A Tsunami? Really? Why Words Matter More Than We Think

Pause for a moment and picture an actual tsunami.

You can almost feel it before you even see it… the unstoppable wall that will envelop a thriving community. The force, the chaos; overwhelming and destructive. It gives me a sense of panic. A tightening in the chest. Urgency. The instinct to brace myself.

Now imagine using that same word to describe a whole generation of people.

In recent years, the phrase “silver tsunami” has become a popular way to describe the growing number of older adults as our population ages. It’s meant to capture the size and speed of demographic change. It is almost always used in the context of social and economic effects in our daily lives and systems. And for many people, it can feel unsettling in ways we don’t always recognize or verbalize.

Words matter.

Language shapes how we think, how we feel, how we prepare, what we do, and why.  When we use a term like silver tsunami, we unintentionally frame aging as something threatening and dangerous. Something to brace for. Something that will overwhelm systems, families, and communities. It turns a deeply human, deeply personal life stage into an ominous catastrophe.

The very people who built our neighborhoods, raised families, served in our communities, and shaped the world we live in are now viewed as a looming problem to be managed.

That’s not what’s really happening.

Yes, we are seeing a large group of humans reach the later years of adulthood. People are living longer. Families are navigating housing decisions, loss of loved ones, health changes, and care-giving in new ways. There are real shifts happening in healthcare, in housing, and in how we support one another.

But this is not a pending disaster.

It is a demographic transition. It is something to honor, to embrace, to welcome. The challenge is that families already carry so much emotion when it comes to these transitions. There is uncertainty. Grief. Responsibility. Love. Sometimes guilt. Sometimes relief. Often all of it at once.

When the broader conversation is framed in the language of crisis, we lose the human dignity needed to ride the wave together. It creates tension without compassion. Fear instead of creativity and collaboration. And it reduces millions of unique individuals into a single overwhelming force.

But there is nothing impersonal about aging. In fact, the wisdom housed in the lives of our older neighbors is more precious than gold. If you have the honor of being invited into their home, pause and listen. You’ll hear a lifetime of lessons learned, good and bad decisions, good and bad relationships. 

They are teachers, parents, veterans, business owners, neighbors, and friends. They are people who still have much to contribute. People who still have hopes and dreams. People with humor, opinions, and crazy amounts of wisdom. They are us, just a few steps ahead.

They’re deserving of respect, and that begins by reassessing how we speak to and about them.

What if the language we use to frame this transition could more accurately – and more importantly, humanely – communicate this rising tide and inevitable need for help? Better yet, what if we could do it in a way that gives honor and respect to the aging population that has had such an influence in our lives, even when we can’t always see it?

This is why the words we use matter so much. We’re talking about real people.

I propose we re-frame this demographic shift from the silver tsunami to the wisdom wave. Our role isn’t to brace for impact. It’s to surf side by side with precious people through their later years of loss and change, guiding them through some of the roughest waves they’ll face.

We see the vulnerability alongside the tenderness of family, the boldness of organizations who are mission-driven, normal people being present with neighbors who have lost their spouse, and many other situations where human connection happens because of aging. We see the quiet grief and the unexpected relief that can live side by side.

There is so much more to this demographic than what meets the eye. And they deserve respect and kindness, just as you and I do.

Because one day, if we’re fortunate, we too will take our turn on the tide. We will be the ones navigating transitions, sorting through a lifetime of belongings, reconciling all of the things that have happened to and through us, and deciding our purpose for what’s next, preferably on the wave with our younger people.  

And when that time comes and the water starts to rise, don’t you hope you’re treated with the dignity you deserve?