Eighty, joyful, and thriving

Loida Lewis by Arnulfo Aquino

The most down-to-earth person I know is one of the wealthiest women I’ve met. Loida Lewis—lawyer, businesswoman, widow of the late business titan Reginald Lewis—has lived a life many of us only read about. Presidents have dined in her home. Her name commands respect in Manila and Washington.

And yet, when we spoke, she was like you and me—cutting down on rice, wary of acid reflux, and choosing joy. Lots of it.

“Look Younger When You’re Older”

I had just finished reading her book, “Look Younger When You’re Older.” To be honest, I almost didn’t know what else to ask her. “Your book is so encompassing,” I told her. “So complete. So uplifting. I cried at the epilogue.”

She smiled. “That’s the only way,” she said. “That’s the only way to live.”

Reading her book, I found myself thinking she had somehow gotten it right—the discipline, the balance, the clarity. I asked: Were you always this way?

“Of course not!” she laughed. “I’m on my eighth decade. If I don’t have it by now, my God, please.” She was not born composed. She became composed—shaped by loss, experience, habits, and faith. She never obsessed about aging. “I never really thought about it,” she said. “Until people started saying, ‘What? You’re 80?’”

Fifty was dramatic—not because of wrinkles, but because Mr. Lewis died when she was 50. Sixty made her pause. After that, she said, it was easier sailing. And now at 80, she speaks with calm. “I know I’m in the departure lounge. I just don’t have the ticket.”

She updated her will. She is cleaning up. Intentional, not fearful. “The years will come. It’s inevitable. So it’s not obsession. It’s intention,” she says simply. Intentional about what she eats. What she reads. How she loves.

Mrs Fugett, Mr Lewis, and Mrs Lewis. Photo from The Lewis Family Archives

C’est la vie

At this stage, what keeps Lewis young? “My family. My two girls. My grandchildren.” And Eskinol—yes, the classic Filipino toner.

At 45, while living in Paris, she began going to the gym. Inspired by French women who seemed effortlessly slender and impeccably styled, she donned Hermès scarves, even at the bank teller’s desk. “If they can do it, I can do it too.” And she has, ever since.

Her style icon? Jackie Kennedy Onassis. But style, for Lewis, is not extravagance. It is posture. Intention.

That same discipline shows up at the table. Two years ago, her cholesterol hit 290. “That cannot be that high,” she said. So she adjusted. Less pork. Less beef. More fish. More vegetables. “Konti, konti, konti,” she’d say.

No second servings. Cake? Two or three teaspoons. Champagne, coffee, Coca-Cola—gone because of acid reflux. Now it’s water with apple cider vinegar and honey.

There is nothing glamorous about discipline. It is practical. And yet, asked what she would eat with no consequences, her eyes lit up. “Kare-kare. Bulalo. Pancit Malabon. Balut. Sinigang.” With the utak. With the taba! Not deprivation. Portion.

To be grateful is to know joy

Lewis entertains the same way she lives—intentionally. Her personal chef, Delia Juarez, is known for her sea bass and lobster bathed in butter and cream, rich seafood crepes, and “to die for” pancit palabok. Together, they would usually work on the menu.

For Lewis, a party is successful “when everyone contributes to the conversation.” Even at the Obama fundraiser, which she hosted at $10,000 a plate, what moved her most was not the money raised—it was President Obama himself, entering the kitchen to take photos with the staff.

Hospitality, for her, is not spectacle. It is presence—wit, grace, humanity.

She also cooks. Her most treasured recipe is fried chicken, taught by her mother-in-law, a favorite of Mr. Lewis.

To me, the most moving part of her book is the epilogue—a deliberate accounting of blessings. Because to be grateful is to know joy. And for Loida, joy is the end goal. “If it’s not all right,” she said, “it’s not the end.”

Then, she quoted St. John of the Cross: “In the evening of life, you will be judged by love alone.” Not fancy treatments. Love. The same way her faith is lived, she advocates for Amerasian children born into prejudice and poverty. Love, she insists, is the measure.

I asked who she would sit beside at heaven’s table. “President Obama and Michelle Obama. President Clinton and Mrs. Clinton, too.” As for what feeds her soul? “God is with me. I believe it hook, line, and sinker.”

People are surprised when they meet her. “They say, ‘Oh, you’re so humble.’ In my mind, I say, I am me.”

Wealth and influence, she says, are “accidents of history.” What matters is core. I asked her to finish the sentence: Loida Lewis is… “Joyful.” And to end, she says, “In everything, give thanks.”

Perhaps that is the secret to looking younger when you’re older—joy. Lots of it. Add Eskinol and oh, Ponds, too!

The Lewis family fried chicken

As taught to Ms. Lewis by the late Mrs. Carolyn E. Fugett, beloved matriarch of West Baltimore and mother of Reginald F. Lewis. “Mr. Lewis’ mother—my mom, too—taught me how to cook fried chicken,” she shares. It remains her most precious recipe to this day.

Ingredients

6 to 8 pieces cut chicken