The Villages
Some kind of heaven?
Every community is a sort of bubble with their own distinct shared identity, but especially those who achieve this on purpose with gates.
These quintessentially American neighborhoods with house after house (or condo upon condo) all uniform in size and style to the point where you might confuse your door with your neighbor’s and end up rolling your walker into the wrong address, is the stuff of fictions like Edward Scissorhands or The Truman Show—or the actual alternate universe that exists in The Villages of central Florida.
I love a freakshow and Florida always delivers, but the pathos and intrigue of “America’s largest retirement community” really fascinates me. Oh to be a fly on the repetitive walls of The Villages, where I hope to one day find an excuse to visit my cousin and her boyfriend (now husband) who moved there, to my surprise, some years ago from Connecticut when I considered them too young and interesting for such retiring. In the meantime, I can spy on these lives through the incredibly touching documentary called Some Kind of Heaven (2020).
“Disneyland for retirees” is my version of hell, but don’t judge. These folks are really happy. Sort of. They consider it a kind of nirvana, a playland. Of the 130,000 residents, about 20,000 are single and often on the prowl at mixers and driving drunk in golf carts. Surely if this was perfection, producer Darren Aronofsky, creator of Pi, Requiem for a Dream, wouldn’t have signed on for this project, so there’s definitely some enticing darkness to contemplate amidst the palms.
You can’t be bored here, they say. But it’s a filtered world of no crime and almost no kids (save for some visiting grandchildren), so how exciting can it be? Well you create your own crime, as Reggie does when he gets charged with cocaine possession. Or there is a couple my friend told me about in 2016—her mom’s friend and her bestie, killed in their golf cart when they were hit by a wayward SUV whose driver was having a medical episode; or the more recent incident in March 2025 when a barely legal (58) male golf cart driver was charged with DUI manslaughter after swerving to avoid a parked car, causing his female passenger (60) to eject to her death.
No one is “from” here, since this was a fabrication of the 1980s that was only made to look old. Since most new residents arrive as strangers, there’s the promise of a clean slate, if only they were required to get a senior cart license.
The residents can create their own histories and identities, the same way the Spanish facade of the “historic” square does. You dip your toes into the fountain of youth daily (watch out for ‘gators), and consider life one long vacation for however long before you die (which we hope will be hidden). That’s one guy’s joke in the film, that he’s a “frog” who’s here until he “croaks.” It does seem healthy to laugh about the impending fact of death whilst in a senior living situation, though maybe he needs better jokes.
In the documentary we follow some couples and seeking singles. Reggie’s paired with Anne. He’s having a moment as a giddy lost drug addict running his cart through the sprinklers. They’ve been together for 47 years so she’s incredibly patient with his shenanigans on the golf course—or is that the lawn? It looks the same. She reminds me of so many enduring wives who keep themselves young and organized while the man loses his way. The allure here is the stasis. No matter how you age, everything around you is meant to never change.
There’s an Elaine who finds herself in a roomful of Elaines. There’s a theater group where they take roles in a fantasy drama, as they can in their own lives. They can answer the question “Who am I?” in their acting exercise whichever way.
“I think when you’re living in the Villages, you’re acting the part.”
Residents are quick to note it may be a gated community, but the gates are open. Anyone is welcome to pass through this magical portal. (Their website offers 4-7 night rentals in a private Villa for those who want to check it out and surely be recruited by the sales staff, at the rate of at least one aged 55+ per household.) But there’s one elderly guy who slipped through the cracks for free and stuck. Dennis is there living out of his van in the parking area. He’s 81 and doesn’t know what he wants to be when he grows up. He finds women to date here but they want a real partner while it’s against his constitution to settle. He still struggles at this ripe age with the ideals of comfort vs. freedom. He also has no money to speak of so requires women for financial parasiting. Could they use a handyman in return? Not so much, when all of their structural needs are met.
Barbara is a sweet widow navigating the Singles Club. She puts on her makeup to attend church where they ponder the question: “Are you a worrier or a warrior?”
Lynn is a golf cart salesman who takes Barbara out to the Parrothead Club for margaritas, which he seems to partake of a little too often. He also might be a little too much of a ladies’ man for her comfort.
From The Villages website, I learn that the Parrotheads meetings are called “Phlockings, as Parrots don’t meet together, they ‘Phlock’ together.” These gathering are “very popular, so you’ll want to get there early.” Important item on the agenda is “hanging out with our phriends and fellow parrotheads while enjoying good food, drink and live music.”
It’s a dream world, but everyone can be a dream maker here crafting their own idealized path. Or at least distract themselves with being very busy; you can sign up for activities from an extensive calendar for all tastes. Coming soon when I looked: summer art sale, train show, bonsai seminar, speaker Larry Cook talks about dead presidents, S.T.A.R. activities like bean bag baseball for Special Talented Adult Residents (a program designed for special needs adult Villagers living with their parents), unlimited sunset socials.
I imagine the summer vibe continues all year as it’s always appropriate to have a sunset social in Florida (minus hurricanes). I’m also happy to report they have charitable events and an attempt at seasonal cheer like a school supply drive and a candy collection for the fall trunk-or-treat. Having an awareness always of their limited time left in this bubble means they focus only on what feels good or most important.
“You come here to live; you don’t come here to pass away.”
No matter the nonstop action, the quiet unspoken feeling underlying this documentary is still one of loneliness. Not everyone’s found their way here and are at peace in paradise; deep down they are still yearning. Quite simply, they are still human. Wherever you go, there you are.
“I’m just saying that for me, it’s hasn’t been the fantasyland that I thought it would be. For reasons that are true to my own self, you know.”
I had to ask my cousin if this smattering of oddball or everyday characters and bittersweet scenes they reveal in the doc is what life really looks like for her. She writes enthusiastically:
As to The Villages—I love it! The video is just hype… but if you enjoy free live music every night at six sites, a pool every mile all maintained in excellent condition, probably 80 golf courses and more activities (archery, fencing, kayaking, pickleball, classes/lectures etc.) you name it you can find it! They even change the flowers at the numerous traffic circles four times a year! VERY clean, very safe and you can get to most places via golf cart!! Beautiful walking paths… and my roses and lemon trees are almost always in bloom! It’s an adult Disney! I have great neighbors and obviously very happy here!! But, July and August are hot!
Hope you are all well!!! Say hi to your Mom and family!!
I want to come say hi in person and see her in her element. I’d be thrilled to visit but never “stay,” as I have these assumptions about heaven that I won’t fit in, or be welcome, even at that certain gate. That I’d rather burn in hell than be bored in paradise. I also always take pride in suffering through the Northeast seasons that so many seem to flee eventually for southern climes. What would you look forward to if every night offered a sunset social? When would I hide if I didn’t have cold rain and winter?
The website promises “Florida’s Friendliest Hometown,” which makes me cringe in introvert panic. Then again, I was a lifetime naysayer, fully opposed to Disney and all its trappings until we went to Orlando and ate the free Christmas cookies and warm beverage at every station at the holiday special and had a fast-track pass for certain rides due to my employee friend connection and I truly felt the timeless magic of the kingdom—until our time was up. Like parachuting from a plane once—jumping out backwards upon my guide’s urging and falling into an accidental flip with my mouth stuck open screaming—it was both exhilarating and pervaded with that “once in a lifetime” feeling. Yes to this, and…never again.
What happens when once-in-a-lifetime is your everyday ongoing experience (for now)?
Do you dream of retiring so you can escape to some geriatric paradise to shake (in the Parrothead lounge) and bake on the beach? Or like me would you simply like more time without a day job to keep erecting your own dream scaffolding? Will aging be escapism, return, or something unimaginable?
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Man, very interesting, but hard to imagine I'd cut it in that environment.
Fascinating, and, terrifying! But also super curious… please visit your cousin and see what it’s like for real. But the idea of every night is a sunset and socials is… a lot, and does seem like it would suck the joy out of it. But for those who fear being alone, fear the quiet, then maybe it is their paradise.