At this stage, presence must have purpose.

By Dr. Leahcim Semaj

Psychologist | Author | Quantum Transformation Facilitator
The Semaj MindSpa — Where Mind, Spirit, and Science Meet

At 75, I find myself becoming more selective about the people I want around me. That sentence may sound harsh. It may even sound arrogant. But this is not about believing I am better than anybody else. It is simply an acceptance of something I could afford to ignore at 35 or 45: time is no longer an unlimited resource. Truthfully, it never was. I just understand that more clearly now.

Every relationship requires something from us – time, attention, patience, emotional space and, sometimes, a great deal of forgiveness. Some relationships give much of that back. After spending time with certain people, you feel lighter. Your mind is clearer. You may even feel more hopeful about life. Then there are others. Nothing dramatic necessarily happens. No big argument. No table is overturned. Yet after every encounter, you feel as if somebody has quietly unplugged your battery. At this stage of life, I pay attention to that feeling.

When we are younger, we tend to collect people. School friends, work colleagues, neighbours, professional associates and people we met at some conference in 1987. They entered our lives at a particular time and somehow remained there, sometimes long after the relationship stopped having any real meaning.

History matters. Shared memories matter. I would never dismiss that. But history, by itself, may not be a good enough reason to carry every relationship into the next stage of life. Some people have been in our lives for decades but have not truly been with us for years. The Anchor Leg of Life is not about accumulating more people. For me, it is about recognising the people with whom the remaining journey is worth sharing.

Peace Has Become Very Important to Me

I no longer want to spend unnecessary time explaining myself, defending every decision or preparing for the next emotional explosion. I have little appetite for relationships in which you must constantly monitor the other person’s mood before deciding what version of yourself is safe to present. You know the experience. You enter the room and immediately begin taking the emotional temperature. Can I speak freely today? Should I avoid that subject? What harmless comment is likely to become tonight’s quarrel? That is exhausting.

Now, wanting peace does not mean I want people who always agree with me. I would find that both boring and dangerous. I have never grown by surrounding myself with people who simply nod at everything I say.

I still want to be challenged. In fact, at 75, I may need honest challenge more than ever. Age can bring wisdom, yes, but it can also bring a certain stubbornness. We may start believing that because we have lived longer, we must automatically be right. Not so. I want people who can say, “Semaj, I don’t think you have that quite right,” without turning the disagreement into a declaration of war. People who can question my thinking without attacking my dignity. Disagreement is not the problem. The problem is what some people become when you disagree with them.

I Want People Who Can Celebrate Without Competing

Over the years, I have noticed something curious about human relationships. Some people can sit comfortably with you when things are going badly. They will call, console and offer advice. But when your work begins to flourish, your name is called or an opportunity opens, their energy changes. They do not say they are unhappy for you. Usually, they say all the correct words. Still, something feels slightly off. The applause is there, but the warmth has gone missing.

Perhaps another person’s success forces us to confront what we have not done with our own lives. That is human. A little envy may visit all of us from time to time. The real question is whether we recognise it, manage it and refuse to let it poison the relationship. I want people who can celebrate another person’s light without believing it has made their own light dimmer.

I do not want to make myself small so somebody else can remain comfortable. Neither do I want people around me who believe they must shrink in order to protect my ego. Your success is not my failure. My growth is not your rejection. Surely, by this stage, we should be able to applaud one another without secretly keeping score.

Please Tell Me the Truth – but Don’t Use It as a Weapon

I want honest people around me. Not people who use “I’m just being honest” as permission to be cruel. Some people do not tell the truth because they care about you. They tell it because they enjoy watching it hurt. That is not the kind of honesty I value. I want thoughtful truth, offered with care and good intention. The kind that helps me notice a blind spot without trying to embarrass me for having one.

Please respect what I have learned, but do not be intimidated by it. A Ph.D., decades of experience and a bald head does not make anybody infallible. Honour me, but do not worship me. There is a difference.

I need people who are willing to ask whether I have considered another perspective. People who will tell me when my tone was unhelpful, when my conclusion may have been premature or when I am holding on to something that life is asking me to release. The best relationships do not merely make us feel good. Sometimes they help us become better.

Curiosity Still Matters

The people I want around me are still growing. They are reading, questioning, travelling, planting, learning, creating, loving and occasionally changing their minds. They have not decided that everything meaningful has already happened.

I value memory. At 75, I have a great deal of it. I can talk about Kingston College, New York, Rutgers, Cornell, UWI, RJR, Power 106FM, The JobBank, Above or Beyond and many of the people and experiences that shaped my journey. Those stories are part of me. But I do not want every conversation to begin with “back in the day” and end with a complaint about how terrible the younger generation has become. The past is a wonderful place to visit. I simply do not want to take up permanent residence there.

I want to be around people who can remember yesterday and still remain interested in tomorrow. People who believe there are songs they have not heard, ideas they have not considered and dimensions of themselves they have not yet met. “The Best Is Yet to Come” cannot be only something printed on a book cover. It must be a way of approaching life.

I Want to Be Valued, Not Merely Used

Reciprocity matters to me now. That does not mean every relationship must be divided equally down the middle. Life does not work like that. There will be seasons when one person must carry more. Illness, grief, financial pressure and personal crisis can make a relationship uneven for a time. Real love makes allowances for such seasons. But a temporary imbalance should not become the permanent design of the relationship.

I no longer want to be in relationships where one person always calls, always checks in, always travels, always forgives and always tries to keep the connection alive. After a while, you have to ask whether you are participating in a relationship or maintaining one by yourself.

I have spent much of my adult life being useful to people. As a psychologist, teacher, consultant, father, husband, colleague and friend, I am often expected to listen, advise, interpret and help solve the problem. I am grateful for that calling. It has given my life considerable meaning. Still, I want people who notice my humanity and not only my usefulness. People who sometimes ask, “How are you?” – and remain quiet long enough to hear the real answer. I do not want to be contacted only when advice, access, affirmation or a solution is required. Sometimes I want to be valued when I am not producing anything. When I am simply being.

There Must Be Room for Joy

Life is serious enough already. I want people around me who can laugh. People who enjoy music, a good meal, a proper reasoning, nature and the occasional piece of foolishness. Maturity does not require permanent solemnity. Some of my best moments now are not complicated. Sitting in Shambafrika. Watching something I planted begin to bear. Listening to music that reaches a place words cannot quite touch. Sharing a meal with people who do not require me to perform.

Not every gathering needs an agenda. Not every conversation has to solve Jamaica’s problems before dessert. Sometimes friendship is simply two people remembering something ridiculous and laughing until no sound comes out. Joy is not a distraction from meaningful living. Joy is part of meaningful living.

Closeness Does Not Mean Ownership

The people I want around me must understand boundaries. Love does not require unlimited access. Friendship does not mean I must be available at every hour, answer every call immediately or explain every period of silence. Sometimes I need solitude. I need time to think, write, walk, listen, create and commune with something deeper than the noise around me. That is not rejection.

People who truly know me are unlikely to punish me for protecting that space. They will not confuse closeness with ownership or interpret every “no” as an insult. A healthy relationship should have room for both connection and separation. We should be able to come together without consuming one another.

We Must Be Able to Repair

No meaningful relationship will be free of disappointment. I will say the wrong thing. So will you. I may misunderstand your intentions. You may mishandle my feelings. Sometimes the injury will be accidental. At other times, if we are honest, it may not be. People are complicated. I certainly am.

What matters is whether we know how to repair what has been damaged. Can we apologise without immediately attaching a defence? Can we listen without preparing our counterattack? Can we acknowledge another person’s pain even when causing pain was not our intention? And after the apology, can we actually make an adjustment?

I do not expect perfection from the people around me. I cannot offer perfection in return. What I do want are relationships in which both people are prepared to examine themselves. There is a great difference between making a mistake and establishing a pattern. A mistake may be forgiven. A repeated pattern, covered by repeated apologies, may be telling us something else.

Some People Were Meant for a Season

Not every person who entered my life was meant to remain forever. That has taken me some time to fully accept. Some people came to teach me. Some came to challenge me. Some accompanied me through a particular season and then our paths moved in different directions. A few may have entered my life simply to reveal something about myself that I needed to see.

I can honour what a relationship once meant without pretending that it still serves the same purpose. Sometimes love changes form. Sometimes closeness becomes distance. Sometimes two people outgrow the version of the relationship that once held them together. This does not always require hatred, humiliation or warfare. Some relationships do not fail. They expire. The mature task may be to recognise the difference – and, where possible, release each other with gratitude rather than resentment.

The More Difficult Question

It is easy to describe the people I want around me. The more difficult question is whether I am becoming the kind of person those people would want around them. Do I bring peace, or do people have to manage my moods? Can I celebrate someone else without shifting the conversation back to myself? Do I tell the truth with care? Am I still curious? Do I reciprocate, respect boundaries, repair hurt and know when to let go?

The people I value will have expectations of me too. They should. I am not trying to assemble a private audience whose purpose is to satisfy my emotional needs. What I want is a circle of mutual nourishment—people helping one another become more honest, peaceful, courageous and fully alive. That circle may become smaller. I am comfortable with that.

A smaller circle does not necessarily mean a smaller life. Five genuine relationships may offer more love than fifty superficial ones. One person who truly sees you may be more valuable than a room filled with people who recognise your face but do not know your heart. For the rest of my life, I want fewer performances and more presence. Less competition. Less emotional bookkeeping. More tenderness. More truth. More laughter.

I want people who can sit with my strength without exploiting it and with my vulnerability without judging it. People who can appreciate who I am now while remaining curious about who I may still become.

At 75, I do not know exactly how much time remains. None of us does. But whatever time is left should not be distributed carelessly. My remaining years deserve good conversation, honest laughter, emotional safety, intellectual challenge, mutual affection and relationships that make me feel more alive – not less. Those are the people I want around me. And I hope, deeply, that I can be that kind of person for them.

Semaj MindSpa Takeaway

Do not choose your circle only by history, habit or proximity. Choose people who bring peace without requiring your silence, truth without cruelty, love without possession and companionship without competition. Then turn the question around: Would the people I value choose me for the rest of their lives?

The Best Is Yet to Come.

Dr. Leahcim Semaj
Transformational Psychologist
The Semaj MindSpa
www.SemajMindSpa.com