A few years ago, if someone had told me that “longevity consultant” would become a legitimate career path, I would have assumed they were joking.
For most of human history, longevity consultants already existed. We simply called them grandparents.
The knowledge required to live a long and reasonably healthy life was rarely found in a clinic, laboratory, podcast, or online course. It was passed down through families. Grandparents taught children how to eat, cook, garden, work, rest, save money, survive difficult times, raise families, and maintain relationships. Parents reinforced those lessons through daily life. Wisdom was not a product. It was an inheritance.
Generation after generation learned the same fundamental truths: eat what your body needs, not what your impulses demand; move every day; work hard, but not endlessly; maintain friendships; respect your elders; save for the future; do not isolate yourself; learn useful skills; and look after your family because one day they may be looking after you. No one charged an hourly consulting fee for this advice.
Yet here we are in the twenty-first century, witnessing the emergence of longevity consultants, life coaches, wellness gurus, and a growing collection of experts whose role often involves teaching people lessons that previous generations absorbed naturally through family and community.
Part of the answer lies in the transformation of the family itself. For centuries, families lived close together. Grandparents often lived in the same home, on the same property, or within walking distance. Children grew up observing older generations age. They watched how their grandparents managed adversity, illness, relationships, finances, and daily routines. Wisdom was not delivered through lectures. It was absorbed through proximity.
Today, that proximity has largely disappeared. Globalisation has brought extraordinary opportunities, but it has also scattered families across continents. Children move away for university. Careers take people to different cities, countries, and time zones. Grandparents who once lived behind the main house may now live several states away or on another continent altogether.
The same pattern can be seen throughout much of Asia. Economic growth has lifted millions out of poverty, but often at the cost of geographical separation. Migrant workers leave villages for cities or foreign countries. Parents spend years working abroad. Grandparents raise grandchildren while younger generations pursue opportunities elsewhere. Family bonds remain emotionally important, but daily contact becomes increasingly rare.
The emergence of borrowed grandparents may be one of the clearest illustrations of what has changed. In Germany, programmes matching families with surrogate grandparents have become increasingly popular. The purpose is not simply childcare. Families are actively seeking something that previous generations took for granted: regular interaction between young and old, stories, traditions, practical wisdom, patience, perspective, and the reassuring presence of someone who has already weathered many of life’s storms.
Japan took the idea even further with rental family services, where people can hire stand-in relatives, including grandparents. At first glance, the concept seems unusual. On closer inspection, it reveals a profound truth. Modern societies are not suffering from a shortage of information. They are suffering from a shortage of connection.
This became particularly clear to me when I completed several life coaching certifications and eventually became a certified Master Life Coach. My reason for doing so was not that I felt unqualified to navigate life. By then I had already accumulated decades of experience, travelled across countries, changed careers, faced setbacks, solved problems, reinvented myself more than once, and learned many lessons the hard way. The certifications served a different purpose because modern society increasingly values credentials over experience.
Knowledge that once spoke for itself now often requires documentation. Experience requires verification. Wisdom requires accreditation. As I worked through the various coaching programmes, I was struck by how familiar the material felt. Goal setting, communication skills, resilience, accountability, decision making, managing change, building confidence, and active listening were not revolutionary discoveries but life lessons organised into frameworks.
Many of these lessons had been taught to previous generations by parents, grandparents, neighbours, employers, mentors, clergy, teachers, and community elders. The difference was that nobody called it coaching. It was simply part of growing up.
The rise of life coaching and longevity consulting reflects a broader transformation: skills, wisdom, guidance, and support that were once embedded in families and communities are increasingly being formalised, professionalised, certified, branded, and sold as services.
Credibility has undergone a similar transformation. Previous generations often judged credibility through observation. Had this person built a life? Overcome adversity? Raised a family? Earned the respect of their community? Today credibility is frequently measured through different signals: certificates, professional titles, LinkedIn profiles, personal brands, follower counts, and online visibility.
The irony is difficult to miss. Someone may possess fifty years of hard-earned wisdom and remain largely invisible because they lack a digital presence. Meanwhile, someone else may build a substantial following discussing subjects they have only recently begun to explore. Visibility and credibility have become increasingly intertwined, although this does not mean that longevity consultants or life coaches lack value. Many provide genuine support and possess expertise that can help people navigate increasingly complex lives.
Their existence does, however, tell us something important. When families lived closer together, wisdom travelled across the dinner table. When communities were stronger, guidance came from neighbours, relatives, teachers, mentors, and elders. Multiple generations shared daily life, and children learned not only how to grow up but also how to grow old.
Today we live longer than our ancestors, communicate faster than any generation before us, and have access to more information than all previous centuries combined. Yet many people find themselves searching for guidance that earlier generations found sitting on a porch, around a kitchen table, in a workshop, or in the garden beside a grandparent.
So I circle back to my original question: why do we need longevity consultants?
Perhaps because we no longer have enough grandparents close by. The rise of the longevity consultant may tell us less about health and ageing than it does about a society that has become increasingly connected to the world while gradually disconnecting from the people who once taught us how to live in it.
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