Growing Young

by Marta Zaraska

  Besides reaching into your wallet or signing up for formal volunteering, what can also boost your health is caring for those in need in your own family. It may seem counterintuitive that, say, nursing an ailing parent could make us physically better off, as caregiving often involves broken nights, back-breaking labour, and psychological strain. Indeed, a widely cited study from 1999 showed that those who reported strain from caring for their disabled spouses were as much as 63 percent more likely to die within four years than were other people their age.

  As years passed, however, more and more research started questioning the assumption that caregiving is always a longevity-wrecker. At least seven large studies have recently shown that many caregivers actually live longer, not shorter. In one such analysis, scientists carefully matched over 3,500 family caregivers with more than 3,500 people who didn’t nurse anyone, and discovered that the former had 18 percent lower mortality rates than the latter. That’s a comparable effect to that of stuffing yourself with at least 5.8 ounces (165 g) of broccoli and arugula each and every day—and so much more gratifying. As one of the authors of the 1999 study told me, it seems that nursing others may be bad only for a select subgroup of caregivers, such as those who are very old and frail themselves. If you are a grandparent, and not too frail, a great way to foster your health is to babysit your grandkids. Offering such help, assuming it’s just an occasional thing and not stepping into the parents’ shoes completely, can lower mortality by as much as 37 percent—more than regular exercise (and if your grandkids are small, exercise is inherent in babysitting anyway).

  Although large, selfless acts like tending to infirm relatives can lower stress levels and boost health, so can small, everyday acts of kindness—an effect I decided to check for myself. I contacted two scientists at the Stress, Psychiatry and Immunology Lab at King’s College, London—Carmine Pariante, a professor of biological psychiatry, and Naghmeh Nikkheslat, a post-doctoral researcher—and they generously agreed to help me out. We discussed the details of my little “experiment,” and soon a package with a stamp from King’s arrived in my mailbox. Inside, I found simple printouts to be filled out on each day of my intervention and a stash of small plastic tubes called salivettes. For seven days, I was to collect my saliva in the tubes, morning, noon, and evening, and then ship them back to Pariante and Nikkheslat, who would measure my cortisol levels. Four of the saliva-collection days would be just my regular routine days. But the remaining three would be different—on these days on top of everything I normally did, I would add small acts of kindness. These would be my “intervention days.”

  And so I woke up on day 1 at 7:40 a.m. and groggily reached for the salivette prepared on my night table. I unscrewed the blue cap and slid a roll-shaped swab into my mouth. I was supposed to chew on the swab for a full two minutes to collect enough saliva for testing, and let me tell you, those two minutes seemed never-ending. Rolling the increasingly soggy piece of cotton around my mouth felt disgusting. I gagged. I chewed. I gagged some more. Then I grudgingly repeated the procedure around noon and at 8 p.m. On top of all the chewing, I dutifully noted my moods and everything that happened that day in a journal. Next day, same thing.

  The third day was different, though—it was time for my first kindness intervention. As I sat down at my desk planning what fun things I could do for others, I felt my spirits lifting. I scribbled down a long list, specifying things I could do for my husband, for my neighbours, and for strangers. The implementation phase was even more fun. I left a smiley-face sticky note on my neighbours’ car. I bought and delivered a small box of chocolates for the nice lady at our local library. At a grocery store, I rushed to open the doors for an elderly woman with a heavy shopping bag. And in the evening I left five-star Google Maps reviews for all my favourite local restaurants and services—something I just hadn’t thought of doing before. I don’t know whether my telomeres got longer and whether my cortisol response was more healthy, but I certainly felt better, happier. In the evening, as I lay in bed, I was not only calm and content, but also excited for the following day and all the kind things I was planning to do. Broccoli has never given me this feeling, that’s for sure.

  Over the next two days I continued with random kindness. I bought sandwiches for a homeless family. I donated books. I baked cookies for my husband to take to work and share with his colleagues. I fed stray cats. I picked up trash around my neighbourhood. And I felt good—really good. I had all this extra energy and a bounce in my step. What’s more, I was simply having fun.

  When the seven days of my “experiment” were up, I stuffed the salivettes into an envelope and mailed them back to London. Two weeks later or so I received news from Nikkheslat: they had the results, and they were exciting. She sent me several pages of numbers and graphs and we set up a call so that she and Pariante could explain to me what this all meant.

  Here is what they told me: while on my regular days I produced on average 64 nmol/L of cortisol, on my kindness days I produced just a little under 54 nmol/L, suggesting lower levels of stress. Then Pariante and Nikkheslat went on to explain the numbers day by day (you can find the detailed graphs on this book’s website). They pointed out, for instance, how on my first day of random kindness I woke up with quite elevated cortisol levels, which then dropped significantly by noon—by which time I’d already started my acts of kindness. Although cortisol levels normally drop in healthy adults between morning and evening, my drop on that day was quite significant. What’s more, the following two “intervention” days, I woke up with considerably lower cortisol levels than I did on regular mornings, as if I were more calm. I found that quite remarkable, especially considering that on day 3 of kindness, I felt particularly jittery and anxious because of political developments in France (the “gilets jaunes” protests were in full swing). Yet my body produced less cortisol than on a typical, boring day—it seemed as if my acts of kindness offset the stress of following the news.

  Although my seven-day “experiment” was by no means scientific (it had a sample size of one, to begin with), its results did fit into a larger pattern emerging from real, randomized experiments: acts of kindness can improve health by reducing stress and inflammation. In one such “real” experiment in which university students carried out acts of random kindness over the course of three weeks, almost 60 percent claimed to be less stressed as a result. In another, daily volunteering was shown to buffer daily stresses and lower cortisol output (a bit like kindness acts did for me during the “gilets jaunes” protests).

  Even more convincingly, you can see the effects of kindness in the blood. In one South California study, participants who were assigned to conduct random acts of kindness had their leukocyte genes less tuned toward inflammation. That’s a good thing, since chronic inflammation has been linked to such conditions as rheumatoid arthritis, cancer, heart disease, and diabetes. Kindness may also boost health in more extreme circumstances. After a stem cell transplant, many patients suffer from physical issues such as headaches or nausea. Yet when such patients are asked to write kind letters to people who are awaiting a transplant, providing them with advice and encouragement, their symptoms considerably lessen.

  What’s more, random kindness seems far more contagious than other health behaviours. Take what happened in December 2012 in Winnipeg, Manitoba. At a drive-through of Tim Hortons, someone paid for the meal of the driver behind. Then, that second driver, out of gratefulness, paid for the next person. On and on it went until as many as 228 consecutive cars paid it forward. I have yet to see healthy eating spread with the same fervour.

  Pop-up Gardens and the Limits to Volunteering

  If you commit your acts of kindness in your own neighbourhood, the benefits may be twofold—even if we are talking longevity only. For one, you may get the regular health benefits of everyday altruism, and second, with kindness spreading around, you may end up living in a tight-knit community. That, too, is as vital for physical
well-being as is a wholesome diet. Remember Roseto, the little Pennsylvania town where people used to be so resistant to cardiovascular disease that researchers coined the term “Roseto effect” to describe the phenomenon?

  Neighbours in Roseto were particularly welcoming and friendly toward their fellow Rosetans. As one housewife recalled, “We talked. We knew what was going on there and there was always someone around to help you and to keep you from feeling lonely.” Studies confirm that to stay healthy we should all live in Rosetos of the world. Take diabetes, for instance. In communities with high social cohesion—which is science-speak for trust, willingness to help, and simply getting along with your neighbours—the incidence of type 2 diabetes is 22 percent lower than it is in less friendly places. On the flip side, low social cohesion can mean an increased risk of dying from a heart attack. Even simply having a bad reputation might be enough to make a neighbourhood unhealthy, even if it is unwarranted. The effects of such spatial stigma can be seen in New York City, where inhabitants of areas deemed unwholesome have higher blood pressure than would be justified by their lifestyles or the real characteristics of the ’hood, an effect which has been explained by stress and a lower sense of self caused by living in a stigmatized place.

  Unfortunately, most of us reside in places that are no Roseto. In urban Ontario, Canada, only 17 percent of people report a very strong sense of belonging to their community, and in the cities of Alberta and Quebec, that number is as low as 13 percent. In the UK, 84 percent of people don’t participate in local events. Americans are not better off—only a quarter even know the names of their next-door neighbours. In my native Poland, meanwhile, gated estates are the problem. After the fall of communism, fences for safety and privacy sprung up everywhere like mushrooms after rain, surrounding both luxurious condominiums and dilapidated apartment buildings. Studies from places as diverse as the US, Malaysia, and Poland itself show that residents of such gated areas report lower sense of belonging. As far as I know, no one has yet compared the longevity of people living in fenced-off neighbourhoods to those in more open spaces, but it would certainly be interesting to see. Does moving to Miasteczko Wilanów, Warsaw, or Beverly Park, Los Angeles, shave years off your life expectancy?

  Healthier, closer communities are not just the ones without fences, but also the ones without cars—or at least with fewer of them. The reason for this goes beyond engine noise and tailpipe exhaust. Back in 1969, Donald Appleyard, a British-American urban designer who was fascinated by streets, in particular in their role in the quality of life of local residents, published one of his most famous studies—on traffic and neighbourhood quality. He observed three parallel roads in San Francisco: one that was frequented daily by about sixteen thousand vehicles, which he called Heavy Street; one with eight thousand cars, scooters, or trucks per day, Medium Street; and Light Street, with just two thousand vehicles passing each day. He calculated that residents of Light Street had three times as many friends as those who lived on Heavy Street. They could be often seen sitting on their front steps, chatting with neighbours, while their kids played on the sidewalks. Appleyard didn’t check if they lived longer, but chances are, they did.

  Should you up and move your family to a quieter community? Maybe, but beware of communities that are too quiet—that is, suburbs. Research shows that children tend to have more friends if they live in geographically flat, walkable areas with plenty of parks and communal spaces. Unfortunately, most American suburbs only meet the “flat” condition, lacking green areas or public squares where children and adults alike can hang out with their friends.

  Since for most of us, moving to a peaceful car-free village in rural Italy is out of question, we have to find other ways to make our current neighbourhoods more cohesive, and as such, more longevity-strong. A growing movement called “placemaking” encourages people to reinvent public spaces in their vicinity, which, if done well, should promote a sense of community. Previously shabby vacant lots can be transformed into open gyms and art venues. Main Streets can be closed off to car traffic and pedestrianized. Street markets can be encouraged. Back alleys can be turned into community vegetable gardens. When I lived in Philadelphia, I loved the local tradition of pop-up gardens that in summertime would suddenly appear on street corners or in abandoned parking lots. One day it would be just a weedy, garbage-strewn emptiness, and the next it would metamorphose into a vibrant meeting place, with lush, potted greenery, craft beers on tap, picnic tables, and hammocks.

  Placemaking should create a place where residents shop in local stores and chat with neighbours they meet on the way. A place where neighbours not only know each other’s names but also visit often. Where people borrow lawn mowers from each other and water the plants of those who go on holidays. To exist, such a place needs local stores to begin with—so vote for them with your wallet. Say hello to the neighbours you meet as you walk with your groceries (yes, walk, not drive—if that’s feasible). Visit your local library and your local playground, even if these are not the best ones in your city. Pick up litter on your street to prevent spatial stigma. The internet is full of ideas on how to placemake your surroundings, some of them quite specific. One of my favourites is having a grill, or even better—a campfire—in your front yard. When Sarah Kobos, a writer for a non-profit called Strong Towns from Tulsa, Oklahoma, bought a cheap fire pit and set it on her front lawn, she discovered that it “attracted people like moths to a flame.” She recalls, “Neighbours walked over to see what was going on. People driving by stopped to hang out and chat. Before long, we had to open more wine and bring out the dining room chairs.” That’s placemaking gone well.

  Just as neighbourhoods are not created equal when it comes to their health-promoting effects, the same holds true about volunteering and donations. As Lara Aknin tells me, some ways in which we help others boost our well-being more—and some less. “I think it would be naive to think that every act of generosity is going to pay you the dividend,” she says. First and foremost, you need to believe in the cause. Yes, you’ve heard it right: it’s not enough to engage in helping with solely your own health in mind. It may not work. Research shows that people who volunteer for self-oriented reasons, like college applications, don’t get the longevity boost from their good deeds. To get effects, we need to activate our biological caregiving system, the one that evolved so that we would help our kin survive. Yet even if you want to pick up volunteering mostly to improve your centenarian potential, don’t despair. Aknin believes that it’s hard for people to be so completely selfish that they wouldn’t be capable of turning on their caregiving systems. Just look deep inside yourself, find things and causes you truly believe in and that can motivate you on a higher level. It may be fighting climate change, improving lives of women in Africa, or supporting a local opera—it doesn’t really matter (although Aknin would put a cut-off point before the KKK—if your deepest motivation is hatred for other humans, the longevity benefits would likely not kick in). You can also try developing your empathy and practising compassion meditation, more on which in chapter 10.

  When choosing your cause, it’s better to pick something where you can easily see the results of your actions. A few years back, Lara Aknin’s research assistants walked around the campus of the University of British Columbia asking people if they’d like to donate either to UNICEF or to Spread the Net—an organization affiliated with UNICEF that buys mosquito nets to stop the transmission of malaria. The catch was in the wording of the donation request. While in the case of Spread the Net it said, “Every $10 collected purchases a bed net for a child in Africa—a simple, effective, inexpensive way to make a BIG difference—saving lives, one net at a time,” UNICEF claimed, in general terms, to work on “international priorities such as child protection, survival and development.” After the donation, the participants were queried on several measures of their well-being. And only people who gave to Spread the Net reaped increasingly more emotional benefits the more t
hey donated—they felt the happiest and the most satisfied with their lives in general.

  The explanation for the wellness effects of such targeted support may go back to the workings of the amygdala. If we give money to a needy person we know, rather than to some vague charity cause, our amygdala becomes less reactive to scary things, and our fight-or-flight response calms down. Providing support to others we can identify or easily imagine simply makes us feel more socially connected, which in turns sends a message to our hominin brains that there is no reason to be anxious. In case of trouble, the tribe will protect us.

  What that all means in practice is that for your longevity benefits it would be better, for instance, to buy groceries for your poor neighbour than to donate the same amount to a charity that helps some unidentified people. Or that it’s better to offer your seat on a bus to a senior in front of you than to sign an online petition for the transportation rights of the elderly. Also, try to frame your helping goals in concrete terms. So no to some abstract “I’ll change the world” and yes to “I’ll help two kids a month in an after-school program.” Even thinking that today you will make someone “smile” is better than assuming you will make someone “happy.” This way you will be more able to track your progress and see the results, and results are what boosts well-being.