Notes from the day my landlord sent me enlightenment

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to begin again—to try something new, to push back against the quiet doubts that whisper you’re too old, too young, or too concerned about what others might think.

That reflection has become the heartbeat of my newest project, a newsletter called Hopscotch—about an American (me!) finding her footing in Glasgow, chasing new dreams in a country that still feels a little foreign underfoot. It’s a space where I explore curiosity, homesickness, humor, and the messy beauty of creative life across the pond.

And then, this week, I met a man who embodied that spirit better than any self-help book ever could.

* * *

Yes, I’ll admit it. I had to call the landlord to get assistance with changing a lightbulb.

Promptly at 10am this morning, a white-haired man cloaked in a neon yellow maintenance vest buzzed our intercom. He entered our narrow Scottish flat, adeptly negotiating his 12-foot ladder across the threshold. I half expected we’d need to open the living room window to accommodate the portable staircase.

He summited the ladder like an Alpine ibex defying gravity, all the while chatting politely as he shed light on our subjects, in an accent that I immediately coveted.

When I say, “I hung on every word”, I did, emulating his lyrical intonations inside my temporal lobe.

As he worked, I asked about the secret to his energy and agility. He smiled broadly, nodding his head vigorously.

“Aye, staying active is the key, in a few months, I will be seventy-one.”

He told me he starts most mornings at the gym, giving the cardio machines a workout before making his rounds to care for the university buildings and residents. Since he and his wife don’t own a car, they walk and bike everywhere. During Covid, when their travel plans were grounded, they pedaled hundreds of miles on their bicycles. And at seventy years of age, he isn’t on a single prescription medicine.

In support of my ongoing hypothesis that the UK is a stronger breeder of readers than the United States, he shared that he just finished a captivating book about The Troubles, set in Belfast in 1972. Hearing his enthusiasm for this book was music to my ears.

And then, he said – quite vehemently, I might add –

“I do not like fiction.”

The needle on the record player in my brain screeched across the vinyl. The room became silent. You could hear the light switch being flicked on to illuminate our flat.

The world paused.

As someone that has a passion for well-crafted fiction, I don’t deem his point of view treasonous. I enjoy hearing opposing perspectives, understanding what others are drawn to, whether it’s how they spend their free time, their occupation, or their world view. I’m certain I’ll be able to excavate a nugget to ponder, incorporate into a future conversation, or enliven one of my character’s dialogues.

John Adams once said, “Let us dare to read, think, speak, and write.”

As for those who are not fans of fiction…well, I’ll just have to do a better job at convincing them otherwise (I’m kidding…sort of).

As the jaunty laborer whistled his way out of our flat, he paraphrased a quote by President John Adams, tossing it over his shoulder, which I caught with my surprisingly quick reflexes, given my coffee deficiency:

“Move or die. I choose to move; that’s my key to staying healthy. Oh, and a nice glass of cabernet from time to time.”

Watching him shoulder that ladder back down the stairs, I couldn’t help but think that maybe his vitality wasn’t just about fitness. Maybe it’s about spirit—about refusing to rust in place. There was something quietly radical about his cheerfulness, his curiosity, his decision to keep going, keep learning. I hope I carry that kind of motion with me too. There’s always another light to change, another book to read, another hill to climb. It’s never too late to begin again.

His book recommendation: