Dr. Leahcim Semaj
Psychologist | Author | Social Philosopher | Spiritual Guide | Management Consultant
For all of my life, the Pope was always an old man.
Not just by age—but by energy, by demeanor, by posture, and presence.
He was a fixture of solemn authority, draped in tradition, suspended in ritual.
He was older than time itself—or so it seemed to a boy growing up watching global ceremonies led by frail, white-haired pontiffs.
But now, I find myself in a curious place:
I am older than the Pope.
Not just chronologically.
This new Holy Father—young, vibrant, American-born—represents a spiritual shift, a cultural pivot, a generational crack in the stained glass of history. He was born in 1955 in Chicago, USA.
And here I stand: older, yes. I was born in 1951, in Kingston, Jamaica.
But not old.
There is something disorienting—and strangely liberating—about realizing that the global symbol of seniority is younger than you.
But he looks older than me?
I do not feel old.
I lift weights three days a week.
I walk three 5Ks weekly.
I eat like I have plans to live a very long time.
And more than that—I still dream, write, mentor, create, and provoke thought.
Or is it my mind?
That’s what really defies age.
I’m still actively working as a psychologist and management consultant—helping individuals and organizations transform.
I publish a blog every single day, drawing from science, spirit, and self-awareness to inspire growth and reflection.
My mind is not winding down; it’s gearing up.
There are still so many ideas to shape, problems to solve, stories to tell, and lives to touch.
But with each passing month, I feel the losses accumulate. More funerals to attend.
Contemporaries fade. Friends fall away. Familiar names make the obituary pages.
It is not grief that dominates—it is recognition.
The timeline is real. The clock ticks loudest when the room is quietest.
And yet, within this awareness lies a gift:
The blessing of presence. The joy of endurance.
To be a living elder, not just a survivor of time, but an embodiment of experience, vitality, and relevance.
So yes—it is strange to be older than the Pope.
But strange is not bad.
Strange is a sign of change, and change is where growth lives.
Perhaps this is the real message of aging well:
Not just to stay alive, but to stay awake.
To be older, wiser, and still in motion.
To wear your years like medals, not chains.
To be old and agile, not old and fragile.
And maybe, just maybe—
To one day become ‘the Pope’ in someone else’s life.
A voice of calm. A mirror of truth. A reminder that the soul does not wrinkle.