I’m very lucky. I get to talk to older people in the course of my job, as part of my day.

I have the inestimable privilege of spending real quality time with people who grew up in a different world, lived through colossal, unimaginable change, and learned, in it all, to be wise, reflective men and women of judgement.

It seems there’s no way to get wisdom other than invest the time and experience that brings wisdom to birth. And the older people in our community, our family, our street have done that. This is who they are.

Most people of my age spend their working time with people of their own age – and that makes for one particular world view. They may pop in to see granny for a little while now and again, but there are things to attend to, so it’s “Bye for now and see you again soon!” People who work with older people, in a caring capacity, are constantly pressed and stressed, with tasks and forms to fill in, and care assessments to draw up.

The women who come in to see to my 90-year-old mother’s physical needs are wonderful beyond telling and their humour and compassion are a tribute to them. But they are required to move on, post-haste, to their next client – and conversation time is, inevitably, limited. That pressure is the reality for many in the caring professions, be they nurses, home-helps, occupational therapists.

Who has the time to listen to someone share their story? Who can spare the time to connect person to person, opinion to opinion, heart to heart?

We learn so much about what makes people happy, what takes them up cul de sacs of sadness, what makes them good people, and what courage lies, embedded, in the stories of so many, only when we have the time to spend listening, and relating with them.

So maybe best not just dash off after a token courtesy call to the neighbour, or the relative in riper years. They have amazing stories to tell, for they have lived amazing lives.