I'm writing to express my profound gratitude for "Somewhere to Go" and for truly seeing Sage Stream in a way that honestly took my breath away.
Your piece articulates something I've struggled to put into words since launching Sage Stream. You write about music not as therapy or outcome, but as a space people can enter "quietly, on one's own terms." That's exactly what we've been trying to create— an open door.
When you wrote, "People are not funnelled. They browse, linger, return, and choose," you captured the fundamental design principle that guides everything we do. In an industry obsessed with personalization algorithms and engagement metrics, we've deliberately chosen to hold space open and trust people to decide where their attention goes. Reading your words, I realized you understand this isn't just a feature—it's the entire point.
What moves me most is how you connected Sage Stream to the broader question of dignity in aging. You're right that this isn't really about music. It's about whether people are "still allowed to choose where their attention goes" when so much of later life becomes organized by others. Your phrase "the difference between a life that feels lived and one that feels administered" will stay with me.
Too often, innovation in aging is evaluated through a narrow, transactional lens. Your piece recognizes something deeper: that engagement, meaning, and emotional presence are not “nice-to-haves,” but foundational to dignity as we age. Coming from someone who has shaped the global conversation on aging, that recognition carries real weight.
Anthony, thank you for taking the time to write such a considered response. It’s rare to feel a piece reflected back with the same care that went into writing it. Knowing that “Somewhere to Go” gave language to something you’ve been working toward since launching Sage Stream means a great deal to me.
What you’re doing sits well outside the usual narrative about “solutions” in ageing. Building a space that simply remains open for people to enter on their own terms, is a genuinely different proposition. It treats attention in later life as something to be trusted rather than managed, and that feels both quietly radical and completely necessary.
I’m especially encouraged by how Sage Stream keeps the focus on choice and texture, rather than outcomes alone. That design stance holding space instead of directing it has implications far beyond music, for how we think about technology, care, and daily life as we age. My hope is that work like yours can help reset expectations of what “excellence” looks like in this field.
I’m looking forward to seeing how Sage Stream continues to evolve, and how best to support this important work that brings about dignity and attention into other parts of ageing and care.
Your reflection beautifully captures how music reopens doors we didn't know had quietly closed, offering a space of pure, unpressured entry that preserves dignity, identity, and emotional continuity—especially as life becomes more structured with age.
This resonates deeply in the Indian context, where traditional music has long served as an accessible, lifelong companion across every stage of life, often without needing explanation or justification. From birth to the later years, Indian classical and devotional traditions weave music into the fabric of existence, allowing people—particularly the elderly—to lose themselves in its notes as a natural, sustaining practice.
In childhood and early life (samskaras like naming ceremonies or upanayana), lullabies and simple mantras introduce rhythm and melody as sources of comfort and protection. As one grows into family and social roles—through weddings filled with folk songs, mangal geet, and celebratory bhajans—music marks joy, union, and transition. In adulthood and middle age, ragas aligned with times of day (like morning Bhairav or evening Yaman) and seasonal melodies accompany daily rituals, work, reflection, and devotion.
Yet it is in later years that this becomes most profound. Many older Indians find profound solace and immersion in bhajans, kirtans, and classical ragas. Groups gather in temples, homes, or community satsangs to sing devotional songs—often call-and-response kirtans invoking deities like Krishna or Shiva—where voices blend in shared devotion. Elderly individuals frequently sit with eyes closed, swaying gently or clapping tal, completely absorbed in the melody and words. The harmonium, tabla, or even just a simple tanpura drone creates an atmosphere where time dissolves; worries fade, and a quiet transcendence takes over.
This isn't about performance or achievement—it's about arrival, much like you describe. Familiar ragas (such as Darbari Kanada for introspection at night or soothing Yaman for evening calm) evoke deep emotional and spiritual recall, often linked to lifelong memories of family, festivals, or personal devotion. Studies on Carnatic and Hindustani traditions highlight how long-term engagement with these forms supports emotional steadiness and cognitive reserve in ageing, but beyond that, elders speak of the sheer pleasure: the way a raga's slow unfolding invites the mind to wander freely, the rhythm that syncs with breath, the companionship in collective singing without judgment.
In India, music remains "available" in this way—through morning bhajans in parks, evening kirtans at home, or temple gatherings—preserving choice and selfhood even when other aspects of life are organised by routines or caregivers. Older adults don't just listen; they often become lost in the notes, humming along, eyes distant yet present, finding a private yet communal space that feels entirely their own.
Your piece on Sage Stream reminds me of this ethos: holding space open, trusting people to enter on their terms, without funneling or framing. It's a design that echoes how Indian traditions have long protected access to music as a quiet act of dignity—something that resists being reduced to therapy or outcome, yet quietly sustains the soul.
Thank you for this thoughtful exploration. It invites us all to notice those small, reclaimable doors—and perhaps step through them more often.
Thank you for reading so attentively, and for such a generous and thoughtful reflection. I am deeply touched by how carefully you have sat with the piece and extended it through your own cultural and lived lens.
Your description of music in the Indian context brings into view exactly what I was reaching toward, but could not name so fully. Music not as an activity, intervention, or outcome, but as a companion across the whole arc of life. Something woven into belonging, memory, devotion, and time itself. The way you describe elders absorbed in bhajans and ragas, eyes closed, bodies gently moving, feels like a perfect articulation of arrival without instruction.
What struck me most is your emphasis on continuity. Music not marking decline or “later life,” but remaining present, available, and recognisable from birth through old age. That sense of availability, of being able to enter without explanation or permission, is precisely what so many modern systems struggle to protect.
I am especially grateful for the way you named this as dignity, not therapy. Pleasure, rhythm, companionship, and immersion for their own sake. That distinction matters deeply to me, and your reflection reinforces it beautifully.
Thank you, truly, for reading so closely week after week, and for offering such a rich extension of the conversation. It means more than I can easily say.
I stumbled on this at just the right time. Like you, I realize that I don't have a go to music I love and have not had music as a companion in many eras of my life, since the music of the 60s. I reflecting on that, on my effort to play catch up which is of course effort, I asked - what music moves me. Surprisingly I found... hymns... they bring me to tears (and I'm not a christian!). And movie scores. Listening for what else. Female vocalists. I'm 80 and looking at what this season of my life might be, after my big pushes to make a difference in the world through writing, speaking, organizing, leading. You've given a clue. Presence. Pleasure in the moment. Dignity. Thank you. Following.
Thank you so much for sharing this, beautiful self‑observation and honesty. What you describe about this season of life resonates deeply with what I hoped the essay would hold: that presence, pleasure and dignity are not consolation prizes after a life of contribution, but a meaningful phase in their own right. I want to grasp this also.
The way you’re tuning in to “what else?” and letting that include new voices as well as old companions sounds like a quiet, ongoing form of authorship. Bravo!
Jane, I just love your way of describing the impact of music with the aging and those with cognitive challenges, Jane. You explain what I’ve experienced with my dad who is in the early part of advanced Alzheimer’s. He still lights up and sings along-using the right lyrics-to songs which he knew from his early adulthood and beyond. And watching him is magical, as he doesn’t exhibit self consciousness, he just belts it out straight from his heart. This has been a tremendous source of joy for us to experience, and for him obviously. A huge point of connection between him and his family and the world around him. Your beautiful way of describing this literally fills my heart with love (and also my eyes with tears, which is generally hard to avoid whenever I talk about my dad). Really appreciate this read. ❤️❤️lots of love to you.
Thank you for sharing this so openly. Your words carry such tenderness, and I can feel how alive this experience with your dad is for you and your family.
What you describe him lighting up, singing with confidence, free of self-consciousness is exactly that moment that allows him to meet the world on his own terms. There is something profoundly moving about watching someone we love be fully present in that way. Joy without effort. Expression without apology. It reminds me that so much of who people are remains intact, even as other things fall away.
Thank you for trusting me with such a wonderful reflection, and for letting your dad’s experience sit alongside the piece. I’m holding both of you gently as I read your words.
Thank you for your kind words, I am so grateful for them. Music is new for me, and I’m looking forward to the many places it may take me, in heart and in mind. Be well.
I'm writing to express my profound gratitude for "Somewhere to Go" and for truly seeing Sage Stream in a way that honestly took my breath away.
Your piece articulates something I've struggled to put into words since launching Sage Stream. You write about music not as therapy or outcome, but as a space people can enter "quietly, on one's own terms." That's exactly what we've been trying to create— an open door.
When you wrote, "People are not funnelled. They browse, linger, return, and choose," you captured the fundamental design principle that guides everything we do. In an industry obsessed with personalization algorithms and engagement metrics, we've deliberately chosen to hold space open and trust people to decide where their attention goes. Reading your words, I realized you understand this isn't just a feature—it's the entire point.
What moves me most is how you connected Sage Stream to the broader question of dignity in aging. You're right that this isn't really about music. It's about whether people are "still allowed to choose where their attention goes" when so much of later life becomes organized by others. Your phrase "the difference between a life that feels lived and one that feels administered" will stay with me.
Too often, innovation in aging is evaluated through a narrow, transactional lens. Your piece recognizes something deeper: that engagement, meaning, and emotional presence are not “nice-to-haves,” but foundational to dignity as we age. Coming from someone who has shaped the global conversation on aging, that recognition carries real weight.
With deep appreciation and respect...
Anthony, thank you for taking the time to write such a considered response. It’s rare to feel a piece reflected back with the same care that went into writing it. Knowing that “Somewhere to Go” gave language to something you’ve been working toward since launching Sage Stream means a great deal to me.
What you’re doing sits well outside the usual narrative about “solutions” in ageing. Building a space that simply remains open for people to enter on their own terms, is a genuinely different proposition. It treats attention in later life as something to be trusted rather than managed, and that feels both quietly radical and completely necessary.
I’m especially encouraged by how Sage Stream keeps the focus on choice and texture, rather than outcomes alone. That design stance holding space instead of directing it has implications far beyond music, for how we think about technology, care, and daily life as we age. My hope is that work like yours can help reset expectations of what “excellence” looks like in this field.
I’m looking forward to seeing how Sage Stream continues to evolve, and how best to support this important work that brings about dignity and attention into other parts of ageing and care.
Jane,
Your reflection beautifully captures how music reopens doors we didn't know had quietly closed, offering a space of pure, unpressured entry that preserves dignity, identity, and emotional continuity—especially as life becomes more structured with age.
This resonates deeply in the Indian context, where traditional music has long served as an accessible, lifelong companion across every stage of life, often without needing explanation or justification. From birth to the later years, Indian classical and devotional traditions weave music into the fabric of existence, allowing people—particularly the elderly—to lose themselves in its notes as a natural, sustaining practice.
In childhood and early life (samskaras like naming ceremonies or upanayana), lullabies and simple mantras introduce rhythm and melody as sources of comfort and protection. As one grows into family and social roles—through weddings filled with folk songs, mangal geet, and celebratory bhajans—music marks joy, union, and transition. In adulthood and middle age, ragas aligned with times of day (like morning Bhairav or evening Yaman) and seasonal melodies accompany daily rituals, work, reflection, and devotion.
Yet it is in later years that this becomes most profound. Many older Indians find profound solace and immersion in bhajans, kirtans, and classical ragas. Groups gather in temples, homes, or community satsangs to sing devotional songs—often call-and-response kirtans invoking deities like Krishna or Shiva—where voices blend in shared devotion. Elderly individuals frequently sit with eyes closed, swaying gently or clapping tal, completely absorbed in the melody and words. The harmonium, tabla, or even just a simple tanpura drone creates an atmosphere where time dissolves; worries fade, and a quiet transcendence takes over.
This isn't about performance or achievement—it's about arrival, much like you describe. Familiar ragas (such as Darbari Kanada for introspection at night or soothing Yaman for evening calm) evoke deep emotional and spiritual recall, often linked to lifelong memories of family, festivals, or personal devotion. Studies on Carnatic and Hindustani traditions highlight how long-term engagement with these forms supports emotional steadiness and cognitive reserve in ageing, but beyond that, elders speak of the sheer pleasure: the way a raga's slow unfolding invites the mind to wander freely, the rhythm that syncs with breath, the companionship in collective singing without judgment.
In India, music remains "available" in this way—through morning bhajans in parks, evening kirtans at home, or temple gatherings—preserving choice and selfhood even when other aspects of life are organised by routines or caregivers. Older adults don't just listen; they often become lost in the notes, humming along, eyes distant yet present, finding a private yet communal space that feels entirely their own.
Your piece on Sage Stream reminds me of this ethos: holding space open, trusting people to enter on their terms, without funneling or framing. It's a design that echoes how Indian traditions have long protected access to music as a quiet act of dignity—something that resists being reduced to therapy or outcome, yet quietly sustains the soul.
Thank you for this thoughtful exploration. It invites us all to notice those small, reclaimable doors—and perhaps step through them more often.
Warm regards,
Himanshu Rath
agewellfoundation.org
Dear Himanshu,
Thank you for reading so attentively, and for such a generous and thoughtful reflection. I am deeply touched by how carefully you have sat with the piece and extended it through your own cultural and lived lens.
Your description of music in the Indian context brings into view exactly what I was reaching toward, but could not name so fully. Music not as an activity, intervention, or outcome, but as a companion across the whole arc of life. Something woven into belonging, memory, devotion, and time itself. The way you describe elders absorbed in bhajans and ragas, eyes closed, bodies gently moving, feels like a perfect articulation of arrival without instruction.
What struck me most is your emphasis on continuity. Music not marking decline or “later life,” but remaining present, available, and recognisable from birth through old age. That sense of availability, of being able to enter without explanation or permission, is precisely what so many modern systems struggle to protect.
I am especially grateful for the way you named this as dignity, not therapy. Pleasure, rhythm, companionship, and immersion for their own sake. That distinction matters deeply to me, and your reflection reinforces it beautifully.
Thank you, truly, for reading so closely week after week, and for offering such a rich extension of the conversation. It means more than I can easily say.
With warm appreciation,
Jane
https://www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=tPQDwZNW-X4
Thank you so much for taking the time to send this session, well said
I stumbled on this at just the right time. Like you, I realize that I don't have a go to music I love and have not had music as a companion in many eras of my life, since the music of the 60s. I reflecting on that, on my effort to play catch up which is of course effort, I asked - what music moves me. Surprisingly I found... hymns... they bring me to tears (and I'm not a christian!). And movie scores. Listening for what else. Female vocalists. I'm 80 and looking at what this season of my life might be, after my big pushes to make a difference in the world through writing, speaking, organizing, leading. You've given a clue. Presence. Pleasure in the moment. Dignity. Thank you. Following.
Thank you so much for sharing this, beautiful self‑observation and honesty. What you describe about this season of life resonates deeply with what I hoped the essay would hold: that presence, pleasure and dignity are not consolation prizes after a life of contribution, but a meaningful phase in their own right. I want to grasp this also.
The way you’re tuning in to “what else?” and letting that include new voices as well as old companions sounds like a quiet, ongoing form of authorship. Bravo!
Beautifully put. In later life, music often offers orientation rather than outcome, and that difference matters.
Thanks Denise, the sense of music as orientation rather than outcome feels especially precious to me at this stage of life.
Jane, I just love your way of describing the impact of music with the aging and those with cognitive challenges, Jane. You explain what I’ve experienced with my dad who is in the early part of advanced Alzheimer’s. He still lights up and sings along-using the right lyrics-to songs which he knew from his early adulthood and beyond. And watching him is magical, as he doesn’t exhibit self consciousness, he just belts it out straight from his heart. This has been a tremendous source of joy for us to experience, and for him obviously. A huge point of connection between him and his family and the world around him. Your beautiful way of describing this literally fills my heart with love (and also my eyes with tears, which is generally hard to avoid whenever I talk about my dad). Really appreciate this read. ❤️❤️lots of love to you.
Erica,
Thank you for sharing this so openly. Your words carry such tenderness, and I can feel how alive this experience with your dad is for you and your family.
What you describe him lighting up, singing with confidence, free of self-consciousness is exactly that moment that allows him to meet the world on his own terms. There is something profoundly moving about watching someone we love be fully present in that way. Joy without effort. Expression without apology. It reminds me that so much of who people are remains intact, even as other things fall away.
Thank you for trusting me with such a wonderful reflection, and for letting your dad’s experience sit alongside the piece. I’m holding both of you gently as I read your words.
With warmth. love and light
Jane
Oh Jane, your words are so affirming and like a warm blanket I can wrap around myself. :) Appreciating you so much.
Jane, you always let us know new dimensions. Really music takes you to simply somewhere else. Thank you very much
Thank you for your kind words, I am so grateful for them. Music is new for me, and I’m looking forward to the many places it may take me, in heart and in mind. Be well.