• A healthy heart age is key to longevity, and most Americans are aging faster than expected.
• A cardiologist said understanding your heart age can help you reduce the risk of heart disease and stroke.
• Try a free online calculator to find your heart age. Improve it with simple habits like daily walking.

Your heart could be older than you think, limiting your potential lifespan by up to a decade. But a cardiologist says a few simple lifestyle changes could help.

New research from Northwestern University School of Medicine shows the average American's heart health makes them four to seven years older than their calendar age.

That's because of risk factors like high cholesterol, high blood pressure, and sedentary routines, driving up their risk of heart disease, the leading cause of death in the US.

You can check your own heart age for free online using a test developed by Northwestern researchers.

If you don't like what you see, incorporating daily habits like regular exercise can improve your heart age, said Dr. Sadiya Khan, a preventive cardiologist and professor of cardiovascular epidemiology who led the team that developed the calculator.

"As we think about our growing, aging population, some people age faster than others, and slowing that down can have a lot of impact for health," Khan told Business Insider.

How to tell if your heart is healthy

Usually, doctors measure heart health in percentages using your vital signs. For instance, a patient with a 7.5% risk of heart disease is considered intermediate risk.

But that doesn't translate well for the average person.

"It's a challenging piece of information to communicate and grasp. What does it mean to have a risk of 7.5%?" Khan said.

That's why Khan's team made an age predictor. It's easier to come up with a plan for your heart health if you understand in real terms what it means for your life expectancy.

The researchers studied 14,000 adults in the US aged 30 to 79, with no prior history of heart disease. They found that, on average, women's heart health age was about four years older than their chronological age, and men's heart age was about seven years older than their chronological age.

The gap widened for people with a lower income and education level; their heart age was as much as 10 years older than their chronological age.

Khan added a caveat: it's important to note that the calculator is meant to be a more accurate predictor of heart health risk, but it's not designed to be used alone to manage your health. Talk to your doctor about your risk.

"There's no exact number that means people should be alarmed or be concerned, but provide some context for what it means to have a heart age that's five years older or 10 years older," she said.

Simple ways to boost heart health

Knowing your heart health age can help you find simple, actionable steps to potentially boost longevity, Khan said.

"We wanted to be sure it was a tool to motivate heart-healthy behavior," she said. "There are things we already know that can help with your heart age and improve it."

To boost your heart health:

• Stop smoking: If you're a smoker, quitting is the number one change you can make to improve your heart health, Khan said. That's not just tobacco — marijuana has been linked to worse heart health, even in edible form.
• Optimize your workout: Regular physical activity, including low-intensity movement like walking, helps to strengthen your heart, and every added minute counts.
• Get the right macros: Whole foods rich in fiber and healthy fats like omega-3s help support your heart. Avoid processed foods and added sugars.
• Manage your stress: Rest and relaxation are crucial to keep your blood pressure and cholesterol low and prevent strain on your heart.

If you're already young at heart, following the above tips can help you stay that way for years to come.

"If your heart age is a good spot, it's about strategies to maintain it," Khan said.

• My dad is retired but stays busy, chaperoning events at the local high school and playing softball.
• It's not surprising to me — even before he retired, he never had just one job.
• His version of retirement has shaped my own relationship with work and hustle.

On a recent Saturday morning, my retired parents texted me, the resident family foodie, for restaurant recommendations in Raleigh, North Carolina. I don't live there, but they figured I'd know where to look. They're not on vacation, exactly — they're there for one of my dad's 60-and-over softball league tournaments.

This is just part of what retirement looks like for my dad, a retired FDNY firefighter. Rather than settling into a life of golf courses or cruise ship decks, he's just as busy now as he was when he was working — he's simply doing different things.

After more than 20 years fighting fires in New York City, with his pension secured, my dad could have easily slowed down. He could have embraced the kind of stillness most people dream about. Instead, he picks up shifts chaperoning events at our hometown high school a few times a month, everything from school dances to football games.

During his FDNY days, he spent years as captain of the department's softball team, and these days, he still hits the field for regular batting practice and travels around the country to compete in senior leagues. This is his idea of taking it easy.

It doesn't surprise me at all that he hasn't slowed down

Some people might ask: Why keep "doing" when you don't need to? But that question has never really made sense to me. My dad never had just one job. He was running into burning buildings, yes, but also running a small sunroom business he had built from the ground up while making sure he never missed my brother's hockey games or my dance recitals.

His own parents had grown up in Queens with very little and worked hard to move the family out to a house in the suburbs. I think, on some level, he felt he owed it to them to make good on that effort. The way I saw it growing up, slowing down almost felt selfish — movement wasn't just a habit, it was a way of honoring where we came from.

It's no surprise, then, that I find myself replicating that rhythm. I work full-time as the Head of Marketing at a music tech startup, which means that on evenings and weekends, I'm rarely truly "off." And, still, I pitch articles like this one, and I take on freelance clients when I can. The idea of being satisfied with just one job — even if it's a stable one — has never quite taken root in me, and that's not because I fear stillness, but because ambition has always looked like staying in motion.

Watching my dad retire taught me that effort doesn't stop being meaningful once the paycheck becomes optional; it just becomes far more personal when you're not just doing it for money. He does it because he likes being part of something that's larger than himself, whether that's in the hallways of his alma mater or trash-talking in the dugout with guys he's known for decades. There's an inherent purpose in that rhythm.

And sure, I know what the headlines say: older Americans are working longer, and it's often framed around worries about economic uncertainty, about disappearing pensions, and sometimes that is why. But, sometimes, it's a value system passed down — whether we asked for it or not.

I'll likely have a similar version of retirement

My dad's version of retirement is not about refusing to rest but rather about refusing to disappear. His life now is proof that being mentally, socially, and physically active can be its own kind of joy, that usefulness and community don't have to be casualties of aging.

He's still ordering new bats and gloves, booking travel to tournaments, and texting me for restaurant recs in whatever city he's landed in. Meanwhile, I'm working from home in San Juan, Puerto Rico, laptop open, pitching another story while practicing my Spanish and planning my next salsa class. Clearly, neither of us seems interested in sitting still.

When I think about my own future, I'm not sure I'll ever want the version of retirement where I just vanish into leisure, either. Maybe that's the gift my dad gave me: a model for what aging could look like — one where I don't lose sight of myself, but I refocus. Not a stop point, but an entirely new chapter to start — one where your time is still yours to shape in whichever way you see fit.

If I ever do retire, I hope it looks a lot like his. Full of play, purpose, and enough momentum to keep me in motion.

• Debbie Boyd moved to Panama with her 97-year-old mother for lower costs and healthcare options.
• Boyd, a retired real estate broker, sought a more affordable lifestyle with different politics.
• Boyd said Panama has offered a vibrant culture and supportive community for her and her mother.

This as-told-to interview is with Debbie Boyd, 71, who moved to Panama from Atlanta with her 97-year-old mother, Doris Britto, who has dementia. Boyd and Britto moved in early 2025 and have enjoyed their time so far. Boyd has particularly appreciated the medical resources and lower cost of living abroad. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

I moved to Panama in March this year, and my mother followed a few weeks later. I had always considered the possibility of relocating outside the US and had looked into moving for a couple of years before I retired. I read about the lower cost of living being less, but I think what spurred my action was the political climate.

My first impression is that I love it here. The people in Panama are very friendly and caring. Our goal now is to get more entrenched in this new life.

I've had a number of different careers

My mom and I are both native New Yorkers. She was a long-distance operator for the New York Telephone Company for over 40 years. I relocated to Atlanta in 1983, and my mom followed me there in 1986, when she retired. We were in the Atlanta area up until this year.

She traveled with her friends and helped me raise my son. She became active in some senior citizen groups in the area.

I had a couple of careers. I've been a real estate broker with my own residential real estate firm, worked as an administrative assistant, and taught classes in criminal justice for online universities as an adjunct professor. I retired in 2016.

I found that I was becoming bored and wanted to make better use of my time. After retiring, I took swim classes, got together with friends for lunch, and traveled.

After I initially retired, I took about one year to decompress and give some thought as to what I wanted for the next phase of my life. I spent mornings reflecting over a healthy breakfast and good coffee. I enrolled in Water Zumba classes and started a walking regime. I also used this time to reconnect with friends and making quite a bit of lunch dates with my former tennis team members.

I went back to work after a couple of years in a work-from-home position.

In 2018, I got a bladder cancer diagnosis, and it involved a serious surgery. I wasn't well enough to take care of my mother, though she and I lived together. She moved into a nursing home and lived there for seven years.

Once I determined earlier this year that I was going to move to Panama, I asked my mom if she wanted to come. She said she did.

I decided that it was probably best for both of us. Otherwise, she would be in Atlanta, and I would be abroad. My son and grandchildren are grown up and have very active lives, so I knew she would be pretty much alone in the nursing home, which I didn't want for her. Panama checked a lot of the boxes. Healthcare seemed excellent, and I had a friend who retired there who answered my questions.

At the time, we were doing fine financially. We're not wealthy people, but we've worked our whole careers, paid bills on time, handled finances responsibly, and have good credit. But things have gotten so tight in the US; it's really hard to make ends meet as a retiree living off of Social Security and a small pension.

As an African American, I feel we are being targeted and knowledge of our proud heritage is constantly under assault.

The first few weeks abroad involved managing many logistics

I did three scouting trips. I wanted to come first to find a place that was suitable for us logistically. My mother's in a wheelchair, so I looked for a place that was more level. We got as much paperwork done as we could ahead of time so she could leave her facility.

My son made time to help me out by bringing my mother a few weeks later. I set up an appointment with a doctor, and he was able to see her within a week of her getting here, making sure we could transfer her medications and prescriptions.

My mom told me that since I'm here and I've handled everything, she's happy and has enjoyed it so far. She came down with a cold a few weeks ago and lost her appetite, but she started eating again and felt better. She's happier to not be in a nursing home environment. We're now looking to find more activities we can participate in together.

My friend who retired here introduced me to another person who had a sister with MS and who connected me with a home care agency. A young lady comes in six days a week to tend to my mom; she helps bathe her, prepare her meals, change her sheets, and do her laundry.

I get much more home for the same price here

Rental prices are a little higher than what I expected they'd be, but there's a gamut of price ranges. I've seen everything from $500 a month up to beyond $3,000 where I'm located. I have a four-bedroom house, an in-ground pool in the backyard, a very large living room, dining room, and kitchen.

The rent is $1,500 a month, a bit more than what I was paying for my mortgage on my house in the States, the mortgage on which is $777 a month. I still own my home. However, there have been recent property tax and home owner insurance increases and I estimate my mortgage will be approximately $250 more in 2026. I get so much more for the same amount of money.

The utilities aren't too bad. One month, I had a $70 bill, but the next month was $300. Each bedroom has its own individual air conditioning unit, so we're trying to figure out when to run it and for how long.

I'm still doing some paperwork and making phone calls to get things settled. A couple of friends have come to visit, and my son has come three times. I have a lot more company coming over the next two months.

I handle my business here like I would at home; I go to the grocery store, the bank, and the pharmacy. I take Ubers because I don't want to drive here; they drive really fast. An Uber one-way is about $2.20.

I'm still getting acclimated

I've discovered, though, that Panamanians love to party and love music. There are also always dogs barking early in the morning and late at night, so I'm trying to get used to the noise.

We don't live in an expat neighborhood. I wanted to be immersed in Panamanian culture. It's been about two months since we've been here, but I haven't had much of a chance to meet our neighbors yet. All of the houses are gated individually, so it's not like you can just walk up to your neighbor's front door.

But when I go to the mall, people talk with me. When they realize I only speak a little Spanish, everybody's helpful, pleasant, and willing to help me find things.

I haven't gotten to eat out much, but I've gotten really into going to the market and getting fresh fruit and vegetables. The hospital near me has a program where they will accept Medicare Advantage if you have an emergency situation and are hospitalized, which I'm applying for. I'm also applying to a program that's $220 a year to have any tests, blood work, or lab work done. I have Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD), and I was on oxygen when I was back home. I haven't had to use it since I've been here.

My goal now is to get more involved with expat groups. I joined one recently and went to a very nice luncheon, where I met new people. I hope to continue expanding my social network. I plan to make this my new home and get more involved in volunteering.

• When I was born, my parents were in their late 30s.
• Once I realized they were older than most of my friends' parents, I started to worry.
• However, my anxiety has subsided over the years; I've learned to be grateful for the time we have.

When I was born in the winter of 1991, my mother was 39 years old. She turned 40 before my first birthday, while my dad hit the big 4-0 when I was only 2. Their reasoning for having children later than many of their peers was multifaceted: they didn't meet until their late 20s, then school took center stage for a decade or so, pushing kids out of the picture for another decade.

For much of my early childhood, I didn't know the difference between my parents and my friends' (often younger) parents. In fact, I don't think I can point to a single instance when my parents' age even crossed my mind before I entered elementary school. They were just my parents — my playmates and role models — and that was it.

Then, while chatting on the first-grade playground, a new friend and I started talking about our family members' birthdays and ages. My mom was 46, I told her. With wide eyes, she shared that her mom was just 26. Her grandmother, who'd also had children very young, was only in her early 40s.

Suddenly, I came to the staggering realization that my parents were older than some of my friends' grandparents. A quick blip in a casual conversation set off an anxiety that would be hard to shake.

My parents' age became a source of worry

My anxiety around my parents' age grew as I got older, as did my generalized anxiety, though I wasn't officially diagnosed with an anxiety disorder until late high school. The most common theme of my worry was losing my parents prematurely because of their age. I remember sitting awake at night, mentally calculating how old each of my parents would be when I reached particular milestones.

When I was 10, they'd be nearing 50. When I graduated from high school, their 60s would loom. If I got married at 30, they'd be 70. The math made me feel scared and isolated as I wondered if they'd be there to mark special occasions, like I expected most of my friends' parents to be.

Over the years, I noticed subtle and not-so-subtle differences between my parents and others. While many of my friends' parents were fans of modern pop music or enamored with tunes from the '80s, mine introduced me to '60s and '70s classic rock. We had a record player in the living room that spun everything from Pink Floyd to Carole King, remnants of my parents' youth.

I know "oldies" were likely a fixture for some younger parents, too, but I grew to love the fact that I could identify songs on the classic rock station — and it became a fun way to connect with my mom and dad, who had seen some of these artists perform live.

By the time I reached high school, a trend in my friendships emerged: I was (mostly unconsciously) drawn to friends who were also in the "old parents club." Many of my pals with younger parents were still around, of course, but I made quick bonds with those who could relate to the unique anxieties and delights of having parents with similar (read: more… mature) life experiences. Once I learned I wasn't alone in my plight, I slowly began to see my situation as more of a blessing than a curse.

Despite the pitfalls, I'm grateful to have older-than-average parents

As each life experience was checked off my list — high school graduation, college, first "real" job, engagement, marriage, and eventually having my own daughter at age 32 — I was overwhelmed with gratitude that my parents are still around. I'd made the painful realization that age wasn't the only metric in my worries; I watched friends and classmates lose parents of all ages far too early, which drove home the point that even if my parents had been 25 when I was born, it wouldn't have guaranteed a darn thing.

Today, I watch my parents enjoy new grandparenthood in their 70s, and I still grapple with a mixture of appreciation and nagging anxiety. My childhood worries (and mental math-ing) haven't entirely subsided, though I manage them more effectively with a combination of therapy, medication, and mindfulness. While I struggle to assuage the very human experience of anticipatory grief, I'm determined not to waste the present moment lamenting uncertainties about the future.

And while I might snarkily poke fun at my parents for falling into baby boomer stereotypes (like accidentally texting me 10-minute-long voice memos of nothing but grocery store background noise) on occasion, gratitude prevails. Gratitude for the childhood they gave me and my brother, for spending their 40s and 50s chasing me around on all my shenanigans, for the things they continue to teach me, and for their dedication to showing up for me and my daughter — even when their knees are a bit creaky. All of it has happened right on time.

• Three teenagers in New York designed a cardboard, called Kiriboard, to replace plastic packaging.
• They got the idea when a box of motors for their robotics hobby arrived damaged.
• Their invention won the $12,500 Earth Prize. Now they plan to buy a machine to make more Kiriboards.

Three teenage boys in New York City have invented a clever packaging material that they hope will replace toxic plastics and make plastic-free shipping a reality.

Zhi Han (Anthony) Yao, Flint Mueller, and James Clare are planning to pursue a patent and eventually pitch their product to Home Depot, as well as traditional shippers like Amazon, FedEx, and the US Postal Service.

They call their geometric, cardboard invention Kiriboard, since it's inspired by Japanese kirigami, which is the art of cutting and folding paper.

"Something like this is the wave of the future," Jerry Citron, the teenagers' environmental-science teacher, told Business Insider.

Yao, Mueller, and Clare won the Earth Prize on April 8, making them one of seven winning environmental projects by teenagers across the globe. The award comes with $12,500, which they plan to use to buy a cutting machine, called a CNC router, and test more prototypes.

Plastic-free shipping could change the world

Just like any plastic, Styrofoam and other plastic packaging can shed microscopic bits of plastic into homes and the environment.

Microplastics have been detected from the oceans to the top of Mount Everest, in animals' and humans' body tissues and blood, and even in rain all over the planet. They're associated with heart attack and stroke risk. Some researchers suspect they could even be contributing to the recent rise in colon cancers in young people.

"I didn't realize it was as big of an issue as it was," Yao told BI. "I mean, companies have made sustainable initiatives and greener initiatives, but they haven't really fully replaced plastic packaging."

Enter the Kiriboard: Kiriboard is cut into lattice-like shapes so that it can bend to fill the space between an item and the wall of its box. The cuts give the cardboard a three-dimensional structure that makes it sturdy and allows it to bend and absorb impact, protecting what's inside, similar to bubble wrap but without the plastic.

Once perfected, the three teens hope their design can help ship packages of sensitive or heavy equipment even more securely, at a competitive price.

Broken motors and crumple zones

Clare, Mueller, and Yao are all on the same robotics team at Stuyvesant High School in New York City. Clare is a junior, and Mueller and Yao are seniors.

The idea for Kiriboard started when they opened a shipment of Kraken X60 motors, which are about $200 a pop. They found that the brass pins, which connect the motors to a robot, were damaged and unusable. They assumed the pins had been damaged in transit.

"We're like, well, we should do something about this packaging, because clearly the packaging wasn't good enough," Mueller said.

Clare thought about how cars are engineered with crumple zones, meant to absorb the energy of impacts to protect the people inside.

Similarly, he said, "you can make strategic weak points in your packaging so that the package warps and deforms," sparing the package's contents.

With help from the Earth Prize program and Citron, they built and tested their first Kiriboard prototypes.

The matrix

It was a scrappy effort, with cardboard scavenged from their school.

After some research and consulting various teachers, Yao said they drew up eight or nine different designs, and narrowed down to four to build and test. Then, came the fun part: dropping heavy stuff on their creations.

To test their prototypes' durability, the teens slammed them with a roll of tape, a stapler, a can of soda, and a metal water bottle — "which did the most damage, but not as much as we thought it would," Clare said.

They dropped each item onto the Kiriboard prototypes from various heights, so that they could calculate and study the physical forces of each impact.

"Basically, we want to see what's the most amount of force it can take before it snaps," Yao said.

The results were promising, the trio said. The Kiriboard prototypes sustained very little damage, which they judged by checking the cardboard for dents. They plan to move forward with all four designs, which they hope will be useful for different types of shipping.

In the design pictured above, four triangular "legs" hold the Kiriboard in place inside a box.

"This middle section, we call it the matrix. This is supposed to be flexible," Yao said. Once you place an item for shipping inside the box, the matrix "is supposed to form to the product."

Once they've purchased a CNC router to automate cutting the cardboard, they plan to test prototypes by actually shipping them in boxes.

"Right now, we want to perfect our product," Yao said.

When it's ready, they said they might also pitch it to the electronics company AndyMark, which shipped them the robotic motors that arrived broken.

"No shade to them," Clare said, adding that their robotics team frequently orders from AndyMark with no problems.

"We're on the brink of, like, this could become a reality, and it's just up to us to put in that final effort," Mueller said. Clare chimed in: "All from a broken package."

Plant cells are surrounded by an intricately structured protective coat called the cell wall. It’s built of cellulose microfibrils intertwined with polysaccharides like hemicellulose or pectin. We have known what plant cells look like without their walls, and we know what they look like when the walls are fully assembled, but we’ve never seen the wall-building process in action. “We knew the starting point and the finishing point, but had no idea what happens in between,” says Eric Lam, a plant biologist at Rutgers University. He’s a co-author of the study that caught wall-building plant cells in action for the first time. And once we saw how the cell wall building worked, it looked nothing like how we drew that in biology handbooks.

Camera-shy builders

Plant cells without walls, known as protoplasts, are very fragile, and it has been difficult to keep them alive under a microscope for the several hours needed for them to build walls. Plant cells are also very light-sensitive, and most microscopy techniques require pointing a strong light source at them to get good imagery.

Then there was the issue of tracking their progress. “Cellulose is not fluorescent, so you can’t see it with traditional microscopy,” says Shishir Chundawat, a biologist at Rutgers. “That was one of the biggest issues in the past.” The only way you can see it is if you attach a fluorescent marker to it. Unfortunately, the markers typically used to label cellulose were either bound to other compounds or were toxic to the plant cells. Given their fragility and light sensitivity, the cells simply couldn’t survive very long with toxic markers as well.

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