- "Blue Zones" are 5 places in the world where it's ostensibly easy to live to 100.
- There's only one Blue Zone in the US, just outside LA.
You would not believe Ester van den Hoven is turning 100 today.
The first time I met her, in June, the sprightly 99-year-old was dashing out for a 10-minute walk in the California sunshine.
Is that Ester? I wondered, doing a double-take as I rolled towards the parking lot of her nursing home. Can't be, I thought. This woman is elderly, sure, but there's no way she's about to turn 100. A short figure wearing sky blue shorts, a matching shirt, oversized movie star sunglasses, and a beaming smile. She looks several decades younger than her years.
"Most people say that," she said, laughing, when I shared the thought with her later. "I don't even know how old people should look — I don't have a recipe for that!"
Van den Hoven lives in Loma Linda, California, one of the world's so-called "Blue Zones." A hugely popular body of research argues that these five places — small, tight-knit areas of Italy, Greece, Costa Rica, Japan, and this dry and sunny town just outside Los Angeles — are longevity hot spots, where people easily live to 100, in good health and with strong community support. Like most Loma Lindans, van den Hoven doesn't dwell on the mystery of why people seem to live so well here — though she does seem to be living proof of the phenomenon. She just wakes up every day thanking God she's still around.
Her easygoing, pious lifestyle sits in sharp contrast to that of most other Californians. She's not one of those 100-year-old anomalies who enjoys a regular shot of gin, or lives off of hamburgers and chocolate. She's more like a living data point, illustrating what study after study has shown for so long: people who live to 100 are genetically lucky, yes it's true, but most also tend to find comfort in some higher purpose. They seek a balance between remaining active and staying connected each day, while also cradling a deep sense of inner peace and serenity that allows them to keep chronic stress to a minimum.
Daily exercise, veggies with plenty of dressing, and a few supplements
Van den Hoven's routines are simple and clear.
First, she participates in as many activities as she can — whether it's a morning aerobics class at the nursing home where she's lived now for nine years, or a virtual sabbath church service celebrating her Adventist faith.
"I think a lot of the people feel it's too difficult to go and sit and do the exercises, they tell you they're too sore, or too old, or too weak, or too something," she said. "But I try to go."
Her diet is also unfussy — a predictable rotation of cafeteria staples including daily fresh veggies, Blue Zone legumes like lentils, and sides including baked potatoes. She likes extra ranch dressing on her greens, and enjoys a little meat from time to time when she's out on the town, but otherwise eats the lacto-ovo vegetarian diet so many here observe, and largely avoids chocolate, which she "dearly loves" but also knows can keep her up at night.
She takes a few supplements, and one prescription medication, but other than that, has very few health concerns, a feat her doctor, geriatrician Wessam Labib says is "very special."
"Typically when I see patients at her age, they're not as healthy as her," he said. "They might have some kind of diabetes or congestive heart failure."
Sense of purpose
Van den Hoven's small apartment has memories of her past on every wall. There are framed landscapes from Germany, where she was born, and lots of photos of family: her parents, her husband, her children, her grandchildren, and their children too.
"I don't have any enemy, I'm not mad at anything, I'm not much worried," she said of her approach to aging, the softest hint of a German accent lingering on the end of her final word. "Sometimes when it gets evening, I think you know, something could happen tonight, and I don't wake up tomorrow. But I'm ready. I pray to God that I'm ready every day."
Without too much effort, this daughter of a pastor has become increasingly religious as she ages — though she says she would never want to sermonize about it too much to others, or be given any overly-prescriptive dogmas to follow.
"Sometimes I like to talk to a pastor, but I don't want to be preached at," she said. "I like to be kindly spoken to and told, 'you know, this would be easy on you.'"
She has a Bible companion in her living room and enjoys reading from it every day, but doesn't want to have her picture taken next to it, for fear she might appear "too holy."
"I feel in my heart I'm closer to God now than if I had died when I was 60," she said. "So God maybe knew, 'don't let her die. She's not ready,'" she says with a laugh.
Labib says this "internal peace" she exudes is typical of people who make it to 100 around Loma Linda. In addition to some lucky genetics and regular exercise, which are both key to cracking a century of life, the anxiety-free attitude and faithful lifestyle van den Hoven has adopted seems to be an integral part of what keeps many centenarians alive. In one 2016 study, scientists at Harvard found women who attended regular religious services were less likely to die an early death, and felt stronger social support around them.
"They typically have a very cheerful personality, they don't take things to heart," Labib said. They're just "less critical."
They're not too hard on themselves, either, and may cede some control over their own mortal timeline to a higher power. The oldest American, 115-year-old Elizabeth Francis, lives about 1,500 miles away from here in Houston, Texas, but much like van den Hoven, she credits her longevity to God, calling it "the good Lord's blessing" that she's still alive.
It's a stark contrast to the modern anxiety economy, where individual burnout is almost the norm. There's a sense van den Hoven is part of something larger than herself, yes, but without too much pressure or anxiety attached to her role.
The importance of sharing memories with friends
Sure, van den Hoven fears death, but she doesn't dwell on it. She is lighthearted about her aging process. Instead of dwelling on what's to come, or focusing on regret, she thinks about the here and now — and the past. Her short-term memory is "shot," she tells me, but she remembers vividly what life was like living in the Hague during the Second World War, down to where the subterranean shelters were located on her street, the spot in the backyard where a bomb fell once, and the confusing way news traveled in a time of widespread Nazi propaganda. She still remembers gradually discovering the true extent of the genocide in the years after the war, she told me.
We converse for hours, discussing her childhood in both Germany and Turkey and her teenage years in Holland, where she met her husband, who would soon become her confidant for life.
"I sometimes long for people to whom I can be open, because I don't have a good friend," she said, acknowledging the importance of friendships for longevity. "I miss somebody like my husband."
When he died 12 years ago she thought "will I make it one year beyond this?"
Together, after Hitler's reign, they'd traveled from the Netherlands to Australia, then to the US, all in search of a place that would be "easier" to live and raise a family, with better jobs, and more time for worship on Saturdays.
As we chat about her life and how she made it this far, we're both so excited to uncover more of the past that we forget to eat lunch — which includes a bright salad of lettuce, carrot strips, tomatoes, and beet slices. Instead, we skip straight to dessert. The nursing home is serving cold orange sherbet, which is a must on this hot summer day (she'll save the salad for later). I come away from our meeting feeling like I've made a new friend, even if she can't remember the details of everything we've just discussed.
"Think of me with friendliness," she says, bidding me goodbye. "See you next time."
Will I see her again, though? Suddenly, a wave of sadness washes over me. I'm out here on the hot pavement contemplating death.
Later, I let it go. I remember how nimbly she bounded around the apartment, jumping up and down from her chair with ease. And I'm thinking of a conversation I had with her doctor, who certainly thinks that with her genetics, and her attitude, it's possible.
"If she stays the Ester I know, I wouldn't be surprised if she's with us for many, many years to come," he says.