motivates me at this stage in life. The truth is, I’ve never lost the sense of wonder. I still wake up thinking about health, happiness, purpose, what makes for a meaningful life. My sense of awe hasn’t faded, and I hope it never will.

With age comes a shift in how we measure progress. I used to count papers published, patents awarded, lectures given. Now, I find myself counting sunrises, conversations with friends, moments of quiet where I reflect on the improbable beauty of life and science.

One Insight I coined years ago but that’s become increasingly important with time is this: Celebrate every day as if it was your birthday. Not with cake or candles, necessarily, but with a mindset of appreciation. Wake up with the same wonder you felt as a child waiting to unwrap presents. Because every day offers something—a conversation, a breakthrough, a moment of laughter or peace—that makes it worth honoring.

We don’t need milestones to feel fulfilled. Sometimes, the most ordinary day contains the most profound moments.

Yes, I move slower. I take more breaks. But my heart remains full. I’ve been privileged to work with brilliant and caring people, to mentor future generations, to contribute in some small way to the vast and evolving story of science. I’ve seen ideas turn into treatments, and questions spark revolutions in understanding. It’s been more than a career—it’s been a calling.

So this month, on my 86th birthday, I’m not only celebrating another trip around the sun. I’m celebrating the people, the passions, the persistence, and the peace that have carried me this far.

And I encourage you—no matter your age or path—to do the same.