Last summer, I stood in line at a New York City theater, eager to see the Broadway play, Hadestown. The wait was long, the air was thick with the heat of the city, and suddenly my vision blurred and darkened. I managed to gasp “I need help!” before collapsing. My husband couldn’t hold me up alone, but thankfully, a couple of burly bystanders stepped in to help while theater staff rushed over with a wheelchair and water. They anxiously asked if I needed an ambulance. “No,” I declared, “I’ve waited all this time to see this show, and I’m not getting out of line now!”

This incident got me thinking. We elderly have countless opportunities for embarrassment: falls in public, bodily functions gone awry, struggles to rise from low-slung couches. Doctors and providers wisely urge us to prevent falls with classes and exercises. At some point, however, many of us simply choose to stay home. We accept that we’re “too old” to take risks and retreat into our increasingly small worlds.

Sadly, this withdrawal can be as unhealthy as the falls themselves, leading to social isolation, anxiety, and depression. Our attempts to avoid discomfort can become a prison, a solitude of our own making.

But what if our struggles were learning opportunities for a world that needs to understand old age before they get there? If we don’t complain about chairs that are difficult to get out of, toilets that are too low, or waiting lines that test our endurance, how will things ever change? Until we speak up about low-slung couches in waiting rooms, the need for arms on dining chairs, and the challenges of conversation in noisy spaces, nothing will improve.

This brings me to the theme of letting go. Let’s let go of some dignity and embrace humor instead. Rather than struggling in silence to rise from a chair, why not declare with a smile, “This chair won’t let me go!” My elderly Aunt Jane, a woman of indomitable spirit, once traveled across the country with her two adolescent grandchildren to visit the Smithsonian. When an unfortunate incident of incontinence occurred, she simply announced, “Gotta go change my pants, kids. We’re going back to the hotel for a bit,” and continued her adventure without missing a beat. She died a year later, and her family remembers her as a force of nature.

As elders, we’re wise enough to avoid truly dangerous situations. But a museum visit, or even just navigating a chair, should be worth the risk. Balancing the joy of experience with the potential for embarrassment is something we old sages are more than capable of. In fact, it might just add humor and meaning to our lives.