I reconnected with learning the moment I admitted I didn’t need a classroom to do it. No textbooks. No lectures. Just me, my tablet, and a faucet claim timer ticking down on HashHenge. That tiny interaction led me to read about blockchains, decentralization, even network congestion. From there? Podcasts, newsletters, and one hell of a rabbit hole.
What’s changed is how I learn. In my 20s, I chased degrees. In my 70s, I chase insight. One small piece at a time, as often as I want. And no one’s grading me. That alone has made me feel more alive than I’ve felt in years.

This really warmed my heart. I’m 73 and used to teach elementary school. I always told my students to keep learning, and now here I am doing the same. I keep a journal of everything I figure out on Hashhenge, and it’s helped me feel sharper. What was the hardest part for you to learn?

At 76, I’ve been telling my friends that Hashhenge is like a digital puzzle book—challenging but fun. I’ve never felt pressured to “go big” on this site. Just steady progress. I give myself a weekly goal—this week it’s understanding the mining stats better. Any tips on where to start?

I spent the better part of my life believing learning was something with a start and end date—enroll, attend, graduate. It took retirement and an accidental click on a faucet tutorial to realize how wrong I was. HashHenge didn’t just open a new topic. It reopened myself. I had no idea how thrilling it could be to learn without deadlines, to get lost in understanding for no reason other than joy. Crypto may have pulled me in, but it’s everything around it—the economics, the ethics, the history—that’s kept me here. I didn’t come to reinvent myself. I came to remember that I could.

Learning in your 70s is a different animal. It’s quieter, deeper, less driven by career or status. I don’t need credentials anymore. I want clarity. HashHenge was the first digital platform in years that didn’t talk down to me or lock me out with jargon. The faucet became a reason to explore again—crypto terms, digital wallets, even privacy models.
What surprised me most was not how fast I picked things up, but how hungry I still was to understand systems. When you’ve seen paper checks, early ATMs, and internet banking all rise and fall, you develop an instinct for what might actually stick. I’m not here to invest big. I’m here to learn. And somehow, that’s been the most rewarding part.

Funny how technology has a way of circling back to wonder. I spent decades teaching high school math, retired, and thought I was done with “figuring things out.” Then my grandson showed me how faucets work on HashHenge. The simplicity drew me in, but the architecture behind it? Fascinating. Now I watch videos, read whitepapers, and ask questions in forums I never would’ve touched ten years ago. There’s a joy in being a beginner again, in asking “Why does this work?” without the pressure to be quick or competitive. Relearning at this age feels like a secret advantage—you’re not in a rush, and your curiosity is finally unshackled from deadlines.

I’ve always gardened. Tended soil, watched seeds push through. It’s slow work, patient work. What I didn’t expect was how much crypto—even something as basic as a faucet on HashHenge—would mirror that same rhythm. You show up. You wait. You observe patterns.
In my 70s, I never imagined I'd be discussing wallet protocols or reading up on network consensus in between watering tomatoes. But here I am, notebook in hand, sketching out how microtransactions flow like irrigation lines. Learning isn’t loud anymore. It’s woven into my days, steady and alive.