Myron Ward's Blog - Posts Tagged "aging-and-society"
Welcome to the Journey of "Solo Agers: Book I - Kakistocracy"
Aging and Societypersonal reflection and growthDystopian LiteratureHealthcare and PolicySocial Justice and AdvocacyStorytelling and WritingBooks and Literature
There comes a moment when life nudges you in a direction you never anticipated, a subtle yet profound shift that alters your trajectory. For me, that moment unfolded during a road trip to San Francisco with my father. It was more than just a drive up the California coast; it was a poignant chapter in our story—a celebration of life amid the early stages of his diagnosis.
As we navigated the winding roads, laughter and shared memories filled the spaces between us. But when I dropped him off at home, a stark reality settled in. I watched him hobble towards his front door, each step a delicate balance between the man he was and the fragility creeping in. The father I knew—strong, invincible in my eyes—was slipping away, and with each unsteady stride, a piece of him faded.
That image lingered with me. Here was a man who had spent over 40 years as an entrepreneur, providing jobs, contributing to the community, doing everything "right" to avoid institutionalization. Yet, despite his life's work, the possibility loomed that circumstances beyond his control might lead him to a place he never wanted to be. Not because of any failure on his part, but because illness doesn't discriminate, and our systems aren't always equipped to honor the dignity of those who age.
It struck me deeply—not just as his son, but as someone facing a similar path. I am unmarried, without children, and the realization dawned that if the roles were reversed, I might navigate my later years without the support system he had. This wasn't just about my father or me; it was about the millions of people in America aging into "solo ager" status. Who will stand with them? Who will ensure they're not invisible?
This profound concern sparked the inception of "Solo Agers: Kakistocracy."
In crafting this narrative, I wanted a lens through which readers could fully immerse themselves in this dystopian reality. Enter Stephanie—a resilient, complex protagonist who embodies the struggles and hopes of solo agers. She's not just a character; she's a conduit, a narrative mechanism that ushers you into a world uncomfortably close to our own.
Through Stephanie's eyes, you experience the unsettling terrain of a society that marginalizes its elders, especially those without traditional support networks. Her journey reflects the pressing social issues we often overlook—ageism, inadequate healthcare, and the erosion of empathy in our communities.
Writing this novella has been as much an inward journey as it has been a creative endeavor. Balancing the demands of caring for my elderly father, managing work, and carving out time to write was a challenge. But beyond the logistics, it forced me to confront facets of myself I hadn't fully acknowledged.
There were moments of frustration—feeling unseen in the sacrifices made, yearning for acknowledgment that seldom comes in caregiving. I grappled with my own emotional literacy, realizing that my inability to articulate feelings led to internal conflicts and tension. It wasn't just about managing time; it was about managing self.
Peeling back these layers wasn't easy. It required me to expand my emotional range, to hold space for multiple, often conflicting emotions simultaneously. Understanding intentions versus impact, recognizing the spectrum of blame, and navigating the complexities of human interaction—all of this enriched not only my personal growth but also the depth of my characters.
Researching for the novel was an eye-opener. The retirement crisis isn't a distant, abstract concept; it's a looming reality that will affect us all. The staggering economic challenges, such as unfunded healthcare obligations and the pressures of an aging population on our systems, are not just numbers—they represent lives, stories, and futures.
Recent political climates have also highlighted unsettling trends. Attacks on single women with no children, for instance, may seem targeted, but they underscore a broader societal undervaluing of individuals who don't fit traditional molds. As a middle-aged man without children, I felt the adjacent impact of these narratives, recognizing how easily policies and rhetoric can marginalize.
"Solo Agers: Kakistocracy" isn't just a speculative tale; it's a cautionary exploration of what could be if we continue down certain paths unchecked. My hope is that the story serves as both a mirror and a catalyst—a reflection of current societal issues and a prompt for meaningful conversations.
I want readers to pause and consider the solo agers in their own lives—the relatives, friends, and neighbors who might one day face these challenges alone. To move beyond a lack of awareness or empathy and toward active engagement and support.
This blog is the beginning of a dialogue. I aim to broaden the conversation around the social issues intertwined with aging, to shed light on the realities many might not even realize exist. Whether you're a solo ager yourself, a caregiver, a professional in healthcare, or simply someone interested in social justice, there's a place for you here.
Let's delve into the "what if" scenarios, not as a means to instill fear, but to inspire action and empathy. Let's use Stephanie's journey as a guide to navigate our own understanding and to advocate for a society that honors and supports its aging population.
I encourage you to join the discussion. Share your thoughts, your experiences, and your questions. Together, we can raise awareness and perhaps influence the narratives and policies that shape our futures.
Thank you for joining me on this journey through the personal experiences and insights that shaped "Solo Agers: Kakistocracy." As we delve into the themes of resilience, autonomy, and the societal impact of aging, I invite you to share your own stories and reflections. How have you seen these themes play out in your own life or in the lives of those around you? What changes would you like to see in how our society addresses aging and social justice?
📖 Pre-Order Now www.soloagernovel.com
Solo Agers: Book 1 - KakistocracyDon't miss out on the opportunity to be one of the first to explore the world of "Solo Agers." Pre-order your copy here.
Thank you for taking the time to read this first entry. I look forward to embarking on this journey with you—exploring the layers, confronting the challenges, and hopefully, making a difference along the way.
Warm regards,
Myron Ward
There comes a moment when life nudges you in a direction you never anticipated, a subtle yet profound shift that alters your trajectory. For me, that moment unfolded during a road trip to San Francisco with my father. It was more than just a drive up the California coast; it was a poignant chapter in our story—a celebration of life amid the early stages of his diagnosis.
As we navigated the winding roads, laughter and shared memories filled the spaces between us. But when I dropped him off at home, a stark reality settled in. I watched him hobble towards his front door, each step a delicate balance between the man he was and the fragility creeping in. The father I knew—strong, invincible in my eyes—was slipping away, and with each unsteady stride, a piece of him faded.
That image lingered with me. Here was a man who had spent over 40 years as an entrepreneur, providing jobs, contributing to the community, doing everything "right" to avoid institutionalization. Yet, despite his life's work, the possibility loomed that circumstances beyond his control might lead him to a place he never wanted to be. Not because of any failure on his part, but because illness doesn't discriminate, and our systems aren't always equipped to honor the dignity of those who age.
It struck me deeply—not just as his son, but as someone facing a similar path. I am unmarried, without children, and the realization dawned that if the roles were reversed, I might navigate my later years without the support system he had. This wasn't just about my father or me; it was about the millions of people in America aging into "solo ager" status. Who will stand with them? Who will ensure they're not invisible?
This profound concern sparked the inception of "Solo Agers: Kakistocracy."
In crafting this narrative, I wanted a lens through which readers could fully immerse themselves in this dystopian reality. Enter Stephanie—a resilient, complex protagonist who embodies the struggles and hopes of solo agers. She's not just a character; she's a conduit, a narrative mechanism that ushers you into a world uncomfortably close to our own.
Through Stephanie's eyes, you experience the unsettling terrain of a society that marginalizes its elders, especially those without traditional support networks. Her journey reflects the pressing social issues we often overlook—ageism, inadequate healthcare, and the erosion of empathy in our communities.
Writing this novella has been as much an inward journey as it has been a creative endeavor. Balancing the demands of caring for my elderly father, managing work, and carving out time to write was a challenge. But beyond the logistics, it forced me to confront facets of myself I hadn't fully acknowledged.
There were moments of frustration—feeling unseen in the sacrifices made, yearning for acknowledgment that seldom comes in caregiving. I grappled with my own emotional literacy, realizing that my inability to articulate feelings led to internal conflicts and tension. It wasn't just about managing time; it was about managing self.
Peeling back these layers wasn't easy. It required me to expand my emotional range, to hold space for multiple, often conflicting emotions simultaneously. Understanding intentions versus impact, recognizing the spectrum of blame, and navigating the complexities of human interaction—all of this enriched not only my personal growth but also the depth of my characters.
Researching for the novel was an eye-opener. The retirement crisis isn't a distant, abstract concept; it's a looming reality that will affect us all. The staggering economic challenges, such as unfunded healthcare obligations and the pressures of an aging population on our systems, are not just numbers—they represent lives, stories, and futures.
Recent political climates have also highlighted unsettling trends. Attacks on single women with no children, for instance, may seem targeted, but they underscore a broader societal undervaluing of individuals who don't fit traditional molds. As a middle-aged man without children, I felt the adjacent impact of these narratives, recognizing how easily policies and rhetoric can marginalize.
"Solo Agers: Kakistocracy" isn't just a speculative tale; it's a cautionary exploration of what could be if we continue down certain paths unchecked. My hope is that the story serves as both a mirror and a catalyst—a reflection of current societal issues and a prompt for meaningful conversations.
I want readers to pause and consider the solo agers in their own lives—the relatives, friends, and neighbors who might one day face these challenges alone. To move beyond a lack of awareness or empathy and toward active engagement and support.
This blog is the beginning of a dialogue. I aim to broaden the conversation around the social issues intertwined with aging, to shed light on the realities many might not even realize exist. Whether you're a solo ager yourself, a caregiver, a professional in healthcare, or simply someone interested in social justice, there's a place for you here.
Let's delve into the "what if" scenarios, not as a means to instill fear, but to inspire action and empathy. Let's use Stephanie's journey as a guide to navigate our own understanding and to advocate for a society that honors and supports its aging population.
I encourage you to join the discussion. Share your thoughts, your experiences, and your questions. Together, we can raise awareness and perhaps influence the narratives and policies that shape our futures.
Thank you for joining me on this journey through the personal experiences and insights that shaped "Solo Agers: Kakistocracy." As we delve into the themes of resilience, autonomy, and the societal impact of aging, I invite you to share your own stories and reflections. How have you seen these themes play out in your own life or in the lives of those around you? What changes would you like to see in how our society addresses aging and social justice?
📖 Pre-Order Now www.soloagernovel.com
Solo Agers: Book 1 - KakistocracyDon't miss out on the opportunity to be one of the first to explore the world of "Solo Agers." Pre-order your copy here.
Thank you for taking the time to read this first entry. I look forward to embarking on this journey with you—exploring the layers, confronting the challenges, and hopefully, making a difference along the way.
Warm regards,
Myron Ward
How Stories Shape Our World: Reflections from ‘Solo Agers’
There’s this moment I keep coming back to, a memory that reminds me just how deeply a story can shape our understanding of life. I’m eight years old, and my mother is looking at me—really looking at me—while telling me about her addiction. In that instant, the safe, familiar world I thought I knew cracked open. I glimpsed something raw, human, and complicated behind her eyes. I didn’t have the language then to explain how that truth hit me, but it planted a seed of empathy that would grow over time. It taught me that every story—no matter how painful—can open your heart and shift your perspective.
Years later, when I first saw The Matrix, something clicked into place again. That film introduced me to the idea that reality can have layers, that the world we navigate is more flexible and mysterious than we imagine. It was a wild fusion of philosophy, religion, and sci-fi wrapped in a narrative that dared me to question everything. Stories can do that: they nudge us beyond our comfort zones, challenge our assumptions, and ask us to consider possibilities we never saw coming.
I carried these lessons into the writing of Solo Agers. Crafting this novella confronted me with my own doubts and forced me to face uncomfortable truths—about aging, isolation, and how our society values human beings. I found myself asking: How will we handle the day when there are more of us growing old alone, without traditional family structures to lean on? How do we respond when the systems we rely on begin to falter, and people who’ve worked their whole lives slip through the cracks?
Putting these questions into a story wasn’t just an intellectual exercise. It felt more like rolling up my sleeves, getting in the dirt, and wrestling with something that mattered deeply to me. Along the way, I discovered that readers come to stories from vastly different angles. When I shared early drafts with others, some embraced my older female protagonist—admiring her strength and resolve—while others scoffed, questioning how a 65-year-old woman could possibly command such narrative territory. Their reactions said as much about their own beliefs and biases as they did about my characters. In that sense, my story became a mirror, revealing both what we find inspiring and what we stubbornly refuse to accept.
This is the quiet but profound influence of storytelling. Novels, films, and even simple anecdotes can whisk us into unfamiliar worlds, allowing us to inhabit the lives of people we might otherwise overlook. Historically, the written word broke social barriers, letting those in power catch a glimpse of the lives beneath them—leading, over centuries, to seeds of empathy and democratic ideals. Today, stories remain vital because they don’t just state facts; they draw us into the emotions, struggles, and hopes of others, fostering understanding where ignorance might prevail.
Of course, there’s a fine line between guiding a reader’s perspective and pushing an agenda. When writing Solo Agers, I realized that authenticity matters more than any grand statement I might want to make. Readers can sense if you’re preaching at them, and the best stories don’t browbeat; they whisper, they suggest, they invite. To keep it real, I had to acknowledge my own biases—my personal lens as a man writing an older female protagonist, my preconceived notions about how the world works—and let my characters breathe on their own terms.
In a world drowning in information—headlines clamoring for attention, social media feeds scrolling endlessly—a story that matters is like a compass. It cuts through the static because it addresses something essential: our need to understand ourselves and each other. It might reveal a hidden truth, challenge a comfortable lie, or shine a light on a future we didn’t know we needed to consider. When I researched for Solo Agers, talking with doctors and psychologists, I wanted to ground the narrative in real, pressing concerns. To me, that’s how storytellers earn trust: by showing we’ve done our homework, that we’re not just spinning fantasies but engaging honestly with the world’s complexity.
The truth is, our storytelling traditions have always evolved. Oral epics, ancient myths, classic literature—they adapted as societies changed and as new voices demanded to be heard. Today, our culture is in flux, and stories become anchors, helping us rediscover our bearings. As religious faith wanes for some, as technology redefines relationships, as we struggle to find common ground, stories remind us that we’re not alone. They say, “Hey, someone else has felt what you’re feeling, thought what you’re thinking, and dared to dream differently.”
Do we as authors and creators bear a responsibility for shaping society through our narratives? Sure, but we can’t police how everyone interprets our work. What we can do is approach our craft with care, honesty, and respect. We can commit to exploring truth rather than spreading harm. Stories carry immense potential for both illumination and deception, and choosing the former is part of our moral compass as artists.
Looking forward, I expect the power of storytelling to grow even more essential. As the future becomes less predictable, we’ll cling to narratives that help us make sense of who we are and where we’re headed. I hope my work, including Solo Agers, can serve as a modest lighthouse—a way for readers, now and decades from now, to navigate the uncertain seas of societal change.
So, I invite you to consider the stories that have shaped your world. Which ones opened your eyes to new truths, and which ones made you question what you knew? My guess is that those moments stuck with you, not because you agreed or disagreed with the story, but because it moved something inside you. That’s what storytelling does—it moves us, reorients us, and sometimes, if we’re lucky, helps us see each other with a kinder, clearer gaze.
Solo Agers: Kakistocracy
Years later, when I first saw The Matrix, something clicked into place again. That film introduced me to the idea that reality can have layers, that the world we navigate is more flexible and mysterious than we imagine. It was a wild fusion of philosophy, religion, and sci-fi wrapped in a narrative that dared me to question everything. Stories can do that: they nudge us beyond our comfort zones, challenge our assumptions, and ask us to consider possibilities we never saw coming.
I carried these lessons into the writing of Solo Agers. Crafting this novella confronted me with my own doubts and forced me to face uncomfortable truths—about aging, isolation, and how our society values human beings. I found myself asking: How will we handle the day when there are more of us growing old alone, without traditional family structures to lean on? How do we respond when the systems we rely on begin to falter, and people who’ve worked their whole lives slip through the cracks?
Putting these questions into a story wasn’t just an intellectual exercise. It felt more like rolling up my sleeves, getting in the dirt, and wrestling with something that mattered deeply to me. Along the way, I discovered that readers come to stories from vastly different angles. When I shared early drafts with others, some embraced my older female protagonist—admiring her strength and resolve—while others scoffed, questioning how a 65-year-old woman could possibly command such narrative territory. Their reactions said as much about their own beliefs and biases as they did about my characters. In that sense, my story became a mirror, revealing both what we find inspiring and what we stubbornly refuse to accept.
This is the quiet but profound influence of storytelling. Novels, films, and even simple anecdotes can whisk us into unfamiliar worlds, allowing us to inhabit the lives of people we might otherwise overlook. Historically, the written word broke social barriers, letting those in power catch a glimpse of the lives beneath them—leading, over centuries, to seeds of empathy and democratic ideals. Today, stories remain vital because they don’t just state facts; they draw us into the emotions, struggles, and hopes of others, fostering understanding where ignorance might prevail.
Of course, there’s a fine line between guiding a reader’s perspective and pushing an agenda. When writing Solo Agers, I realized that authenticity matters more than any grand statement I might want to make. Readers can sense if you’re preaching at them, and the best stories don’t browbeat; they whisper, they suggest, they invite. To keep it real, I had to acknowledge my own biases—my personal lens as a man writing an older female protagonist, my preconceived notions about how the world works—and let my characters breathe on their own terms.
In a world drowning in information—headlines clamoring for attention, social media feeds scrolling endlessly—a story that matters is like a compass. It cuts through the static because it addresses something essential: our need to understand ourselves and each other. It might reveal a hidden truth, challenge a comfortable lie, or shine a light on a future we didn’t know we needed to consider. When I researched for Solo Agers, talking with doctors and psychologists, I wanted to ground the narrative in real, pressing concerns. To me, that’s how storytellers earn trust: by showing we’ve done our homework, that we’re not just spinning fantasies but engaging honestly with the world’s complexity.
The truth is, our storytelling traditions have always evolved. Oral epics, ancient myths, classic literature—they adapted as societies changed and as new voices demanded to be heard. Today, our culture is in flux, and stories become anchors, helping us rediscover our bearings. As religious faith wanes for some, as technology redefines relationships, as we struggle to find common ground, stories remind us that we’re not alone. They say, “Hey, someone else has felt what you’re feeling, thought what you’re thinking, and dared to dream differently.”
Do we as authors and creators bear a responsibility for shaping society through our narratives? Sure, but we can’t police how everyone interprets our work. What we can do is approach our craft with care, honesty, and respect. We can commit to exploring truth rather than spreading harm. Stories carry immense potential for both illumination and deception, and choosing the former is part of our moral compass as artists.
Looking forward, I expect the power of storytelling to grow even more essential. As the future becomes less predictable, we’ll cling to narratives that help us make sense of who we are and where we’re headed. I hope my work, including Solo Agers, can serve as a modest lighthouse—a way for readers, now and decades from now, to navigate the uncertain seas of societal change.
So, I invite you to consider the stories that have shaped your world. Which ones opened your eyes to new truths, and which ones made you question what you knew? My guess is that those moments stuck with you, not because you agreed or disagreed with the story, but because it moved something inside you. That’s what storytelling does—it moves us, reorients us, and sometimes, if we’re lucky, helps us see each other with a kinder, clearer gaze.
Solo Agers: Kakistocracy
