From the time I was 10, I’ve been obsessed with what it means to grow older. I’m curious about what it means to others, of all ages, and so I invite them to take “The Oldster Magazine Questionnaire.”

Sometimes you’ll find responses from writers, musicians, and artists you’ve heard of—like Kate Pierson, Neko Case, Rosie O’Donnell, Ava Duvernay, Jerry Saltz, Lucy Sante, magazine legend Tom Junod, Ricki Lake, Hilma Wolitzer, Elizabeth Gilbert, Judith Viorst, Cheryl Strayed, Deesha Philyaw, Chloe Caldwell, etc.—but more often it will be people (of all ages) you haven’t heard of, Humans of New York-style. (Check out all the Oldster interviews…)

Here, writer, painter, comedian, and more responds. -Sari Botton

PS If you’re enjoying the work I do here at Oldster, please consider supporting it by becoming a paid subscriber. 🙏

“This is a must read newsletter on a topic that is golden. Oldster is so life affirming and refreshing, it is worth paying for.” - , paid subscriber.

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Ali Liebegott is a writer and painter who currently lives in Los Angeles. She has published four books to date: The Beautifully Worthless, The IHOP Papers, Cha-Ching! and The Summer of Dead Birds. She’s also written for many TV shows, and publishes the newsletter “Dad Bod.”

—

How old are you?

54.

Is there another age you associate with yourself in your mind? If so, what is it? And why, do you think?

I’m somehow both perpetually 16 and 108. I feel very young and stunted internally but also as if death is right around the corner. As you can see, it’s the perfect combo of anxious existentialism. I always feel like queer people of a certain generation feel younger.

Do you feel old for your age? Young for your age? Just right? Are you in step with your peers?

I feel young in the way that I still don’t have a plan for my life. I’ve never had a “plan” besides doing the next thing in front of me. Besides trying to build my life in a way that accommodates me to be a writer and an artist, I haven’t ever had an idea of “what my life should look like.” What I mean by this is mostly traditional heterosexual or normative markers, i.e. a house, kids, a career. I’m often triggered by friends, even queer ones, who have a specific vision for their future. I also feel old in a way that my peers don’t. I’ve had a lot of injuries and physical pain in my life, and so I think that has overly colored my view that I don’t have much time left on earth. This is probably depression talking!

Besides trying to build my life in a way that accommodates me to be a writer and an artist, I haven’t ever had an idea of “what my life should look like.” What I mean by this is mostly traditional heterosexual or normative markers, i.e. a house, kids, a career. I’m often triggered by friends, even queer ones, who have a specific vision for their future.

What do you like about being your age?

I do feel there’s been an accumulation of life experience that allows me to see things in a broader way. I also deeply treasure the many friendships I’ve had for decades!

What is difficult about being your age?

Physical pain, fear of being/looking too old to find love, and worries about financial security in older years and health insurance. You know, the things that many, many people worry about in our current society.

What is surprising about being your age, or different from what you expected, based on what you were told?

I remember when my mom had a surprise 40^th birthday party. There were bouquets of black balloons. It was the 80’s so “over the hill” stuff was prevalent. The whole theater of this party was so chilling. It made me think my mom was so old. And now I’m like, 40 is the new 20!

What has aging given you? Taken away from you?

Aging has given me a deep sense of myself, what I like, my interests, and honestly self-esteem. I can look at myself and think, that’s a cool, interesting person. The aging body has been hard to accept. I wanted to ice skate at Christmas this year in Central Park, and I’ve had many, many knee surgeries. But when I got on the skates, I felt scared in a way that I’ve rarely felt. I needed to skate using the little child’s walker. And I remember thinking, wow, this might be something you won’t be able to do again in this lifetime. That was a sad feeling. To see things that you used to be able to do disappear.

How has getting older affected your sense of yourself, or your identity?

It’s funny. Aging somehow simultaneously makes you feel more solid and less solid at the same time. It’s like where one area weakens, another strengthens.

I remember when my mom had a surprise 40^th birthday party. There were bouquets of black balloons. It was the 80’s so “over the hill” stuff was prevalent. The whole theater of this party was so chilling. It made me think my mom was so old. And now I’m like, 40 is the new 20!

What are some age-related milestones you are looking forward to? Or ones you “missed,” and might try to reach later, off-schedule, according to our culture and its expectations?

I would like to find a sense of home by the time I’m 60.

What has been your favorite age so far, and why? Would you go back to this age if you could?

I don’t think I have ever had a favorite age. I’ve had a lot of looking back thinking, I can’t believe I didn’t think I was cute then!

Is there someone who is older than you, who makes growing older inspiring to you? Who is your aging idol and why?

Not specific people. But I always love stories of people who go back to school at 80 and all the people who keep writing and making art. I love artists who work until the end of their life.

The aging body has been hard to accept. I wanted to ice skate at Christmas this year in Central Park, and I’ve had many, many knee surgeries. But when I got on the skates, I felt scared in a way that I’ve rarely felt. I needed to skate using the little child’s walker. And I remember thinking, wow, this might be something you won’t be able to do again in this lifetime. That was a sad feeling. To see things that you used to be able to do disappear.

What aging-related adjustments have you recently made, style-wise, beauty-wise, health-wise?

Six months ago, I started working out two days a week to help me with a bad back. No one hates exercise more than me. But I’ve been working with a trainer and he’s helped me so much get out of a significant amount of pain. I have a goal to be able to do a single push up by my 55^th birthday this year. Right now we are doing push ups over a stack of books. As I get stronger, we take away a book. I can’t believe how hard it is to do a single push up.

As far as style, I dress the same as when I was in my 20s. I’m lucky that I’ve always stuck with butch classics.

What’s an aging-related adjustment you refuse to make, and why?

It’s very hard for me to want to wear ugly yet comfortable walking shoes. Why can’t someone design one that is cute?! And don’t tell me about Hokas. They’re not cute! Nothing plummets my self-esteem like an ugly shoe.

What turn of events had the biggest impact on your life? What took your life in a different direction, for better or worse?

I had a pretty big sports injury when I was twelve. This injury is what made me become a writer. I had to take all that jock energy and put it elsewhere. I also quit drinking alcohol when I was 28. This was absolutely necessary to help me work on my depression. My second divorce which happened during the pandemic was very devastating. I’m someone who is very relationship oriented so I’ve felt a bit adrift since that relationship ended. But at the same time, I’ve grown a lot.

I’m very scared to die. I don’t want life to be over. I also am scared to die alone, or to be in pain alone at the end of my life. I think I believe it’s mostly lights out nothingness after death, but occasionally I have a deep fear that I’ll be a lonely ghost caught between worlds saying, “Hey guys, I’m over here. Can I have a cookie? Guys, Guys?”

What is your number one regret in life? If you could do it all over again, what is the biggest thing you’d do differently?

Oof. I regret the speed in which I left my second marriage and that I wasn’t more knowledgeable of how outside factors like menopause affected that decision. I sometimes regret the totality in which I can get swept up in emotions.

What is high up on your “bucket list?” What do you hope to achieve, attain, or plain enjoy before you die?

I’d like to keep painting and writing until the end of my life. I’d love to publish more books, have more painting shows. I would like to attend Wimbledon at least once. I’d love to have another wonderful long term romantic relationship. And to work a single season at Citifield in some capacity for the New York Mets.

Is there a piece of advice you were given, that you live by? If so, what was it, and who offered it to you?

“You are creating the forest you aren’t even lost in yet.” Michelle Tea told me that once when working on a book. It’s basically the idea that you have to let the story unfold before you start judging, editing it. I made a little painting of it and it hangs over my desk. I think it also applies to life. Lately I also have been thinking, “If not now, when?” This is very much related to aging. When I turned 50 I had a bit of an existential crisis. Like when you do the math and think…I’m more than half way through. It’s definitely clarifying.

I am a Leo and I have been called Birthdayzilla in the past. I want all the love on my birthday. I want my Leo mane brushed, and oiled, and shampooed! If I am partnered when my birthday occurs I want a handwritten card and to spend hours in bed drinking coffee when I first wake up. I used to have a tradition of buying a new baseball hat or a pair of sneakers. Or getting a haircut. A dinner with friends. I don’t need a huge party but I do desire to feel loved.

What are your plans for your body when you’re done using it? Burial? Cremation? Body Farm? Other?

I want the most ecological but low hassle thing available at the time of my death. I don’t want loved ones to have to fly my body across the world to feed to birds, and I also don’t want to pollute the ground with more formaldehyde. I’m also an organ donor. Who wants my liver?

How do you feel about dying? And what do you expect to happen to your “soul” or “spirit” after you die?

I’m very scared to die. I don’t want life to be over. I also am scared to die alone, or to be in pain alone at the end of my life. I think I believe it’s mostly lights out nothingness after death, but occasionally I have a deep fear that I’ll be a lonely ghost caught between worlds saying, “Hey guys, I’m over here. Can I have a cookie? Guys, Guys?”

What’s your philosophy on celebrating birthdays as an adult? How do you celebrate yours?

Well, I’m glad you asked. I am a Leo and I have been called Birthdayzilla in the past. I want all the love on my birthday. I want my Leo mane brushed, and oiled, and shampooed! If I am partnered when my birthday occurs I want a handwritten card and to spend hours in bed drinking coffee when I first wake up. I used to have a tradition of buying a new baseball hat or a pair of sneakers. Or getting a haircut. A dinner with friends. I don’t need a huge party but I do desire to feel loved.

Check out all the Oldster interviews…

Sometimes you’ll find responses from writers, musicians, and artists you’ve heard of—like Kate Pierson, Neko Case, Rosie O’Donnell, Ava Duvernay, Jerry Saltz, Lucy Sante, magazine legend Tom Junod, Ricki Lake, Hilma Wolitzer, Elizabeth Gilbert, Judith Viorst, Cheryl Strayed, Deesha Philyaw, Chloe Caldwell, etc.—but more often it will be people (of all ages) you haven’t heard of, Humans of New York-style. (Check out all the Oldster interviews…)

Here, screenwriter, playwright, poet and more responds. -Sari Botton

PS If you’re enjoying the work I do here at Oldster, please consider supporting it by becoming a paid subscriber. 🙏

"This work is a meaningful and an interactive resource that feels like a community of thinking, feeling and creative people." - , paid subscriber.

Subscribe now

Edward Pomerantz is an award-winning New York City screenwriter, playwright, novelist, filmmaker, poet, and teacher. CAUGHT, the movie he wrote based on his novel INTO IT, was released by Sony Pictures Classics and nominated for three Independent Spirit Awards. His play BRISBURIAL was produced by the New Federal Theatre, and his play ELECTRA THE REWRITE was staged in Greece at the Athens Fringe Festival. He is the recipient of two Writers Guild Awards and two Fulbright Specialist Grants. As a teacher/mentor/creative advisor, he’s worked with over a thousand writers at international colleges, labs, workshops and academies.

His short films and screenplays have won awards at international film festivals. His recent publications are BITS AND PIECES, a memoir of poems, and GOOD COMPANY, A Writer’s Bible. For 30 years, he’s been on the faculty of the School of Film and Media Studies at SUNY-Purchase, and the Director of the Harlem Dramatic Writing Workshop, a program of free workshops to find and nurture gifted screenwriters and playwrights in the Harlem community. He’s still teaching, and currently at work on A BOY CALLED OWL, a novel for Kids Who Are Grown-Ups.

—

How old are you?

91. I’ll be 92, this June.

Is there another age you associate with yourself in your mind? If so, what is it? And why, do you think?

Yes. 10. The age I found the courage of my imagination, the kid, seized and captured by the movies, running home to his room to write his own, the brave fearless boy who keeps me writing and striving today, returning to that bottomless well for what Emerson calls “the power of self-recovery.”

Do you feel old for your age? Young for your age? Just right? Are you in step with your peers?

Not old or young. I’d say ageless with some wear and tear. And the question is “Are my peers in step with me?”

At age 10 I found the courage of my imagination, the kid, seized and captured by the movies, running home to his room to write his own, the brave fearless boy who keeps me writing and striving today, returning to that bottomless well for what Emerson calls “the power of self-recovery.”

What do you like about being your age?

I’m smarter and sexier.

What is difficult about being your age?

I miss walking fast and running for the bus.

What is surprising about being your age, or different from what you expected, based on what you were told?

I’m still here.

What has aging given you? Taken away from you?

Clarity. Clarity. Clarity. And whatever it’s taken away, with will and effort I can get it back. Except for all the people I’ve loved who didn’t have the luck to age with me.

How has getting older affected your sense of yourself, or your identity?

I’m stronger and clearer about who I am, and in the words of Wallace Stevens, even more determined “not to be confined.”

When I was 40 I quit my job as a tenured college English professor to “go out in the world” and be a screenwriter. I went on to write forty commissioned screenplays and television scripts and never looked back. When I was 60 my life expanded with the making of a movie I wrote based on my novel.

What are some age-related milestones you are looking forward to? Or ones you “missed,” and might try to reach later, off-schedule, according to our culture and its expectations?

Next March, the celebration of 70 years of marriage to the same woman. My grandson’s wedding next summer. And great-grandchildren.

What has been your favorite age so far, and why? Would you go back to this age if you could?

My childhood summers in Rockaway—for the same freedom and exhilaration I would feel again in the Colorado Rockies in my 30s; at 60 when I got my movie made after 20 years of fighting for it and my world expanded; my 70s being a kid again with my grandchildren; my 90s, still alive, still loving and being loved by my wife and daughters, still loving what John Gardner calls “the struggle of thought,” what D. H. Lawrence calls the “human being in their wholeness fully attending,” the intense concentration of thinking and writing with my whole body, wrestling with words, feelings, ideas, connecting with people.

Is there someone who is older than you, who makes growing older inspiring to you? Who is your aging idol and why?

Yes, a friend, a poet, 95, still himself, even more so.

What aging-related adjustments have you recently made, style-wise, beauty-wise, health-wise?

Blood pressure meds, daily stretching and strengthening exercises, no seconds of pasta, listening to my body—knowing when to rest, when to push through, keep going. And I’m still dancing in my livingroom to music that makes it impossible not to.

What’s an aging-related adjustment you refuse to make, and why?

I refuse to be ignored.

What turn of events had the biggest impact on your life? What took your life in a different direction, for better or worse?

When I was in my early 30s and made a creative life-changing breakthrough with the writing of my play BRISBURIAL.

When I was 40 and quit my job as a tenured college English professor to “go out in the world” and be a screenwriter. I went on to write forty commissioned screenplays and television scripts and never looked back.

When I was 60 and my life expanded with the making of a movie I wrote based on my novel. The movie led me back into teaching—working with writers and colleagues all over the world.

What is your number one regret in life? If you could do it all over again, what is the biggest thing you’d do differently?

No regrets for any major life choices. Just for things said and done that hurt people.

What is high up on your “bucket list?” What do you hope to achieve, attain, or plain enjoy before you die?

I’ll go with Philip Guston on this: “What you’re doing is trying to stay alive and continue and not die.”

Is there a piece of advice you were given, that you live by? If so, what was it, and who offered it to you?

“Always be happy in your work.” Advice given to me by my father Al Pomerantz, a fishman and shad boner, when I was 10.

“Into the destructive element, immerse.” Joseph Conrad, Lord Jim

“When a door is closed, open another one. When that door closes, open another. When you run out of doors, make one.” Joan Rivers

“Face the music and dance.” Irving Berlin

My soul and spirit will be in everybody whose lives I’ve touched in ways unknown to me. I will die happy knowing some people I love will be thinking “Eddie would have loved this,” when they’re sitting around a table, laughing and slurping oysters, arguing about a movie.

What are your plans for your body when you’re done using it? Burial? Cremation? Body Farm? Other?

Cremation and organ donation.

What do you expect to happen to your “soul” or “spirit” after you die?

My soul and spirit will be in everybody whose lives I’ve touched in ways unknown to me. I will die happy knowing some people I love will be thinking “Eddie would have loved this,” when they’re sitting around a table, laughing and slurping oysters, arguing about a movie.

What’s your philosophy on celebrating birthdays as an adult? How do you celebrate yours?

Keep celebrating, not just on your birthday—with everybody you love.

Check out all the Oldster interviews…

Sometimes you’ll find responses from writers, musicians, and artists you’ve heard of—like Kate Pierson, Neko Case, Rosie O’Donnell, Ava Duvernay, Jerry Saltz, Lucy Sante, magazine legend Tom Junod, Ricki Lake, Hilma Wolitzer, Elizabeth Gilbert, Judith Viorst, Cheryl Strayed, Deesha Philyaw, Chloe Caldwell, etc.—but more often it will be people (of all ages) you haven’t heard of, Humans of New York-style. (Check out all the Oldster interviews…)

Here, architect and novelist responds. -Sari Botton

PS If you’re enjoying the work I do here at Oldster, please consider supporting it by becoming a paid subscriber. 🙏

Subscribe now

**Click here to get more out of this post by reading it online instead of in your email…

Margalit Shinar is the co-author of Merry-Go-Round Broke Down, a novel of greed, guilt & globalization just published in the United States. An architect by training, she holds a Bachelor of Arts in Architecture from the Technion Israel Institute of Technology and a Master’s degree in Art History from Tufts University. Born in New York to French émigré parents, Margalit is fluent in English, French, Hebrew, and Italian.

Her co-author, David Woo, is a renowned global macro strategist. Bloomberg has described him as “one of the most outspoken voices on Wall Street,” while Business Insider named him among “the twelve smartest people on Wall Street.” The two have been married for nearly 40 years. Their love story was recently published in the New York Times Modern Love column, in an essay titled, “She was 40. I was 20. Could we make it work?”

—

How old are you?

78.

Is there another age you associate with yourself in your mind? If so, what is it? And why, do you think?

I am 78. Those who say “it’s just a number” are mistaken, I think. 78 is old by any historical standard if one simply judges by physical capabilities. My shoulder constantly hurts from an old injury. I am tired, oh so tired, quite often. Loud noises bother me. I have difficulty sitting down on the floor and then getting up again. I have continence problems. As a character in my book says: “Growing old sucks”.

But in my mind? There the delineation between old and young is less clear. There are days that I feel energetic and young, myself at the age of 40, say. Full of plans for the day, for the week, for the next month.

If forced to provide an answer, I would say the age of 40 was my favorite because at that age I finally gained confidence in who I was: a rebel at heart. It was what gave me the courage to acknowledge the big love of my life and then marry the man who, though twenty years younger than I am, is my second husband. 40 is an age which should be celebrated. Beauty is not yet lost, nor, with modern medicine, is health. The follies of extreme youth are past. The ravages of old age not yet begun.

Do you feel old for your age? Young for your age? Just right? Are you in step with your peers?

Generally, I feel young for my age. I think that it’s because I cultivate the flexibility of my mind. I recently finished writing a first novel with my husband—a feat usually reserved for the younger and fitter. Merry-go-round Broke Down just came out! It was a long journey, taking ten years to complete, and it forced me to stay on toes. It was in a way the most creative period of my life. The book, set in ten different countries was also a journey of education, and there is nothing like an education to keep oneself young.

I’m not completely “set in my ways” as many of my age cohort are. I can still teach myself to change some habits. Though I learn more slowly now, I can master some of the complexities of the digital world. Better than many, according to my kids.

What do you like about being your age?

Being old is much maligned. The only cloud on my being 78 is the future horizon which, statistically speaking, is shrinking as every year passes. Yes, there are aches and pains. Yet, one can ignore pain if it’s not overwhelming. After all, as a woman, I used to suffer from menstrual pains once a month. Weren’t we taught to grin and bear it? Those pains are thankfully gone now.

And as a philosopher friend once told me: With the fading of youthful passions there comes a wonderful peace and inner balance of the heart. With advanced age one enters a kind of Buddhist monastery of the mind where the world outside with all its turmoil is kept at bay. Finally, I can let go. Finally, I can do and think what I want. Beyond that, there is the ripening of wisdom. That is not a cliché. The old have seen everything. And I mean everything. We are not surprised by the evils that beset our world.

What is difficult about being your age?

Old age is the next frontier of taboos to be broken down. We are afraid of talking about growing old. “Oh no—you’re not old! It’s all in your imagination!” and the subject is sidelined, perhaps to be analyzed as a sociological phenomenon. There is no room in our society for getting old. And not too much respect for this last stage in life.

Sometimes all I want is to be allowed to grow old in peace. Rocking the day away in the proverbial rocking-chair. Being an observer of life rather than a participant. But it is not permitted! We are constantly harangued and lectured to into being pretend-young. Exercise! Eat this, don’t eat that! Come on, join us at the beach! Be active! Get yourself out there!

For me the main difficulty of aging is the decrease in energy. In old age I am energetic in spurts. In my mind I volunteer to this or that organization. I go on this or that trip. But then, I am too tired to carry these plans out. I reproach myself for a lack of drive. And despite the brave face I put on—for my family, for myself—the recurring discomforts of the small breakdowns of the body are unnerving. There is good in old age, yes, but there is also plenty of bad.

I recently finished writing a first novel with my husband—a feat usually reserved for the younger and fitter. Merry-go-round Broke Down just came out! It was a long journey, taking ten years to complete, and it forced me to stay on toes. It was in a way the most creative period of my life. The book, set in ten different countries was also a journey of education, and there is nothing like an education to keep oneself young.

What is surprising about being your age, or different from what you expected, based on what you were told?

The most surprising thing is that being old is not as terrible as everybody says it is! Obviously, I am in relatively good health. Many older people suffer from incapacitating health problems. But some young people do too. It is far worse for them.

Many speak about the loneliness of the old, without mentioning the loneliness of the young which is much more terrible and unnatural. But I personally find that with age, I not only tolerate loneliness better, I actually enjoy it! Loneliness is not quite the same as being alone, of course. So perhaps I am making the wrong statement. More precisely, I enjoy being alone with myself, which I had not expected.

What has aging given you? Taken away from you?

I do not tire of repeating: Age has given me wisdom. Wisdom is not the same as intelligence. Wisdom is born of life’s lessons understood.

Aging has given me more tolerance, too. As my kids say: I’ve mellowed.

And age has given me a most precious commodity: free time. That is why old people who suffer from loneliness in reality suffer from their inability to fill up their time. That is why older people try sometimes to put off their retirement. What will they “do” they ask themselves when they stop working. My answer is the only one palliative and that is the cultivation not only of one’s garden, but of one’s mind.

Now I have the time to indulge in all the small things I never had a moment to spare for while working or bringing up my kids. From playing games on the internet to reading the news from A to Z, to digging up the favorite songs of my youth on YouTube and listening to them, wallowing in my memories.

But aging has taken away too. It has robbed me of some enthusiasms and appetites I had in the past. I have less appetite for gourmet food for instance. And I have no sexual appetite. But, I shrug to myself. So what? Life is so broad and varied that other pleasures and interests fill the gap.

In general, my aging has taken away nothing that, today, is really important to me anymore. I do not sigh and think to myself, “If only I were young again.” And why is that? Because the only organ that can improve with age is the brain.

The most surprising thing is that being old is not as terrible as everybody says it is! Obviously, I am in relatively good health. Many older people suffer from incapacitating health problems. But some young people do too. It is far worse for them.

How has getting older affected your sense of yourself, or your identity?

Getting older has cemented my identity. I used to try and conform with others when I was young, now I am proud of who I am. Old-age has given me fearlessness.

What are some age-related milestones you are looking forward to? Or ones you “missed,” and might try to reach later, off-schedule, according to our culture and its expectations?

The only age-related milestone I can think of which I have not missed is my own death. The only milestone I can look forward to, which is way off-schedule, is possibly the birth of a great-grandchild. But since my eldest grandson is 9 years old, this would entail, if he marries very young, my living another fifteen years or more. If I live to 100, I may yet reach this milestone.

What has been your favorite age so far, and why? Would you go back to this age if you could?

This question is difficult to answer. But if forced to provide an answer, I would say the age of 40 because at that age I finally gained confidence in who I was: a rebel at heart. It was what gave me the courage to acknowledge the big love of my life and then marry the man who, though twenty years younger than I am, is my second husband. 40 is an age which should be celebrated. Beauty is not yet lost, nor, with modern medicine, is health. The follies of extreme youth are past. The ravages of old age not yet begun.

Is there someone who is older than you, who makes growing older inspiring to you? Who is your aging idol and why?

There are several people whose old age inspire me, but who are not around anymore. The first is my grandfather, who still went horseback riding in New York’s Central Park at the age of eighty. He died at the age of 94 with his full faculties intact. The second is my mother-in-law from my first marriage. She was the queen bee of the family, retaining her incredible sense of humor, her force of character and sparkle into her 90s! I aspire to remain, as I age, an important pillar of my family too.

Aging has robbed me of some enthusiasms and appetites I had in the past. I have less appetite for gourmet food for instance. And I have no sexual appetite. But, I shrug to myself. So what? Life is so broad and varied that other pleasures and interests fill the gap.

What aging-related adjustments have you recently made, style-wise, beauty-wise, health-wise?

Style-wise: never give in to dumpy, shapeless, colorless clothes. Never reveal skin that should not be revealed, never dress too young for one’s age. Nor too old either! This is VERY hard. I used to be obsessed with clothes. I loved new clothes and shoes and still salivate over certain styles that I know are not for me anymore (such as a strapless bustier for the summer or a backless dress). I can’t wear heels—they hurt my feet and affect my sense of balance, so I only wear flats. But I refuse to wear gym shoes all day. I play around with orthopedic insoles in regular shoes—mainly ballerinas—until I feel comfortable.

Beauty-wise, if you are a woman, have that face lift. But go to the best surgeon. I did it, at the young age of 52. Its effects still last. I have regular botox treatments, some facial fillers, but I never ever exaggerate. I have no faith whatsoever in face creams and the like (it’s a scientific fact that their molecules simply cannot penetrate deep layers of the skin), so I save a lot of money on those. My own goal for beauty treatments is to age gracefully: that is, to remove some of nature’s most cruel tricks like a sagging chin or turkey neck. But it’s mainly Caucasians who suffer the outward effects. Black people and Asians, age much better. My husband is Chinese and approaching 60. No wrinkles…

Health-wise, the main adjustment in old age in the realm of health is tremendously boring and time-consuming. In my youth I rarely visited a doctor. But now, I have frequent check-ups and tests (like colonoscopies)—many more than I would like. Old age is like keeping up the maintenance on an old car. No more three year guarantees anymore!

What’s an aging-related adjustment you refuse to make, and why?

Everybody harps on the importance of sports and physical exercise. I am very reluctant to exercise regularly. I go for long walks from time to time and scurry up and down the stairs in my house, but otherwise, I refuse to make a long-time commitment to any sport. Why? To be honest, for ten years, between the age of 60 and 70 I did weightlifting and a combo of yoga and Pilates exercises. The results of that period still affect me for the good. But with a bad shoulder I can’t really do weights anymore and the one sport that doesn’t bore me—tennis—is out of bounds too.

Another adjustment I should be making is eating less sugar. But I refuse to give up on baguettes! The point of growing old should not be giving up on the things that still give you pleasure in life. And so, I tell myself, my life may be cut short by a couple of years, but in the meanwhile, I enjoy it more.

What turn of events had the biggest impact on your life? What took your life in a different direction, for better or worse?

The death of my brilliant, generous, unusual father: father, teacher, companion. I mourn his absence and miss him to this very day. His death left a huge, gaping hole in my heart. Having children helped with the pain, but never quite filled the hole.

The event that took my life in a completely, unexpected direction was the decision my first husband and I made to leave Israel for Boston in the mid-nineteen eighties. If we had not taken that step my life would have been utterly different. Because it was in Boston that I met my second husband. From that point on, my life sailed toward unknown shores.

Age has given me a most precious commodity: free time. That is why old people who suffer from loneliness in reality suffer from their inability to fill up their time. That is why older people try sometimes to put off their retirement. What will they “do” they ask themselves when they stop working. My answer is the only one palliative and that is the cultivation not only of one’s garden, but of one’s mind.

What is your number one regret in life? If you could do it all over again, what is the biggest thing you’d do differently?

In general, regrets are self-defeating. I could easily say that I regret not pursuing a serious career in architecture or further pursuing an academic career. But do I really? To this very day, I don’t know.

Ultimately, my only real regret is that I could have been a better person, giving back to the community more. I could have been a better mother to my children. I could have been stronger.

I regret not managing my life more wisely, with less missteps and, ruled by hormones and emotions, making silly mistakes. As George Bernard Shaw once said: Youth is a gift wasted on the young.

But even mistakes can be looked upon philosophically. Marrying my first husband was a mistake. But we had two wonderful girls together and I love them dearly. I wouldn’t have had them but for my mistake! So how can I regret that first marriage?

Again, regrets are self-defeating.

What is high up on your “bucket list?” What do you hope to achieve, attain, or plain enjoy before you die?

I still would like to travel. To India, for instance. To go on a safari—I love wild animals. To fly in a hot-air balloon. Write another book! Finish the documentary film about my father’s life my daughter and I are working on. And live to see my country safe, my grandchildren reach adulthood…

Is there a piece of advice you were given, that you live by? If so, what was it, and who offered it to you?

I live by the constant improvement of the life of the mind. My advice for contentment in old age is to remain curious about the world. To read. To listen to music. To remain involved. To delve further into knowledge. An example: I loved the series Vikings on Netflix. Watching it prompted me to research the true history of the Vikings… The age of the internet, with all its faults, is a miracle for the elderly who can remain connected to the world with only a few clicks, even from their beds.

This is in spectacular contrast with the past, where the elderly were left to fade and “rot,” sequestered in their rooms and cut off from society at large.

Another piece of advice: retain your sense of wonder. My late father, who died too young at the age of 65, taught me that as long as you can marvel at a gorgeous sunset, you remain young at heart.

Wonder can be cultivated consciously. Look closely at a flower. Look closely at a bird in flight. Let yourself be washed over by the truly wondrous sight of nature. If I sound like a TV ad, ignore it.

With advanced age one enters a kind of Buddhist monastery of the mind where the world outside with all its turmoil is kept at bay. Finally, I can let go. Finally, I can do and think what I want. Beyond that, there is the ripening of wisdom. That is not a cliché. The old have seen everything. And I mean everything. We are not surprised by the evils that beset our world.

What are your plans for your body when you’re done using it? Burial? Cremation? Body Farm? Other?

Donate my body to medical science.

How do you feel about dying? And what do you expect to happen to your “soul” or “spirit” after you die?

Unfortunately, I do not believe in life after death of the individual. I say unfortunately, because it is a very comforting belief. So is the belief in the transmigration of souls or in reincarnation as my husband believes. But this unbelief is impossible to change.

What I do believe is that death is part of life itself. Without death there would be no life because there is no light without shadow. In other words, the gift of death is life. (This is what I teach my kids and grandkids). I also know that when I die, I return to nature and to the great cycle of creation, by dissolving into the atoms that make up our universe. I also believe that in some small part, I live on in “spirit” through my children and their children. That is why having children is so important. That is why creativity is so important. Not only for individual continuity, but for cultural continuity.

The only fear I have of dying is the fear of prolonged suffering. I pray for a quick and painless death. Something parallel to switching off a light.

What’s your philosophy on celebrating birthdays as an adult? How do you celebrate yours?

I have always celebrated my birthday as an adult. Birthdays are the celebration of the individual. But as I grow older, the celebrations are small family affairs. Only the big milestone ages, every decade, I celebrate more expansively. My 70^th birthday for example. And I expect I will do the same for my 80^th birthday.

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Readers,

Today’s Oldster Magazine Questionnaire had to be pushed back. Given that, and the ongoing influx of new subscribers by way of the NPR interview and The New York Times profile, I thought I’d take a moment to share some past editions with you. There are so many great examples in the archive, it’s hard to choose which ones to show you.

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Here’s what I’ve come up with—a sample that demonstrates the breadth of ages that Oldster covers. Included here: John Irving, , , , , , , , , , , , , Griffing Hansbury, and .

P.S. This morning at 11am ET, I’ll talk with at . Here’s a link if you want to tune in:

Oldster on Lincoln Square

*Please bear in mind that many of these Oldster Questionnaires are from prior years, and the subjects have since advanced in age.

Check out all the Oldster interviews…

Thanks so much for reading, and for supporting my work here at Oldster. I appreciate it! 💝

Sometimes you’ll find responses from writers, musicians, and artists you’ve heard of—like Kate Pierson, Neko Case, Rosie O’Donnell, Ava Duvernay, Jerry Saltz, Lucy Sante, magazine legend Tom Junod, Ricki Lake, Hilma Wolitzer, Elizabeth Gilbert, Judith Viorst, Cheryl Strayed, Deesha Philyaw, Chloe Caldwell, etc.—but more often it will be people (of all ages) you haven’t heard of, Humans of New York-style. (Check out all the Oldster interviews…)

Here, long-time Men’s Wearhouse marketing mastermind, author, film producer, and more, Richard Goldman responds. -Sari Botton

PS If you’re enjoying the work I do here at Oldster, please consider supporting it by becoming a paid subscriber. 🙏

"I've really enjoyed reading Oldster Magazine. Thoughtful, always interesting perspective, and celebrating age and living." - , paid subscriber.

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P.S. A reminder that as far as I’m concerned, everyone who is alive and aging is considered an Oldster, and that every contributor to this magazine is the oldest they have ever been, which is interesting new territory for them—and interesting to me, the 60-year-old who publishes Oldster. Also, I’m trying to foster intergenerational conversations in which elders learn what it’s like to be younger, and younger people learn from elders what it’s like to be older.

When you see a piece featuring someone younger than you, try to remember when you were that age and how monumental it felt. Bring some curiosity to reading about how the person being featured is experiencing that age. Or, if you prefer, wait for the next piece featuring someone in your age group. In the last few weeks alone, I’ve published pieces by people in their 60s, 70s, and 80s. Not every piece will speak to every reader. I’m doing my best to cover a lot of ground and be inclusive. Please work with me! Thank you. 🙏 - Sari Botton.

is a writer and editor who lives in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains with his wife Sarah and his sons, Lucian and Emrys. He is currently working on a book-length object history of the axe for W.W. Norton, and is the editor-in-chief of LitHub.com. You can follow him @diamond-jonny on Instagram.

—

How old are you?

I am 50 years old as of this past January.

Is there another age you associate with yourself in your mind? If so, what is it? And why, do you think?

Probably 26. Years ago, a former colleague went around the room conferring “essential” ages on the entire staff where I worked—it was that kind of job, that kind of colleague—and 26 was my number (I was 38 or 39 at the time). As much as I rejected the premise of the exercise the number resonated: 26 for me was a time between the proscriptions and expectations of youth (college, etc.) and the full and real responsibilities of adulthood; out in the world alone, following my instincts—not a terrible way to be. I’d like to think I’ve remained as open to life as I was then.

Turning 50 has steered me toward valuing the possibility of each day, each week, rather than worrying too much about the possibilities of the next decade. Also, it helps to have a 2-year-old and a 15-year-old tethering you to the here and now—not a huge amount of free brain space to grapple with my mortality. Of course, I worry about the world my children will inherit, but paradoxically, I think they keep me too busy to fixate on it.

Do you feel old for your age? Young for your age? Just right? Are you in step with your peers?

I feel young for my age. I am married to someone younger than I am (Sarah, 14 years my junior), my colleagues at work are all younger than I am, I play soccer regularly with men younger than I am, and most of my friends are younger than I am. So perhaps I’ve surrounded myself with the illusion of my own youth.

What do you like about being your age?

While I don’t believe that age automatically grants anyone wisdom about the world (just look at all the terrible things done every day by old men in power) I do know that it at least gives us a lot of opportunities to learn from the mistakes we’ve made in life. I have made plenty of those, and on good days I allow myself to believe I’ve learned from some of them.

What is difficult about being your age?

I suppose one of the downsides of learning from your mistakes (see above) is realizing the time you lost in living through them. At my age, all illusions of an expansive and unknowable future have receded, and I have internalized the absolute finitude of this life. If one was predisposed to gloom this would be difficult—you know, death and all that—but I’m not, really.

Turning 50 has steered me toward valuing the possibility of each day, each week, rather than worrying too much about the possibilities of the next decade. Also, it helps to have a 2-year-old and a 15-year-old tethering you to the here and now—not a huge amount of free brain space to grapple with my mortality. Of course, I worry about the world my children will inherit, but paradoxically, I think they keep me too busy to fixate on it.

Realizing this is kind of a self-satisfied non-answer so I’ll add that I don’t like having to pee more at night than I used to.

I feel young for my age. I am married to someone younger than I am (Sarah, 14 years my junior), my colleagues at work are all younger than I am, I play soccer regularly with men younger than I am, and most of my friends are younger than I am. So perhaps I’ve surrounded myself with the illusion of my own youth.

What is surprising about being your age, or different from what you expected, based on what you were told?

I suppose I’m surprised at how good I feel about being 50. And how good I feel in general! As milestones go, 40 was one I gave a lot of thought to, and which felt enormous; but 50 was never much of a consideration or a concern. Is this… what wisdom feels like?

What has aging given you? Taken away from you?

Well, the obvious answer to the former is wrinkles, and to the latter, hair; but I think I reject the premise of the question, the idea that we deserve anything from this life, or that the passage of time is anything other than a blunt reality. Maybe it’s naive or vain or self-deluded, but aging, to me, is just life and the living of it—so in that sense aging has “given” me everything, and taken nothing. Aging is the sum of who we are.

How has getting older affected your sense of yourself, or your identity?

I think it has only served to amplify my unhealthy inclination toward competitiveness (which is a sub-trait of vanity, to be sure); so I continue to measure my physical health/aptitude against younger men (who couldn’t care less) in a way that calls to mind that Mad Men meme, the punchline of which is Don Draper saying: “I don’t think about you at all.”

What are some age-related milestones you are looking forward to? Or ones you “missed,” and might try to reach later, off-schedule, according to our culture and its expectations?

Well, I am years late on the nonfiction book I’ve been contracted to write, and 25-year-old me definitely thought I’d have published multiple novels by 40. So that feels really badly off-schedule for someone who internally identifies as “writer.”

I’ve now told myself that before I die I want to have published one nonfiction book (in the works), one novel (many started, many abandoned), and one collection of poetry (many written, none yet even submitted). If I’m being honest this has been the hardest part of aging, and the source of most of my regrets: living the kind of life—professionaly busy, family-focused—that has made it harder to focus solely on writing. I know that writers juggle these kinds of things all the time, but it’s been a struggle for me. (Ed. note: Tell me about it! - Sari)

On the flip side, I am more at peace now, at 50, with the kind of life I have lived, and place less internal pressure on myself about what I have and haven’t written. But in darker moments I do wonder if this is a kind of giving up…

What has been your favorite age so far, and why? Would you go back to this age if you could?

Well, I was once 24, working odd jobs and wandering across Europe, before smartphones and infinite distractions (I didn’t even have a cellphone!), getting into what I will now quaintly refer to as adventures, sleeping in fields, living in squats, reading a book a day… But this is less about being 24 than it is about a moment in history that happened to line up with a moment of absolute freedom in my life (as a Canadian graduate of a Canadian university I now recognize what a privilege it was to have no student debt!). So in a way I’d rather go back to that era, relatively free of the internet, as a 50-year-old than suddenly be a 24-year-old in 2026 (no thank you).

Is there someone who is older than you, who makes growing older inspiring to you? Who is your aging idol and why?

This one’s easy. My dad. He was 52 when I was born, and he stayed active and curious until his death at 85. His whole life was a really terrific rebuttal to that horribly cynical and selfish old adage, “If you’re not liberal when you’re young you have no heart, and if you’re not conservative when you’re old, you have no brain.” He never stopped caring about the world—and the people in it—in a very active, engaged way (and he never stopped playing tennis or riding his bike, which helped!).

I reject the idea that we deserve anything from this life, or that the passage of time is anything other than a blunt reality. Maybe it’s naive or vain or self-deluded, but aging, to me, is just life and the living of it—so in that sense aging has “given” me everything, and taken nothing. Aging is the sum of who we are.

What aging-related adjustments have you recently made, style-wise, beauty-wise, health-wise?

This is also easy. Maybe it’s the dumb math of it all, but turning 50 made it far too simple to grasp that I’ll be 70 around the time my younger son graduates from college (should he choose to go). And I’d really like to be able-bodied and nimble at the afterparty! I was already exercising a lot, but this year I’ve cut down on alcohol and junk food in a more serious way than I ever have before. I also play in a competitive over-30 soccer league, and every year some punk kid turns 30 and tries to take my spot, so I am battling against time to hang on to that… I hate to report that cutting back on booze and crappy food has made me feel much, much better.

What’s an aging-related adjustment you refuse to make, and why?

Well, I’m trying to eat better, drink less, and get more sleep (so those are three really big aging-related adjustments). Are there other ones? Please tell me and I’ll do them. I just want to live a long and active life!

What turn of events had the biggest impact on your life? What took your life in a different direction, for better or worse?

Probably the death of a very close friend, Andrew, when I was 15: a tragic, sudden, very up-close event (it could just as easily have been me). To have absolute mortality mirrored to you at such an early age will obviously change you, in any number of ways. It would take much more time and space than we have here for me to articulate how his death changed me and the course of my life.

I do know that not a month has passed in the last 35 years when I haven’t thought some version of: “You’re living life for two, for a boy who never had a chance to do any of these things.” That background hum of guilt and responsibility has led, throughout my life, to saying YES to things, and trying to experience as much of this world as possible, in a full and honest way.

What is your number one regret in life? If you could do it all over again, what is the biggest thing you’d do differently?

I know it’s an unsatisfying answer, but as I wrote above, who I am today is the sum of my mistakes, my good and bad decisions. And I like who I am, and the life I’ve lived. All of the biggest mistakes I’ve made are impossible to remove from the chain of events that led to the greatest joys of my life.

Oh wait. I guess I do have an answer for this. When I was 14 I started playing with the provincial soccer team in Ontario, a great honor and a track to a highly competitive level of the sport. Around that time I also had a coach with connections to the Liverpool Football Academy, who suggested I go over to England to give that a try. At the time I also loved basketball and volleyball, and wanted to keep playing multiple sports, so I didn’t follow through on either of those soccer opportunities. I topped out as a college soccer player (and had one brief and sketchy post-college, semi-pro summer in Toronto). It’s not exactly a “regret,” because there was never any chance I would have been able to ignore the call of more bookish pursuits in favor of elite sports, but I do sometimes wonder what might have been.

This is perhaps my most stereotypical “old man thinks he could’ve been a contender” daydream.

Well, I am years late on the nonfiction book I’ve been contracted to write, and 25-year-old me definitely thought I’d have published multiple novels by 40. So that feels really badly off-schedule for someone who internally identifies as “writer.” I’ve now told myself that before I die I want to have published one nonfiction book (in the works), one novel (many started, many abandoned), and one collection of poetry (many written, none yet even submitted).

What is high up on your “bucket list?” What do you hope to achieve, attain, or plain enjoy before you die?

See above, with the three books. And I’d like to meet any grandchildren that might happen to come along—I never met any of my grandparents, who all died before I was born. I also want to live in Argentina and Japan before I die (for at least a year in each.) These last goals, I realize, are perhaps too much to ask.

Is there a piece of advice you were given, that you live by? If so, what was it, and who offered it to you?

The first three lines of Wallace Stevens’s poem, “The Well Dressed Man With a Beard,” have been rattling around my head for 30 years:

After the final no there comes a yes

And on that yes the future world depends.

No was the night. Yes is this present sun.

These lines have always meant to me that the whole wide world is there for the curious and the open-hearted, and that despite the ever-present darkness we need to seek out the small pockets of sunlight and say YES.

More tangibly—though in parallel with Stevens’s lines—I remember for years that my father, from April to September, upon returning from work, would change into his running shorts and a t-shirt and go stand against the sun-baked red brick wall of our house. When I asked him why, he explained that growing up poor in Scotland meant never being quite warm enough, and that you had to enjoy the sun’s warmth whenever you could.

So that’s a life lesson, I reckon!

What are your plans for your body when you’re done using it? Burial? Cremation? Body Farm? Other?

Cremation in the modern era has always struck me as a too-quick disappearing of the body, which leaves the living subconsciously confused about the absence of the loved one. I was a pallbearer at the funeral of Andrew, the boy who died next to me at 15, and I will never forget what it was to bear the weight of the dead, how tangible it felt in understanding the permanence of his absence.

Having said all that, I’m also not particularly interested in overburdening the living with the costs or complications of my final details. So whatever is cheapest and easiest, frankly.

My dad was 52 when I was born, and he stayed active and curious until his death at 85. His whole life was a really terrific rebuttal to that horribly cynical and selfish old adage, “If you’re not liberal when you’re young you have no heart, and if you’re not conservative when you’re old, you have no brain.” He never stopped caring about the world—and the people in it—in a very active, engaged way (and he never stopped playing tennis or riding his bike, which helped!).

What do you expect to happen to your “soul” or “spirit” after you die?

I honestly don’t know! How could you! I’d like to think there’s a kind of eternity to the moment before you die, when your brain is flooded with a dense and seemingly endless loop of all the greatest and happiest moments you’ve lived through. I’ve been trying to collect these images for a long time, from my life, so they’re easier to access at the end. I’d love it if there was some further version of consciousness, mainly because I’m curious about what’s going to happen. And then what’s going to happen after that.

What’s your philosophy on celebrating birthdays as an adult? How do you celebrate yours?

I had a biggish celebration at 50, and will probably do the same at 60, but otherwise I prefer fairly low-key evenings, with family, and maybe a few friends… (Also, a January 3rd birthday has always been a tough time to get people out of the house).

Check out all the Oldster interviews…

Check out Literary Hub, where Jonny Diamond Serves at Editor-in-Chief. Check out “Personal Space: The Memoir Show,” Sari Botton’s memoir interview series on LitHub

Sometimes you’ll find responses from writers, musicians, and artists you’ve heard of—like Kate Pierson, Neko Case, Rosie O’Donnell, Ava Duvernay, Jerry Saltz, Lucy Sante, magazine legend Tom Junod, Ricki Lake, Hilma Wolitzer, Elizabeth Gilbert, Judith Viorst, Cheryl Strayed, Deesha Philyaw, Chloe Caldwell, etc.—but more often it will be people (of all ages) you haven’t heard of, Humans of New York-style. (Check out all the Oldster interviews…)

Here, long-time Men’s Wearhouse marketing mastermind, author, film producer, and more, responds. -Sari Botton

PS If you’re enjoying the work I do here at Oldster, please consider supporting it by becoming a paid subscriber. 🙏

“Each Oldster interview leads me to new places, people, and perspective.” - , paid subscriber.

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(Richie) was hired by George Zimmer in 1973 to manage the first (and at that time, only) Men’s Wearhouse store. He purchased stock from Zimmer in that first store and proceeded to work at the company until January of 2002. He is widely recognized as the marketing mastermind of the company, from his insistence on using TV as the main form of advertising as far back as 1975, to his careful nurturing and managing of the MW brand and image as the company expanded from one part of the country to another and expanded the base of the business through acquisitions.

In 2002, he worked on the Mayoral campaign of then City Councilman and has worked on his subsequent campaigns. From 2004 to 2006, he was on the Board of Project Homeless Connect, a San Francisco program that helped the city’s homeless find healthcare, food, shelter, and clothing.

In January 2009, Richie released his book, Luck by Design: Certain Success in an Uncertain World. It won “Best General Non-Fiction” at the San Francisco Book Festival in 2009. It was a Finalist in the Self-Help: Motivational category at the National Best Books 2009. In 2015, Richie was the Executive Producer of the documentary short film, Riding My Way Back, which detailed the use of equine-assisted care for soldiers returning from the Middle East with PTSD.

Richie has worked as an advisor to several retail and consumer-facing companies over the past 20 years. He is currently an advisor to a small VC firm in San Francisco. He has served on the boards of several educational institutions, including Mills College, Rutgers College, Brandeis (Graduate Business School), and the Jewish Community High School of the Bay Area. From 2019 to 2023, he was the Board Chair at San Domenico School in San Anselmo, CA. He is currently a California Commissioner focused on volunteerism, working with Josh Fryday, the Chief Volunteer Officer of California. (calvolunteers.ca.gov) He launched a column on Substack, called in April of 2025.

—

How old are you?

75. Doesn’t feel like it most days.

Is there another age you associate with yourself in your mind? If so, what is it? And why, do you think?

Interesting question. Probably 17—it was the summer between high school graduation and college. I was the classic small-town kid (Hazleton, PA), going off to the big college (Rutgers). I had few expectations—I was mostly excited to move away.

The student population at Rutgers was only a bit smaller than the entire population of Hazleton. The prospect of reinventing myself, while daunting in the thinking phase, turned out to be a piece of cake. And it was great fun. I wasn’t being compared to anyone or anything, and I was a bit of an anomaly as an out-of-state person. At first, when I noticed how many of my fellow freshmen knew each other, and even selected their roommates, I was jealous, but then I realized that I didn’t have to bring any old high school baggage with me.

75 seemed very old when I was 25. 25 seems like a very long time ago, most of the time. I’m more surprised at the physical differences than the mental. I had a full replacement of my knee six months ago. I had the other knee replaced 20 years ago. The recovery this time around was far longer.

Do you feel old for your age? Young for your age? Just right? Are you in step with your peers?

Most of my “peers” are younger than I, so I really can’t say if I’m “in step” with them. I look in the mirror and don’t see 75. I see a little gray, a line or two, but I’ve been looking in the mirror for a long time and I don’t see age. I see other 75-year old people and ask myself “do I look that old?” I spend most of my time with people at least 20 years my junior, so “in step” is a relative term. I’m often reminded of a quote by Aldous Huxley about seeing ourselves as others see us, and how it’s a great gift.

What do you like about being your age?

The wisdom of knowing that I don’t have to get it “right” all the time. The knowledge that no matter what, I seem to be able to pull through any situation, and that no matter what, our country seems to be able to pull through any situation. This is also called perspective. Do we live in “unprecedented times?” If you take the word at face value, then we do, but all times are unprecedented. Things in the 50s—when we were worried about nuclear attack—were unprecedented.

What is difficult about being your age?

Waking up in the morning and wondering which body part is going to hurt when I’m vertical. I’ve had seven knee surgeries, so of course my knees ache a bit, but it’s the unexpected hurts that are the surprises. Like my back, or my arm, especially if I’ve spent several hours on my computer the previous day. My memory for events that happened many years ago remains very sharp. However, I couldn’t tell you much about the winner of Best Movie, One Battle After Another, and I saw it two weeks ago.

What is surprising about being your age, or different from what you expected, based on what you were told?

75 seemed very old when I was 25. 25 seems like a very long time ago, most of the time. I’m more surprised at the physical differences than the mental. I had a full replacement of my knee six months ago. I had the other knee replaced 20 years ago. The recovery this time around was far longer. The pain level was dramatically less, and not because of the drugs—because of the efficiencies of the surgery over the last 20 years.

The prospect of reinventing myself at Rutgers, while daunting in the thinking phase, turned out to be a piece of cake. And it was great fun. I wasn’t being compared to anyone or anything. I didn’t have to bring any old high school baggage with me.

What has aging given you? Taken away from you?

It has given me perspective and patience. I’m much more patient with myself and with others. Fewer things surprise me—almost like “I’ve seen everything.” Not quite, but close. What it’s taken away I mentioned above. Also, little cuts and scrapes seem to take longer to heal.

How has getting older affected your sense of yourself, or your identity?

It’s a constant reminder of how precious this life is. It’s a reminder not to hold grudges and to give others the space to make mistakes and roll with them. When I “retired” 25 years ago, I thought long and hard about the effect it would have on my identity. In the long run, it didn’t. I loved my time at Men’s Wearhouse, but it was never me, nor vice-versa.

What are some age-related milestones you are looking forward to? Or ones you “missed,” and might try to reach later, off-schedule, according to our culture and its expectations?

I never think about this, and like bucket lists, I think it’s a one-way ticket to disappointment. “Culture” and “expectations” are not real. They’re rigid constructs we set up in our own minds. I have always tried to live according to how I believed I wanted to live. That doesn’t include following the norms. Of course, I didn’t go out of my way to draw attention to myself by living this way—I just honored my own instincts.

What has been your favorite age so far, and why? Would you go back to this age if you could?

75. Seriously. I feel like I’ve shed many of the chains that have held me back, over the last few years. I’m giving myself more space to try new things—my Substack column is the best example. And I’m trying hard to not let the number of subscribers be the barometer for what I am saying. I love writing and appreciate the feedback that I have received.

When I “retired” 25 years ago, I thought long and hard about the effect it would have on my identity. In the long run, it didn’t. I loved my time at Men’s Wearhouse, but it was never me, nor vice-versa.

Is there someone who is older than you, who makes growing older inspiring to you? Who is your aging idol and why?

Probably my father, who lived till he was 98.6 He stayed active and involved, and tried new things, until he couldn’t anymore. He also smoked, drank, didn’t watch what he ate, and never worked out. At the end of the day, one can do whatever they can to take care of themselves, but nothing beats good genes.

Having said that, he was also one of those people who didn’t let things get to him. He rarely lost his temper, and always took events in stride. When my mother (his wife) passed away nearly 25 years before he did, I was sure that he would soon follow her. Instead, after a period of mourning, he reinvented himself. He tried new things, traveled, and enjoyed himself.

What aging-related adjustments have you recently made, style-wise, beauty-wise, health-wise?

I’m always adjusting health-wise. Trying to keep my mind sharp by reading, doing puzzles, etc. Writing has been a great challenge, as well.

I still work out, but not as strenuously as I used to. I have had a meditation practice for over 25 years, and that has provided me with untold benefits. For the first 12 of those 25 years, I meditated when I felt like it, which was only a few times per week. For the last 13 years, I have meditated every day. It has made a world of difference. I can’t say enough about it.

Style and beauty-wise? Nothing. Hey, I’m a guy….what can I say?

What’s an aging-related adjustment you refuse to make, and why?

I can imagine that I won’t be happy about a hearing aid, but so far, so good. One day many months ago, I realized that I wasn’t going to make the ’28 Olympics, so I stopped pushing myself so hard in the gym. It’s a fine line for me between skipping a workout because I don’t physically feel up to it and skipping a workout because I just don’t feel like it.

“Culture” and “expectations” are not real. They’re rigid constructs we set up in our own minds. I have always tried to live according to how I believed I wanted to live. That doesn’t include following the norms. Of course, I didn’t go out of my way to draw attention to myself by living this way—I just honored my own instincts.

What turn of events had the biggest impact on your life? What took your life in a different direction, for better or worse.

A car accident when I was a senior in college. You can read about it here. I was in the car with a woman who I was going to marry a few months later. We both survived the accident—more than I can say for my car. I think the accident caused us both to reevaluate our lives. For me, it was subtle. For her, not so much.

Two months after the accident, she broke off the engagement. This of course, sent me into a tailspin. I postponed graduate school and a year later moved to Houston, Texas, where I met George Zimmer, founder of Men’s Wearhouse. No accident, and I would have moved to Syracuse and never moved to Texas. No move, no Men’s Wearhouse. I would say that it worked out for the best.

What is your number one regret in life? If you could do it all over again, what is the biggest thing you’d do differently?

My number one regret is not learning to play a musical instrument when I was very young. I think my parents might have been dissuaded from pushing me because of the pushback they got forcing my sister to play piano. I started to take lessons about 20 years ago but was greatly discouraged watching the other people around me who were also taking lessons. I had them by 60 years. I let that discouragement become my second biggest regret—not learning to play the piano 20 years ago.

No one biggest thing I’d do differently. I’ve made many mistakes in my life, but I think I walked away with knowledge in all cases. Regret is not one of those things that I see as helpful in life.

When I was a senior in high school, I was in a car accident with a woman who I was going to marry a few months later. We both survived, and it caused us both to reevaluate our lives. Two months after the accident, she broke off the engagement. This of course, sent me into a tailspin. I postponed graduate school and a year later moved to Houston, Texas, where I met George Zimmer, founder of Men’s Wearhouse. I would say that it worked out for the best.

What is high up on your “bucket list?” What do you hope to achieve, attain, or plain enjoy before you die?

I don’t have a bucket list. I don’t believe in them. I find them silly and an open door to regret. Have I done everything in my life that I wanted to do? Probably not, but I don’t like the idea of a list.

Is there a piece of advice you were given, that you live by? If so, what was it, and who offered it to you?

When I was a little guy, I went over to my aunt’s house one day. She was an artist, who mostly worked in paint. She had set up an easel with brushes and a canvas in her backyard, next to the one she had for herself. I sat down and said, “But I don’t know how to paint!” She said, “You have all the tools in front of you, plus two hands. Sit down. Paint!”

It taught me that I could do anything—all I had to do was try. That helped give me the confidence to start a company (Men’s Wearhouse) from nothing and build it into a $2 Billion brand, and it also gave me the confidence to walk away from it over 20 years ago, when I thought I had outlived my usefulness in the company.

What are your plans for your body when you’re done using it? Burial? Cremation? Body Farm? Other?

Body farm for what can be harvested, cremation for the rest. I want to be remembered for who I was, and what I did. And I hope to live on in the hearts and minds of those I’ve loved and been part of my life.

When I was a little guy, I went over to my aunt’s house one day. She was an artist, who mostly worked in paint. She had set up an easel with brushes and a canvas in her backyard, next to the one she had for herself. I sat down and said, “But I don’t know how to paint!” She said, “You have all the tools in front of you, plus two hands. Sit down. Paint!” It taught me that I could do anything—all I had to do was try.

How do you feel about dying? And what do you expect to happen to your “soul” or “spirit” after you die?

How do I feel? Sheesh. I love this life too much to spend a lot of time leaving it. Lots more to do.

I believe we all have souls and when we die our soul goes into some netherspere to wait for the next body to inhabit.

What’s your philosophy on celebrating birthdays as an adult? How do you celebrate yours?

I like celebrating with family. Nothing big and elaborate—just a nice dinner somewhere. That said, this last birthday—75—got my attention in terms of the number.

Check out all the Oldster interviews…

When I met Melissa Auf der Maur in 2013, a child had just taught the flame-haired erstwhile rock star the iconic opening riff to Ozzy Osbourne’s “Crazy Train.” We sat in the summer sun outside Auf der Maur and husband Tony Stone’s 19^th Century factory-turned-art center Basilica Hudson, where a kids’ music camp was afoot. Her toddler mini-me daughter, River, was in earshot, always. I was interviewing Auf der Maur about her multi-genre music festival Basilica Soundscape, one of many events she curates and promotes for the upstate NY venue, to this day. She was engaging and funny. When I transcribed our chat later, I discovered this daughter-of-writers speaks in perfect, rhythmic paragraphs.

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I resisted asking about Auf der Maur’s halcyon days as bassist in two seminal 90s bands, Hole and Smashing Pumpkins, the former fronted by indomitable firebrand Courtney Love, the latter by flinty genius Billy Corgan, both notorious tyrants. What she must have witnessed in that rarefied, troubled air. As I was leaving, I simply asked if she might write a memoir someday.

With expressive worker hands, she gestured to the stately Basilica, then to the nearby children, smiled enigmatically, and said, “I’m kind of busy.” But she did not say no.

Unbeknownst to me, compulsive chronicler Auf der Maur had only just stopped keeping a diary, and she’d recently mothballed thousands of analog 90s photographs. These archives pulsed with such intensity, a reckoning would need to wait, as mothering and arts stewardship would claim her estimable energy for the next decade or so.

Turns out, the big, beating heart of the book—the bassline, if you will— isn’t the tantalizingly detailed, Behind the Music-style disclosures. It’s the soulful, grief-strengthened voice of the compassionate, defiantly mystical hippie daughter.

Fast forward to 2026. She’s not only ready to share, she’s determined “to keep the thread of human exchange alive” via a “mission statement” of a memoir, an exhibition of her photos, and a documentary (in-progress). That memoir, Even the Good Girls Will Cry (Da Capo), will be published today, March 17^th, Melissa Auf der Maur’s 54th birthday, followed by a celebration at Basilica Hudson and a book tour, about which she is both apprehensive and excited. The memoir is dedicated to her daughter, now eying the horizon, and “all the girls.”

***

The enthralling, cinematic Even the Good Girls Will Cry (Da Capo) more than satisfies my—or, I daresay, anyone’s—curiosity about one of the most remarkable rock & roll Cinderella stories ever. Yes, I’ll take that backstage pass to accompany 22-year old, photogenic art brat Auf der Maur as she is spirited away from hardscrabble-but-happy Montreal obscurity to be one of the last rock stars of the pre-digital age—Fender Precision bass slung over her shoulder, camera dangling from her wrist, observational skill turned up to 11.

But, as my old acquaintance reaches out via FaceTime to talk about Even the Good Girls Will Cry, her decade in the eye of the grunge hurricane is not top of mind. Turns out, the big, beating heart of the book—the bassline, if you will— isn’t the tantalizingly detailed, Behind the Music-style disclosures. It’s the soulful, grief-strengthened voice of the compassionate, defiantly mystical hippie daughter.

“I really enjoyed meeting your parents,” (on the page) I say, referencing mustachioed writer-politician-broadcaster-boulevardier Nick Auf der Maur, and darkly gorgeous, award-winning writer-translator force of nature Linda Gaboriau. The former arrested many times, the latter a woman who chose to be a single mother as a political act. Melissa Tara Gaboriau Auf der Maur is the result of a one-night stand between these charismatic Canadians of immigrant stock, who can’t help but dominate every room they’re in. No young celeb in Even the Good Girls Will Cry— Drew Barrymore, Beck, Dave Grohl, Adam Sandler, to name a few— can compete with such magnetic counterculture pioneers. Her folks’ very 70s caregiving decisions will raise eyebrows, but the duo nevertheless gifted elven daughter Melissa with steely will, an ability to open herself up to art, and a fearlessness in unsafe spaces.

“I told my editor, ‘I know you think you’re buying a 90s rock memoir, but I will not let go of a few things.’ One was my parents. That was non-negotiable. I want to have a cross-generational conversation about that countercultural generation. They made all this. I worked hardest on those passages so I would not alienate, bore, or take away from the decade that defined me and my generation, and the rock music that I love.”

Auf der Maur laughs and says, “I told my editor, ‘I know you think you’re buying a 90s rock memoir, but I will not let go of a few things.’ One was my parents. That was non-negotiable. I want to have a cross-generational conversation about that countercultural generation. They made all this. I worked hardest on those passages so I would not alienate, bore, or take away from the decade that defined me and my generation, and the rock music that I love.”

Mission accomplished. Although initially unenthusiastic about anything but the rock star stuff, in the end, her editor eventually wanted more Auf der Maur backstory, more of her unconventional Montreal upbringing. She recalls: “He told me, ‘You can’t cut the bit about the Welsh choir teacher!’”

Particularly resonant in Even the Good Girls Will Cry is Melissa’s hard living, bon vivant father—always Nick, never papa—whose popular writing for the Montreal Gazette often featured his daughter, whether she liked it or not.

“A huge part of this journey is me and my father,” Auf der Maur says. “Our relationship was in public, and was quite complicated. I’m the only child of a man who lived a remarkable and short life, and who died kicking and screaming. That is exactly how I have the capacity for Courtney and Billy and every other freak I’ve had in my life.”

The scenes surrounding Nick Auf der Maur’s death in his Montreal home at age 55 are both harrowing and riveting, yet rendered by his daughter with disarming grace. Melissa, then 26, insisted on attending, leaving her fairy tale life in Laurel Canyon to be the only blood relative at his side as he passed. The details she shares of this shattering event are revelatory.

“I was with my husband for ten years before I told him about it,” she says. “I only told my therapist the details when I was working on the book. Writing about it was unbearable. I hadn’t dealt with the grief or anything to do with it for twenty years. Reading it aloud for the audiobook, I could not get through it. Going to that edge was uncomfortable but necessary for me, and also a reminder of who I am, and who I want to be for others, my family, my friends. It’s cathartic for me, but also an offering for those who need to be reminded life isn’t supposed to be easy. I’m a supporter of taking on difficult shit. Especially in middle age.”

“A huge part of this journey is me and my father,” Auf der Maur says. “Our relationship was in public, and was quite complicated. I’m the only child of a man who lived a remarkable and short life, and who died kicking and screaming. That is exactly how I have the capacity for Courtney and Billy and every other freak I’ve had in my life.”

Although paramount, the unexamined grief over her father’s 1998 death wasn’t the only box Auf der Maur needed to check. “There’s a lot of sadness surrounding Hole’s legacy,” she says. She was compelled to both lionize a bygone era of indie authenticity, and to “reframe Courtney,” who remains a polarizing figure, and with whom she has become close again. As with her challenging, self-involved parents, Auf der Maur delivers a nuanced, forgiving portrait of a person who hurt her, daring to define them beyond their flaws, to allow deep respect and admiration, even love, to coexist with scars. The empathy feels instructive, a gift.

When I tell her I’m impressed by the lack of axe-grinding in Even the Good Girls Will Cry, Auf der Maur says, “I actually do grind my axe, which is the bass. I’m a bass player who is incredibly compassionate, whose job is to let everybody do their thing, and support their wild and more extreme ways. I’m a Canadian bass player, built to be empathetic to others.”

I suggest a tagline for her book: “Come for the rock & roll, stay for the soul enrichment.”

She says, “I’m writing that down.”

***

When I ask about the genesis of her memoir, Auf der Maur cites skills learned in the first decade of Basilica Hudson— 2010 to 2020— which coincided with her first decade of motherhood. “I learn in decades,” she says. “A decade as a bass player, a decade as a solo artist, and a decade of motherhood and transformation, working local scale, hyper high-functioning. I learned to type real fast, and I wrote all the emails and website copy, explaining why we’re doing this. I developed a new, fluid way of communicating what I really need people to know. All of that really formed how I wrote the book, and how I’m executing the promotion of it, the museum exhibit and the film. I’ve become more factual-functional and less dysfunctional musician dreamer.”

Although she is clearly a natural writer, moving into her parents’ literary lane was daunting. She says, “I chose photography and music intuitively as a young person both because of the dreamlike qualities, but also because I was intimidated by my incredible parents, who had mastered the written word. The fact that I ended up needing to share my story in words on paper, and pass it along as a physical object, is never something I thought I would do. Music and images individuated me from them, but I’ve matured, grown up.”

The 2018 Pioneering People Basilica Benefit honoring Courtney Love proved pivotal to Auf der Maur’s decision to tell her story. Backed by teenage girls from the Woodstock-based Rock Academy, a reunited Love and Auf der Maur performed ragged-but-right versions of the Hole classics “Doll Parts” and “Miss World.” “I had to convince Courtney to do it,” Auf der Maur says. “I was out of shape, she was out of shape, but it was the right thing to do, to play in a vulnerable moment. That’s when my intergenerational dialog began, and I decided other than unloading my weighty, unprocessed grief and confusion, I recognized I wanted to do it for my daughter. How do women pass on our stories? How can my daughter benefit from my work? There were so many layers of necessity to get this done.”

“There’s a lot of sadness surrounding Hole’s legacy,” she says. She was compelled to both lionize a bygone era of indie authenticity, and to “reframe Courtney,” who remains a polarizing figure, and with whom she has become close again. As with her challenging, self-involved parents, Auf der Maur delivers a nuanced, forgiving portrait of a person who hurt her, daring to define them beyond their flaws, to allow deep respect and admiration, even love, to coexist with scars.

The pandemic scuttled a planned Basilica 10^th anniversary season, and Auf der Maur went inward. “I started seeing 50 coming up,” she says. “I decided by 50 I would have a draft of my memoir. I needed a vehicle to unpack this thing I’d been running from for twenty years. I’d locked it away. I realized I had way too many loaded, heavy things that were not being sorted. I started for my own sanity, and my own need to work through my shit, and welcome my golden years of marching gracefully to my death in peace.”

“That’s very goth,” I say.

She laughs again. “Yes, I’ll wear lots of black.”

***

After recording the Even the Good Girls Will Cry audiobook earlier this year, Auf der Maur panicked a little. She says, “I thought, ‘What have I done, exactly?’ I realized the next wave of healing starts now. The moment I start talking to people who’ve read it, my story will be others’ to do with what they will. The exchange will begin. I had to write it to heal, but now I have to face what I’ve put out there.”

“Don’t you usually leap before you look, though?” I ask. “It’s worked out so far.”

“Yes. This is a product of me not thinking about the ‘after’ result. Just doing what I do for my spiritual, emotional growth, and now I have a destiny with the general public. I want to learn from the mirror of people who receive art. That’s a huge part of why I made music in the first place: the exchange between an inner, personal world, and this giant, outer world.

“A lot of this is for young people. Trust your intuition. Believe in your dreams. Follow your heart. Those are clichés, but they worked for me. That’s how I’ve lived my life. There’s something bigger than me that knows something more than my mind, which would probably get in the way.”

Through the FaceTime app on my laptop screen, I see Melissa Auf der Maur, tea mug in hand, bathed in sunlight streaming through her vintage office windows in Hudson, NY. It’s been an unusually brutal winter, but spring is nigh. My memory is hardly ironclad, but my interview subject seems happier than she was that 2013 summer day we first met, when she’d carefully stashed so much away.

“I’m so grateful I get to do all this,” she says. “At 22, even with my weird, tripped-out dreams, I never could have hoped for this year to be as creatively manifested as it is.”

This Thursday, March 19th, Melissa auf der Maur will be in conversation about her memoir with Jennifer Venditti at her cavernous performance/gathering space, Basilica Hudson.

Robert Burke Warren is a writer, performer, teacher, and musician, author of novel Perfectly Broken and one-man show Redheaded Friend, editor of Cash on Cash: Interviews & Encounters with Johnny Cash. His writing appears in Vulture, Salon, Longreads, Texas Music, Brooklyn Parent, Oldster, Paste, The Rumpus, The Bitter Southerner, and the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, to name a few. You can find his music on releases by RuPaul, Rosanne Cash, and rockabilly queen Wanda Jackson. In the 90s, he performed the lead in the West End musical Buddy: The Buddy Holly Story. Prior to that he was a globetrotting bass player. He lives in Phoenicia, NY.

Previously, he took The Oldster Magazine Questionnaire, wrote an essay called Visiting Durham, 1984, and profiled Heart’s Nancy Wilson for Oldster.

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Cara Benson is author of the memoir An Armsfull of Birds: A Personal Field Guide to Love, Loss, and Commitment. Other writing has been published in The New York Times, Boston Review, Orion, Sierra Magazine, The Brooklyn Rail, and selected for Best American Poetry. She has received a New York Foundation for the Arts Fellowship and lives in a former church in the ancestral homelands of the Stockbridge-Munsee Band of Mohicans in upstate NY.

—

How old are you, and how long have you been in recovery?

I’m 58. I’ve been in recovery since I was 26—over half my life!

How did you get there?

I got there by way of subway tunnels, blackouts, black eyes, and concussions. A geographical change that kept me alive, followed by a few gentle interventions that did not present as interventions. Then people from recovery started coming into Friendly’s, where I’d begun waitressing, and filling up the smoking section after meetings. They were loud! About everything. There’s that saying: “If you hang around a barbershop long enough, you’re gonna get your hair cut.” It’s often used to encourage those in recovery not to spend a lot of time in bars, particularly early on. Well, the reverse happened for me. I became surrounded by people in recovery. They got me.

What are the best things about being in recovery?

I am so goddamned proud of being a sober woman. I’d always wanted to behave with integrity, not to subject myself and my loved ones to the kind of behavior that caused me to feel like a contagious plague on a daily basis. But I just couldn’t do it. And then, miraculously, I could.

I remember being astonished that I’d signed up for a free yoga class at a continuing ed program at the high school in my new town. I wasn’t (and still am not) a yoga person. Nor was I one to join in or sign up for things. And I especially sucked at following through. But there I was, week after week, hoofing it across town or riding my bike in the rain, doing all the poses to then lie on a towel and stare up in the dark, my body vibrating from all the stretching, for two months straight. That changed my perception of myself from fuck-up to someone who could show up. That was in my first year, so you can extrapolate from there to being in my 32^nd year how much better I am at showing up to myself, to others, to life, and to the planet—who needs us so desperately.

People from recovery started coming into Friendly’s, where I’d begun waitressing, and filling up the smoking section after meetings. They were loud! About everything. There’s that saying: “If you hang around a barbershop long enough, you’re gonna get your hair cut.” It’s often used to encourage those in recovery not to spend a lot of time in bars, particularly early on. Well, the reverse happened for me. I became surrounded by people in recovery. They got me.

What’s hard about being in recovery?

One of the things that’s hard about being in recovery is also something that’s amazing about it: the emphasis on taking one’s own inventory. I really want to blame other people much of the time for things that upset me. When I take a closer look, I usually find that in some way I have deferred responsibility to take care of myself. This is also what’s wonderful, though. It is liberating to discover that others don’t hold the power that I think they do to make me happy or sane or solvent.

This is not to deny the very real socio-cultural-political systems in place that enact horrific acts on both micro and macro levels daily. Nor to say that I do any of this in a vacuum (much to my chagrin some days). Which actually leads me to another thing that can be challenging about being in recovery: I have to admit I need other people. Ugh! I’d so much rather show up all put together and tell everyone else how to get better. Instead, I have learned the art of public sobbing.

How has your character changed? What’s better about you?

I have much better boundaries with people, both protective and containment. Protective in that I say no to things that aren’t right for me, which is actually how I am able to get close to people. If I don’t ever tell others no when I mean it, then the only way I can protect myself is to eventually leave the relationship or to withhold myself even though my body may be present.

My containment boundaries are also crucial. These help me not to leak all over the place—my whirling mind, my anxiety, my neediness, my woundedness. I can wrap myself in a big warm hug and tell myself, “I got you.” That way others don’t have to do that for me. I don’t do any of that perfectly, of course. I can still slobber or go silent when the opposite would be more productive.

One of the biggest changes that I appreciate is that I have learned how not to take things so dang personally. What a gift! Oh my gosh, the slightest slight used to wreck me for days when the person may just have been in a bad mood that had nothing to do with me. I was hostage to the whims of the world. Now, much less so.

One of the things that’s hard about being in recovery is also something that’s amazing about it: the emphasis on taking one’s own inventory. I really want to blame other people much of the time for things that upset me. When I take a closer look, I usually find that in some way I have deferred responsibility to take care of myself. This is also what’s wonderful, though. It is liberating to discover that others don’t hold the power that I think they do to make me happy or sane or solvent.

What do you still need to work on? What “character defects” do you still wrestle with?

Setting boundaries and not taking it all so personally.

What’s the best recovery memoir you’ve ever read? Tell us what you liked about it.

I’ll never forget Caroline Knapp’s descriptions of her behavior around food that she then subjugated into alcohol use in Drinking: A Love Story. I must have read that when it first came out thirty years ago, and I still remember those slices or tiny cubes of cheese she’d cut up in an act of exerting extreme control over herself that itself was an addiction. Oooof. That zinged right into me.

What are some memorable sober moments?

I used to be in a comedy improv group—I’d joined at about 10 months sober. I was quite vocal with everyone in the group about the fact that I was not drinking. I needed people to know as insurance. One night my comrade Peter Marino and I were driving to rehearsal. Well, he was driving as I’d lost my license and hadn’t cleaned it up yet. I had a cup of coffee with one of those flip tabs on the lids. I couldn’t get it to stay open and wound up spilling coffee down the front of me. And he said, “Oh, is that what you meant by drinking problem?” Oh my god, we laughed. I consider that a memorable sober moment if ever there was one.

Another that comes to mind as counterbalance is when my late partner was missing and there was a police search on to find him. He’d been gone for three days when my 24^th sobriety anniversary meeting was set to happen. Despite the whirlwind of activity that was underway and the excruciating anxiety and terror I was experiencing, I showed up to that meeting and told my story right up to and including the search for my missing beloved.

Are you in therapy? On meds? Tell us about that.

I’m currently working on connecting with a new therapist. I go in and out of using therapy as a tool. Early on I went through a ton of group therapy and individual, then finally added psychiatry into the mix when I was eight years sober and wanted to die. I had resisted medication for years, but I was desperate. It truly saved my life. I have a number of diagnoses: depression, anxiety, PTSD, and BDD (body dysmorphic disorder). Any one of them, but particularly that last, could take me out of the game for good. Well, not today Satan.

My late partner was missing and there was a police search on to find him. He’d been gone for three days when my 24^th sobriety anniversary meeting was set to happen. Despite the whirlwind of activity that was underway and the excruciating anxiety and terror I was experiencing, I showed up to that meeting and told my story right up to and including the search for my missing beloved.

What sort of activities or groups do you participate in to help your recovery? (i.e. swimming, 12-step, meditation, et cetera)

I go to recovery meetings of many stripes. I have a non-negotiable daily spiritual practice of prayer, contemplative journaling, reading, and meditation. I need at least an hour-and-a-half to get myself sorted for the day. Also, walking and hiking are key for me. I am grateful to have an able body at this time so that I can get out of my head and onto my moving feet on the regular. Roads, woods, mountains, creekside, dirt paths, municipal parks, bushwhacking backcountry, rocky cliffs, bouldering, scrambling, hoofing and hauling, solo or with others. I need this activity to keep me this side of sane.

Are there any questions we haven’t asked you that you think we should add to this? And would you like to answer it?

What is a guilty pleasure I allow myself to indulge in?

I am a sucker for reading about mountaineering stories that go wrong. I am obsessed with the particulars of what happens on these trips. I read every book and watched all the movies on the 1996 Everest disaster and got hooked. It’s a whole genre I can’t get enough of.

With thanks, as always, to A.J. Daulerio and at for the collaboration. Check out the whole Sober Oldster series.

P.S. Check out ’s Etsy shop, where she has beautiful greeting cards and posters for sale.

Sometimes you’ll find responses from writers, musicians, and artists you’ve heard of—like Kate Pierson, Neko Case, Rosie O’Donnell, Ava Duvernay, Jerry Saltz, Lucy Sante, Ricki Lake, Hilma Wolitzer, Elizabeth Gilbert, Judith Viorst, Cheryl Strayed, Deesha Philyaw, Chloe Caldwell, etc.—but more often it will be people (of all ages) you haven’t heard of, Humans of New York-style. (Check out all the Oldster interviews…)

Here, award-winning journalist—and now memoirist— responds. (Tom and I are both from Long Island, and we are both graduates of SUNY at Albany, seven years apart!) -Sari Botton

PS If you’re enjoying the work I do here at Oldster, please consider supporting it by becoming a paid subscriber. 🙏

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In his career as a writer for GQ, Esquire and now ESPN, Tom Junod has won two National Magazine Awards, an Emmy, a James Beard Award, and the Jenkins Medal for Sportswriting. But he is proudest of writing stories that people have kept reading many years after publication, such as his 9/11 story The Falling Man and his profile of Fred Rogers, which served as the basis of A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood, starring Tom Hanks. His first book, a memoir about his father entitled In The Days of My Youth I Was Told What It Means to Be a Man, was published on March 10.

—

How old are you?

67.

Is there another age you associate with yourself in your mind? If so, what is it? And why, do you think?

45. Because I’ve been lucky with my health, and I haven’t retired. Right now, there’s nothing I did at 45 that I can’t do in my present incarnation. One day, I guess, I’ll think I’m still 67.

Do you feel old for your age? Young for your age? Just right? Are you in step with your peers?

I don’t think I am young. I’m just lucky I feel young. When I see people onscreen who are meant to look old—that is, who are playing old characters—I sometimes turn to my wife and say, “You know, we’re older than them.”

In my mind, I associate myself with 45. Because I’ve been lucky with my health, and I haven’t retired. Right now, there’s nothing I did at 45 that I can’t do in my present incarnation. One day, I guess, I’ll think I’m still 67.

What do you like about being your age?

I’m 67 years old and I just finished my first book. It’s a dream come true and it taught me so many things about my life, my talent, and my endurance. It seems an amazing gift to me.

What is difficult about being your age?

The look on people’s faces when you say the number. Pity.

Also, I’ve lived long enough to see the world go against my wishes for it. The present political situation doesn’t just anger me. It breaks my heart, and calls into question all my optimistic American assumptions.

Ask people how they’re doing. That came to me by way of the former Pastor of the Shelter Island Presbyterian Church, Bill Grimbol. It’s an easy thing to do and also a powerful thing to do. I can’t tell you how many conversations I’ve gotten into just by asking that simple question—and I can’t tell you how many times people have seemed to be waiting to hear it and waiting to get the chance to speak. It just makes life better, yours, theirs, everyone’s. And it costs not a cent.

What is surprising about being your age, or different from what you expected, based on what you were told?

When I was a young writer, Frank McCourt published his memoir, Angela’s Ashes, to great acclaim at the age of 68. I was happy for him. But I couldn’t help but wonder: “Why in the world did he wait until he was 68? I’ll never do that.” Well, I’m publishing my first book a month short of my 68th birthday. I guess I have the answer to my question.

What has aging given you? Taken away from you?

I’m really good at skipping rocks. There is something almost defiant about skipping rocks in my late 60s. But my elbow has started to hurt.

How has getting older affected your sense of yourself, or your identity?

It has made me realize I need to do more to help people and to make the world a better place. Time is not my side.

When I was a young writer, Frank McCourt published his memoir, Angela’s Ashes, to great acclaim at the age of 68. I was happy for him. But I couldn’t help but wonder: “Why in the world did he wait until he was 68? I’ll never do that.” Well, I’m publishing my first book a month short of my 68th birthday. I guess I have the answer to my question.

What are some age-related milestones you are looking forward to? Or ones you “missed,” and might try to reach later, off-schedule, according to our culture and its expectations?

Last autumn, I went out to dinner with a bunch of high school classmates. Out of the dozen people at the table, I was one of the only ones still working. They talked about their lives—their travel, their cruises, their golf, their grandkids—and I realized that so many of my own stories were about work. My life sometimes sounds exciting, at least to me. But it doesn’t sound nearly as exciting as retirement!

What has been your favorite age so far, and why? Would you go back to this age if you could?

When my wife Janet and I arrived in Atlanta in the early 1980s, we were in our 20s. We went out all the time, hung out in clubs, met new friends, had parties, discovered new bands (REM!!!!), all in a brand-new city that felt wide open. Life was rife with possibility. But I think you have to be careful about using the past tense in a sentence like that. Life is still rife with possibility. It will never not be rife with possibility. You just have to work harder for it.

Is there someone who is older than you, who makes growing older inspiring to you? Who is your aging idol and why?

My brother Michael is ten years older than me. He has taken great care of himself and you can see him doing one-handed pushups on his Instagram page, @beingfitat70plus.

My dear friend Robert Lipsyte is 20 years older than me. He’s a legendary sportswriter and pioneering YA novelist and he still goes to his office just about every day to write his cranky, funny, stinging and often tremendously moving essays and columns.

My brother Michael inspires me to take care of my body. My friend Bob inspires me to take care of my mind.

Last autumn, I went out to dinner with a bunch of high school classmates. Out of the dozen people at the table, I was one of the only ones still working. They talked about their lives—their travel, their cruises, their golf, their grandkids—and I realized that so many of my own stories were about work. My life sometimes sounds exciting, at least to me. But it doesn’t sound nearly as exciting as retirement!

What aging-related adjustments have you recently made, style-wise, beauty-wise, health-wise?

I’ve had bad teeth all my life—I was sick a lot as a kid and my adult teeth came in stained and malformed. My father never stopped telling me to get them fixed. I never stopped resisting his advice. Finally they started breaking and I faced a decision: do I want to get my teeth fixed so late in life? But that wasn’t really the decision. The decision was: do I want to keep them or lose them? I decided to keep them, and now they sparkle.

What’s an aging-related adjustment you refuse to make, and why?

I intend to resist being sorted by age and entering senior housing. Perhaps I will need the care, and have no choice. But there is a cost in freedom, and I want to keep that as long as I can.

What turn of events had the biggest impact on your life? What took your life in a different direction, for better or worse?

There are so many and so many of them are personal—meeting my wife Janet, adopting our daughter Nia, deciding to move South, and on and on. But becoming a writer changed everything. When I got my job as a writer in Atlanta Magazine in 1987, the first thing I did was go to the gym where I used to work out several nights a week and tell my friends there that they wouldn’t be seeing me anymore. It wasn’t that I decided not to exercise, not to stay in shape. It was that I decided to put everything I had into this opportunity. And that has never changed.

When my wife Janet and I arrived in Atlanta in the early 1980s, we were in our 20s. We went out all the time, hung out in clubs, met new friends, had parties, discovered new bands (REM!!!!), all in a brand-new city that felt wide open. Life was rife with possibility. But I think you have to be careful about using the past tense in a sentence like that. Life is still rife with possibility. It will never not be rife with possibility. You just have to work harder for it.

What is your number one regret in life? If you could do it all over again, what is the biggest thing you’d do differently?

There is a difference between wishing you had done something and regretting something you did. I wish I had lived in New York City for at least a few years; maybe one day, my wife and I still will. But just about every day of my life I regret bullying a classmate in 5th and 6th grade. I find cruelty intolerable, mine especially, and that was an enduring lesson for me.

What is high up on your “bucket list?” What do you hope to achieve, attain, or plain enjoy before you die?

A lot of times I discover what’s in the bucket after I do something, not before. Go to the screening of a movie that was made from a magazine article you wrote and starred an actor playing a version of yourself? Bucket list! Write my first book at 67? Bucket list! I figure I’ll just keep working and every once in a while I’ll reach in the bucket to see what’s there.

But there is something else. My sister died in 2022 of early-onset Alzheimer’s Disease. If I do not follow her path and suffer her fate, my bucket list stands completed.

There is a difference between wishing you had done something and regretting something you did. I wish I had lived in New York City for at least a few years; maybe one day, my wife and I still will. But just about every day of my life I regret bullying a classmate in 5th and 6th grade. I find cruelty intolerable, mine especially, and that was an enduring lesson for me.

Is there a piece of advice you were given, that you live by? If so, what was it, and who offered it to you?

Ask people how they’re doing. That came to me by way of the former Pastor of the Shelter Island Presbyterian Church, Bill Grimbol. It’s an easy thing to do and also a powerful thing to do. I can’t tell you how many conversations I’ve gotten into just by asking that simple question—and I can’t tell you how many times people have seemed to be waiting to hear it and waiting to get the chance to speak. It just makes life better, yours, theirs, everyone’s. And it costs not a cent.

The trailer for A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, the movie based on “Can You Say Hero?” Tom Junod’s Esquire profile of the late Fred Rogers:

What are your plans for your body when you’re done using it? Burial? Cremation? Body Farm? Other?

My wife wants to be cremated. I want to be buried. I was just told I have no shot—“You’re getting cremated.” So cremation it is.

One thing I need to emphasize: I ain’t gonna work on Body’s Farm no more. I mean, not just no way. No freaking way.

My sister died in 2022 of early-onset Alzheimer’s Disease. If I do not follow her path and suffer her fate, my bucket list stands completed.

How do you feel about dying? And what do you expect to happen to your “soul” or “spirit” after you die?

I hope I’m brave enough, good enough, to die.

I think dreams have taught us what will happen when we die. First we will be in our own dreams, then we will be in someone else’s. That’s life; so why shouldn’t that be death?

What’s your philosophy on celebrating birthdays as an adult? How do you celebrate yours?

Without fear or favor.

Check out all the Oldster interviews…

Sometimes you’ll find responses from writers, musicians, and artists you’ve heard of—like Kate Pierson, Neko Case, Rosie O’Donnell, Ava Duvernay, Jerry Saltz, Lucy Sante, Ricki Lake, Hilma Wolitzer, Elizabeth Gilbert, Judith Viorst, Cheryl Strayed, Deesha Philyaw, Chloe Caldwell, etc.—but more often it will be people (of all ages) you haven’t heard of, Humans of New York-style. (Check out all the Oldster interviews…)

Here, award-winning author responds. -Sari Botton

PS If you’re enjoying the work I do here at Oldster, please consider supporting it by becoming a paid subscriber. 🙏

Subscribe now

Hester Kaplan is the author of novels and story collections, including The Edge of Marriage, winner of the Flannery O’Connor Award for Short Fiction. She is the recipient of two National Endowment for the Arts awards and was named a Center for Mark Twain Studies Quarry Farm Fellow for Twice Born.

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How old are you?

66.

Is there another age you associate with yourself in your mind? If so, what is it? And why, do you think?

42. It was the age when I think experience started to accumulate and become some distant notion of wisdom I might need later on. My body felt still mostly intact then, invincible and infinitely healable. It seemed like patience, possibility, and time would never run out. And I had no gray hair.

Do you feel old for your age? Young for your age? Just right? Are you in step with your peers?

I feel just right for my age—while also fully embracing the delusion that I’m actually young (or maybe immature) for my age. My sense of humor is like a 9-year-old boy’s. I’m okay with the fact that I still don’t really know how to wear make-up. I see that I am in step with my peers in three ways: when I attend my water aerobics class; when I attempt to text without putting my glasses on; when I admit that I’m certain about much less than I was twenty years ago.

I’m surprised to find myself more resilient than I ever thought I was, and more understanding that painful and tough times are part of the long story. I was told that I would be more secure in saying what I will no longer accept, and I’m happy to report that’s true. I’m equally surprised to find that a lifetime of experience makes me feel lightened rather than burdened.

What do you like about being your age?

I like the self-acceptance that comes with age. I’d always heard this was part of getting older, but I never believed it. This doesn’t mean I’ve stopped trying to change, do better, be more open-minded, but it means appreciating, rather than simply accepting, that I am who I am and that it took me a lot of work to get here. That’s humility and pride together, a combination I could not have imagined when I was younger. And I like—no, adore, is more like it—being a grandmother.

What is difficult about being your age?

It’s difficult knowing that I have less time ahead of me than I do behind me, and accepting that this fact underlies some of my choices.

It’s difficult waking up at 4:00 am and knowing I’m not going back to sleep.

It’s difficult not being able to read in the shower which bottle is conditioner and which is shampoo.

What is surprising about being your age, or different from what you expected, based on what you were told?

I’m surprised to find myself more resilient than I ever thought I was, and more understanding that painful and tough times are part of the long story. I was told that I would be more secure in saying what I will no longer accept, and I’m happy to report that’s true. I’m equally surprised to find that a lifetime of experience makes me feel lightened rather than burdened.

I like the self-acceptance that comes with age. I’d always heard this was part of getting older, but I never believed it. This doesn’t mean I’ve stopped trying to change, do better, be more open-minded, but it means appreciating, rather than simply accepting, that I am who I am and that it took me a lot of work to get here. That’s humility and pride together, a combination I could not have imagined when I was younger.

What has aging given you? Taken away from you?

Age has given me an even greater dislike of going to the doctor, especially hearing, well, this is just what happens when you get older.

Age has given me more freedom and less concern about what other people think of me.

Age has given me enormous gratitude for friendships and taken away the belief that every relationship needs to be held on to.

Age has given me endless pieces of mail from AARP.

How has getting older affected your sense of yourself, or your identity?

While I’m no less ambitious in my work than I was thirty years ago, I see and appreciate more clearly now the value in what I can offer in experience and support in my role as a teacher.

It’s an infuriating cliché to say that older women are invisible, but it’s also true. What is also true is that for me invisibility now comes with a greater sense of my own internal visibility. I know I’m still very much here.

What are some age-related milestones you are looking forward to? Or ones you “missed,” and might try to reach later, off-schedule, according to our culture and its expectations?

I’d like to live in another country for a while, and be fit and fearless enough to explore. I’d like to write more books.

What has been your favorite age so far, and why? Would you go back to this age if you could?

I’d like to go back to 18—but only for a couple of weeks. I’m not sure it was my favorite age—the age I’m at is always my favorite age—but it was a time of feeling that everything was possible. It was exciting romantically, erotically, intellectually.

I played sports all through school, and basketball in college, and it’s still hard for me to believe I can’t go as hard as I want to without paying for it. I’ve had to accept that an injury now generally becomes something chronic. I also now get up from my desk every thirty minutes to walk around.

Is there someone who is older than you, who makes growing older inspiring to you? Who is your aging idol and why?

My grandfather died when he was 103. He was almost entirely with it until the end. For the last 25 years of his life, he took a walk and a glass of sherry every day, and his diet consisted of potato chips, cookies, fatty hamburgers he cooked on the stove, and boxes of filled chocolates, some of which would pull out his dentures.

What aging-related adjustments have you recently made, style-wise, beauty-wise, health-wise?

My mind is much more active at night than it used to be—and that’s either because I have more thoughts or the switch to turn them off has finally burned out. I listen to podcasts in order to quiet my night thoughts. I played sports all through school, and basketball in college, and it’s still hard for me to believe I can’t go as hard as I want to without paying for it. I’ve had to accept that an injury now generally becomes something chronic. I also now get up from my desk every thirty minutes to walk around.

What’s an aging-related adjustment you refuse to make, and why?

I won’t stop wearing sneakers or going down water slides or swearing whenever and however I want.

What turn of events had the biggest impact on your life? What took your life in a different direction, for better or worse?

Easy answer—having and raising my two children and seeing them become loving, generous, and beautiful men.

What is your number one regret in life? If you could do it all over again, what is the biggest thing you’d do differently?

I wish I’d taken more risks when I was younger and said yes to things more often just to see where they might lead me. I regret that fear and self-doubt kept me from taking bigger leaps.

My grandfather died when he was 103. He was almost entirely with it until the end. For the last 25 years of his life, he took a walk and a glass of sherry every day, and his diet consisted of potato chips, cookies, fatty hamburgers he cooked on the stove, and boxes of filled chocolates, some of which would pull out his dentures.

What is high up on your “bucket list?” What do you hope to achieve, attain, or plain enjoy before you die?

On the list is finding more mental quiet and engaging in less self-criticism. Those two things are right up there with swimming in all the world’s best swimming pools.

Is there a piece of advice you were given, that you live by? If so, what was it, and who offered it to you?

My father, a writer, and the subject of my new book, told me that getting the details right in a piece of writing is everything.

What are your plans for your body when you’re done using it? Burial? Cremation? Body Farm? Other?

I want to be frozen so I can be thawed when the time is right. Which of course will be someone else’s decision, so we’ll see where and when I end up.

My mind is much more active at night than it used to be—and that’s either because I have more thoughts or the switch to turn them off has finally burned out. I listen to podcasts in order to quiet my night thoughts.

How do you feel about dying? And what do you expect to happen to your “soul” or “spirit” after you die?

I don’t think about dying. That’s an indulgence I allow myself.

What’s your philosophy on celebrating birthdays as an adult? How do you celebrate yours?

I love celebrating other people’s birthdays—complete with noise makers, streamers, balloons, and pointy hats. I usually celebrate my own birthday in a very quiet, non-balloon-ish way. That choice is my gift to myself.

Check out all the Oldster interviews…

Previously Hester Kaplan took The Author Questionnaire.

Sometimes you’ll find responses from writers, musicians, and artists you’ve heard of—like Kate Pierson, Neko Case, Rosie O’Donnell, Ava Duvernay, Jerry Saltz, Lucy Sante, Ricki Lake, Hilma Wolitzer, Elizabeth Gilbert, Judith Viorst, Cheryl Strayed, Deesha Philyaw, Chloe Caldwell, etc.—but more often it will be people (of all ages) you haven’t heard of, Humans of New York-style. (Check out all the Oldster interviews…)

Here, glossy magazine legend, author, and writer/host of newsletter/podcast responds. -Sari Botton

PS If you’re enjoying the work I do here at Oldster, please consider supporting it by becoming a paid subscriber. 🙏

Subscribe now

Hal Rubenstein is the creator, writer and host of , a weekly newsletter on Substack and bi-weekly podcast on Apple Podcasts and Spotify that celebrates the joy, challenges, discovery, and serenity possible in life after 50. He’s the author of eight books including the best-selling 100 Unforgettable Dresses (HarperCollins), and Paisley Goes with Nothing: A man’s guide to style (Doubleday). His most recent books are Dressing the Part: Television’s Most Stylish Shows and Street Art Icons: The Story of The Wynwood Walls (Assouline) He is one of the founding editors of InStyle Magazine, where he served as its Fashion Director for 15 years. He is the former Men’s Style Director of the New York Times Magazine, one of the founding editors of Details Magazine and 7 Days, founder and Editor-in-Chief of the cult classic Egg Magazine. He was a restaurant critic for both Details (8 years) and New York Magazine (7 years) and Interview (4 years), and a columnist for The New Yorker, Vogue, Elle, Interview, and Ocean Drive. He’s been a design and hospitality consultant for several brands. And he’s won numerous awards including the CFDA (Council of Fashion Designers of America) Lifetime Achievement Award. He is a board member of The Paul Taylor Dance Company.

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How old are you?

75.

Is there another age you associate with yourself in your mind? If so, what is it? And why, do you think?

My brain clicks in at about 47, but I have no problem accepting my age.

Do you feel old for your age? Young for your age? Just right? Are you in step with your peers?

Absolutely not. We grew up with such preconceived, bogus images of what old age feels like. In 1984, I watched Dustin Hoffman playing Willy Loman in Death of a Salesman, walking with such doddering, frailty it was a miracle he made across the stage to the kitchen table. Except Loman is only 63! I was 35 at the time and I remember thinking no way am I going to be like that at 65.

Sure enough, 75 is nothing like you think it’s going to be when you’re young and it’s terrific. However, I don’t approach age as if I’m supposed to feel good or bad about it. Since it’s inevitable, why waste time fighting it? Yeah, it’s a lot, but it’s also pretty darn fascinating to experience. As for my peers, I’m in step with the ones I want to spend time with.

We grew up with such preconceived, bogus images of what old age feels like. In 1984, I watched Dustin Hoffman playing Willy Loman in Death of a Salesman, walking with such doddering, frailty it was a miracle he made across the stage to the kitchen table. Except Loman is only 63! I was 35 at the time and I remember thinking no way am I going to be like that at 65.

What do you like about being your age?

That I’m alive! I love my breadth of knowledge and experience. I’m still more curious than ever, but I relish not having to prove anything. I just enjoy who I am to those who matter to me.

What is difficult about being your age?

Nothing is more delusional about getting older than thinking that you’re going to have time to “take it easy.” You may no longer have to strive in business, but aging well is hard work, demanding nonstop vigilance, awareness and fearlessness, plus you have to deal with a really weird dynamic—always being good to your body while it’s intent on betraying you.

What is surprising about being your age, or different from what you expected, based on what you were told?

I’m delighted by my level of energy, drive, eagerness to learn more, indifference to slowing down. I look at that Cialis ad on TV of a silver-haired couple sitting in soaking tubs, placidly gazing at a sunset and think, Who are these people, and why are they so dull? The reason why I call it “New Aging” at The Happy Grownup is that it is nothing like what we were told.

What has aging given you? Taken away from you?

It’s afforded me serenity, satisfaction, resignation, resolution and confidence. Time has taken away physical freedom, a carefree attitude towards health, friends and loved ones.

How has getting older affected your sense of yourself, or your identity?

Not that much, because I’ve been comfortable with myself for a long time.

I’m delighted by my level of energy, drive, eagerness to learn more, indifference to slowing down. I look at that Cialis ad on TV of a silver-haired couple sitting in soaking tubs, placidly gazing at a sunset and think, Who are these people, and why are they so dull? The reason why I call it “New Aging” at The Happy Grownup is that it is nothing like what we were told.

What are some age-related milestones you are looking forward to? Or ones you “missed,” and might try to reach later, off-schedule, according to our culture and its expectations?

I don’t think milestones have anything to do with age. Seismic events are not related to time as much as they are by curiosity, creativity, work you love to do, and the people you love to be with.

Also, I don’t think you should live your life waiting for “big” moments. One of the best things you learn getting older, is that the moments that move you the most are often “small.” Gestures of kindness, moments of affections, the right touch, hearing a quietly whispered secret that reminds you how lucky you are to have a certain person or people in your life. And as you get older you appreciate them more than anything else.

I’ve had more than my share of “big” moments—marriage, magazines launches, books published, Woodstock, Vietnam war protests, the Millennium, my niece’s graduation, seeing E.T: The Extra-Terrestrial on opening day. Now, life’s more about experiencing what’s so special about every single day. Unfortunately, we’ve directed our culture to believe that everything happens in “big” moments, hence our wrongheaded obsession with turning every occurrence into ‘Breaking News” and setting up endeavors to fulfill “expectations” rather than leaving yourself open to the excitement of whatever happens. “Expectation” may be one of the most dangerous words in the English language and one that should be eliminated from your vocabulary and mindset.

What has been your favorite age so far, and why? Would you go back to this age if you could?

I loved my 40s and 50s. It was an era of high energy, fearlessness, and hunger for the unknown. So many willing to take a risk on a passion.

We’ve kind of squelched that today. We’ve let too much doubt creep into our decisions, and pay attention to too many people sticking their two cents in. Social media has not been a friend to adventurousness. We need to shut out the dispiriting noise and listen to our guts and instincts.

But I don’t believe in going back. Because you can’t. Past events can’t be duplicated. Besides, going back is a perfect example of doing something with expectation. No way. That’s why my favorite time to be alive is right now. Today. I’m still here. If that’s not a reason to celebrate, what is?

I don’t think you should live your life waiting for “big” moments. One of the best things you learn getting older, is that the moments that move you the most are often “small.” Gestures of kindness, moments of affections, the right touch, hearing a quietly whispered secret that reminds you how lucky you are to have a certain person or people in your life. And as you get older you appreciate them more than anything else.

Is there someone who is older than you, who makes growing older inspiring to you? Who is your aging idol and why?

I don’t have idols. Don’t put people on pedestals. That’s not fair to anyone. That said, thanks to a year of podcasts, I’ve met so many incredible New Agers with vibrant lives. Model activist Bethann Hardison, beauty mogul and now best-selling author Anastasia Soare, entrepreneur Daymond John, chef Jean-Georges Vongerichten, journalist and author Linda Ellerbee, designer Norma Kamali, film genius Stephen Spielberg, Broadway composer John Kander who at 96 and still producing shows and seeing his works like Cabaret and Chicago celebrated. It’s an exciting time to be growing older. Now the culture has to catch up and realize that New Agers have so much to give and there’s so much you can learn from us.

What aging-related adjustments have you recently made, style-wise, beauty-wise, health-wise?

You pay close attention daily to all of the above. You must exercise regularly, not to have 18-inch arms, but so that you can move. You have to keep reminding your body that you are in charge and need it to work with you rather than be an ally of gravity.

Take care of that skin, that hair, those teeth! In your youth, your skin is so dewy it practically leaks water. No pill, injection or operation will ever bring that back. So you have to devise a skin routine for yourself. Go online, read, research, talk to your dermatologist, talk to the kids working at Sephora, reach out to gather the information and ammunition you need to maintain the best version of you.

Happily, the options are now greater than ever at every price point. You can spend tens of thousands on surgeries, or hundreds on effective skin care lines like Dr. Sturm, Cible, and Augustinus Bader that work, or so much less on impressive mass brands like No. 7 Beauty. Invest what you can, but make sure you do what you can for your skin to glow.

Enjoy great food and stay away from junk, get a good night’s sleep, drink water, and most importantly, surround yourself with people who lift you up. That’s the best advice anyone can give you for keeping a smile on your face, and sparkle in your eyes.

What age related adjustments do you refuse to make and why?

You have to adjust. You can’t dig your heels in. I guess the only adjustment I refuse to make is declaring “I’m too old” as an excuse for not doing something.

What turn of events had the biggest impact on your life?

There isn’t one defining moment. There are lots of them. My mom bringing my sister home from the hospital on my 4^th birthday, which is still my best present ever. My Bar Mitzvah. Coming out at 17. Discovering the paradise that is Fire Island. Disco (I loved it). Being diagnosed as HIV positive. Helping to found Details Magazine, which become the Bible of downtown in the 80’s. Malcom Forbes backing me to create Egg Magazine. Being hired as Men’s Style Director of The New York Times, my first job in fashion. Being a founding editor of InStyle, the industry shaking magazine that made fashion truly accessible, serving as restaurant critic of New York Magazine. Launching a clothing line HSN. Becoming a best-selling author. Winning the CFDA Founder’s Award for a lifetime of devotion to living well. Launching The Happy Grownup. And most importantly, meeting my husband David Nickle 29 years ago in a chatroom on America Online back when no one discussed online hookups above a hush. And there may be so much more to come.

My mom always said that you should leave the house expecting to run into someone you went to high school with. It may initially sound superficial, but always putting your best self out there instills self-worth. Pride is not a sin. Modesty is an overrated virtue. At this point in your life, pop your buttons. Don’t walk into a room. Make an entrance. You’ve earned it.

What is your number one regret in life? If you could do it all over again, what is the biggest thing you’d do differently?

I wish I had learned how to play piano. But except for that, regrets are a waste of energy. Perhaps the results would have been different if I’d had more self-confidence when I was performing. I’m sure there were opportunities I shouldn’t have shied away from, chances that might have been worth taking, but looking back on woulda-shoulda-coulda is fruitless. The only worthy direction you look to is forward.

What is high up on your “bucket list?” What do you hope to achieve, attain, or plain enjoy before you die?

Hate to be contrary but I don’t have a “bucket list.” I’m not looking to bungee jump over Victoria Falls. I’m lucky. I’ve done so much of what I’ve wanted to do, my bucket is pretty full. There are still places I want to travel to, like Angkor Wat, but without sounding arrogant, I’ve been given the opportunities to achieve so much, I have nothing left to prove.

That doesn’t mean there aren’t still things I’m eager to accomplish. I want The Happy Grownup to become a go-to destination for millions of New Agers over 50, offering uplifting, doable advice and insight for celebrating the second half of one’s life. The more you discover how much joy that’s still possible, the better equipped you’ll be to face the challenges that we’ll inevitably face as time now goes breathlessly fast.

Is there a piece of advice you were given, that you live by? If so, what was it, and who offered it to you?

My mom always said that you should leave the house expecting to run into someone you went to high school with. It may initially sound superficial, but always putting your best self out there instills self-worth. Pride is not a sin. Modesty is an overrated virtue. At this point in your life, pop your buttons. Don’t walk into a room. Make an entrance. You’ve earned it.

What are your plans for your body when you’re done using it? Burial? Cremation? Body Farm?

Jews does not supposed to be cremated, though I would prefer it, which means I may be spending eternity at Cedar Park/Beth El Cemetery in Paramus, New Jersey. We will see.

Hate to be contrary but I don’t have a “bucket list.” I’m not looking to bungee jump over Victoria Falls. I’ve done so much of what I’ve wanted to do, my bucket is pretty full. There are still places I want to travel to, like Angkor Wat, but without sounding arrogant, I’ve been given the opportunities to achieve so much, I have nothing left to prove. That doesn’t mean there aren’t still things I’m eager to accomplish. I want to become a go-to destination for millions of New Agers over 50, offering uplifting, doable advice and insight for celebrating the second half of one’s life.

What do you expect to happen to your “soul” or “spirit” after you die?

Not surprisingly, I have no expectations about what happens to my soul or spirit, so it will be a surprise, though I do hope I don’t have to learn how to play the harp.

What’s your philosophy on celebrating birthdays as an adult? How do you celebrate yours?

Ignoring your birthday is ridiculous! Why would you do that? It’s not like you’re stopping time by ignoring it. No. No. No. My birthday is MY holiday, my individual Christmas starring ME, and it needs to last at least a week. Bring ‘em on. Keep ‘em coming. And don’t forget to buy yourself a gift.

Check out all the Oldster interviews…

Sometimes you’ll find responses from writers, musicians, and artists you’ve heard of—like Kate Pierson, Neko Case, Rosie O’Donnell, Ava Duvernay, Jerry Saltz, Lucy Sante, Ricki Lake, Hilma Wolitzer, Elizabeth Gilbert, Judith Viorst, Cheryl Strayed, Deesha Philyaw, Chloe Caldwell, etc.—but more often it will be people (of all ages) you haven’t heard of, Humans of New York-style. (Check out all the Oldster interviews…)

Here, author, podcaster, and doctoral student responds. -Sari Botton

PS If you’re enjoying the work I do here at Oldster, please consider supporting it by becoming a paid subscriber. 🙏

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P.S. A reminder that as far as I’m concerned, everyone who is alive and aging is considered an Oldster, and that every contributor to this magazine is the oldest they have ever been, which is interesting new territory for them—and interesting to me, the 60-year-old who publishes Oldster. Also, I’m trying to foster intergenerational conversations in which elders learn what it’s like to be younger, and younger people learn from elders what it’s like to be older.

When you see a piece featuring someone younger than you, try to remember when you were that age and how monumental it felt. Bring some curiosity to reading about how the person being featured is experiencing that age. Or, if you prefer, wait for the next piece featuring someone in your age group. In the last few weeks alone, I’ve published pieces by people in their 60s, 70s, and 80s. Not every piece will speak to every reader. I’m doing my best to cover a lot of ground and be inclusive. Please work with me! Thank you. 🙏 - Sari Botton.

Mary Elizabeth Williams is an award-winning journalist and the author of two memoirs, Gimme Shelter and A Series of Catastrophes & Miracles. In 2022, her New York Times Modern Love column was adapted for Amazon Prime. A stage 4 cancer survivor and one of the first people in the world to participate in a groundbreaking immunotherapy clinical trial, she now serves of multiple patient advisory boards and consults and speaks on access, equity, and healthcare. She’s currently a doctoral candidate of medical humanities at Drew University and a postgraduate student in conflict resolution at Strathclyde University Glasgow. Her substack and podcast are called Patient. (Ed. note: She interviewed me recently!)

—

How old are you?

59.

Is there another age you associate with yourself in your mind? If so, what is it? And why, do you think?

Lately I feel very much my 21 and 35 year-old selves walking beside me. Those were, like this one, ages of great uncertainty and great possibility. When I was 21, I was leaving college and genuinely didn’t know how I was going to create a life that was for the first time not just student/daughter. But I was also excited because that was so freeing. At 35, I had two young children, was dreaming up my first book, and felt like I could really call myself a writer. There’s so much power in these cataclysmic life eras, if you don’t let yourself get too Sylvia Plath under a fig tree about it.

I like that I know what I’m good at and I can own it without downplaying myself and my achievements. At the same time, I’m humbled enough by time and experience to know I don’t have all the answers. Both things are incredibly joyful.

Do you feel old for your age? Young for your age? Just right? Are you in step with your peers?

Um, yes to all of it? I’m a city dweller. I walk everywhere, I have access to good food and good healthcare. I have strong social ties and I’m a university student. These things help keep a person biologically youthful. But I also grew up in a home with grandparents, raised as an only child, so part of me has been an old woman my whole life. Now I just look more the part. My daughters tell me I’m very millennial in spirit, but that might be a Gen Z dis.

What do you like about being your age?

I believe that women have as many eggs as we have fucks to give. At a certain point, we’re all out of both, and it’s glorious. I notice that people still have as many opinions about what I should do and how I should live as they did when I was 25, but now I’m like, what’s missing in your life that you’re so invested in mine?

I also like that I know what I’m good at and I can own it without downplaying myself and my achievements. At the same time, I’m humbled enough by time and experience to know I don’t have all the answers. Both things are incredibly joyful.

What is difficult about being your age?

I was laid off earlier this year, and as a female in her 50s, I’m confident I’ll never get another media job. I’m afraid I’ll never get another job, period. The financial precarity, especially within our American healthcare and Social Security system, is terrifying. I easily could have another 25 years of life left; what will they look like? Will I be able to pay my mortgage? Can I afford to get sick again? Unemployment hits very differently at this age.

What is surprising about being your age, or different from what you expected, based on what you were told?

I think women are expected to want to do everything they can to remain as fuckable-appearing as possible for as long as possible. I’m as vulnerable to the beauty industry as anyone, but I have also been pleasantly surprised by my increasing immunity to the male gaze. I know older women sometimes speak of becoming “invisible.” I don’t feel invisible at all. I’m louder and brighter than ever. I’m just less conventionally attractive, and that makes me less valuable in a sexist, capitalist society. I don’t like that it can have an impact on my income, but it doesn’t at all affect my self-worth.

A few years ago there was this male writer who seemed to always have a negative comment about everything I did. I was finally like, oh, is this because I’m not 30 and I’m not writing about things a 30 year-old man cares about? It was like a lightbulb moment—I can either try to appeal to this type of audience that I’m further every from every day, or not give a shit. Turns out it’s surprisingly easy to not give a shit what 30 year-old men think of you.

I believe that women have as many eggs as we have fucks to give. At a certain point, we’re all out of both, and it’s glorious. I notice that people still have as many opinions about what I should do and how I should live as they did when I was 25, but now I’m like, what’s missing in your life that you’re so invested in mine?

What has aging given you? Taken away from you?

It’s given me history, personal and global. I’ve lived through things now. Survived them. There’s absolutely no substitute for lived experience, for the knowledge and perspective it brings. It’s valuable.

What it’s taken ugh, is my memory! I used to have easy access to everything I’d ever learned or done; now I have to root around in the junk drawer of my mind. What was the name of that guy I dated? When was the battle of Clontarf? Learning new things and remembering old ones is just harder now. I miss my mental dexterity. Wait, is that the right word?

How has getting older affected your sense of yourself, or your identity?

Going around in an aging body is a trip. Running is harder. Learning is harder. I have to wear my glasses most of the time, so now I don’t feel like I look like myself without them. And yet I still see my goofy, hopeful 6-year-old self in everything I am today. I would miss her if I’d lost her.

Two years ago I learned I had a sister who’d been given up for adoption and died in 2014. I wrote about it for Salon. That’s been biggest identity shift of my older life. Even though I didn’t get to be a sister, I still had a sister. There was someone out there who had the same mother and father I did. Even before I had kids, I could imagine my kids. I never imagined my sister. Now I think about her and grieve her every day.

What are some age-related milestones you are looking forward to? Or ones you “missed,” and might try to reach later, off-schedule, according to our culture and its expectations?

Okay, so I wouldn’t say I “missed” menopause, but I got to skip the line because of the cancer. It was strange in the midst of everything else to confront the end of my fertility like that. I sometimes feel that because I was busy trying not to die, I didn’t really reckon with that life transition. I think about it more now that so many of my friends are still in it.

What has been your favorite age so far, and why? Would you go back to this age if you could?

Thirty was pretty beautiful in many ways, but I wouldn’t want to go back to a time without my daughters. Forty, before the cancer and my friends started dying, was nice. But even though I’d like to have an income and my old ass back, honestly I’m fine where I am. I’m old enough to be unbothered by so much of the small stuff, and young enough to still climb up big Scottish hills.

I was laid off earlier this year, and as a female in her 50s, I’m confident I’ll never get another media job. I’m afraid I’ll never get another job, period. The financial precarity, especially within our American healthcare and Social Security system, is terrifying. I easily could have another 25 years of life left; what will they look like? Will I be able to pay my mortgage? Can I afford to get sick again? Unemployment hits very differently at this age.

Is there someone who is older than you, who makes growing older inspiring to you? Who is your aging idol and why?

Mel Brooks! He fought Nazis in World War II and then he made a comedy about Nazis! And he’s still out there making people laugh. His resilience and talent and humor are my inspiration. (As, according to my daughters, spiritually a millennial, #GOALS.) When you have a serious life and choose laughter, that’s the most badass thing. And Jane Goodall. She chose an unconventional life when the options for women were much more limited.

Henri Matisse is my biggest aging idol. When he began to face intense pain and diminishing eyesight, he started doing his cut-out work, “drawing with scissors.” Some of his most acclaimed masterpieces are the product of his limitations. He did “Memory of Oceania” when he was disabled and in his eighties. Every time I visit it, I’m like, pick yourself up, loser. Go do beautiful things.

What aging-related adjustments have you recently made, style-wise, beauty-wise, health-wise?

Well, I guess I’m in my comfortable shoes phase of life, because I’m also in my osteoporosis stage of life (thanks for that too, cancer!). I have more than once broken bones just … walking around. The amount of thought I have to give to wet leaves and stairs and cobblestones is ridiculous.

When you’re 20, you can wear a garbage bag and look great. Now, when I see kooky older ladies rocking their Iris Apfel vibes, I’m like, yes, lean in. I’m more committed than ever to not being caught dead in beige. Shit, I guess I really am becoming that purple-wearing old woman you’ve been warned about.

I’m as vulnerable to the beauty industry as anyone, but I have also been pleasantly surprised by my increasing immunity to the male gaze. I know older women sometimes speak of becoming “invisible.” I don’t feel invisible at all. I’m louder and brighter than ever. I’m just less conventionally attractive, and that makes me less valuable in a sexist, capitalist society. I don’t like that it can have an impact on my income, but it doesn’t at all affect my self-worth.

What’s an aging-related adjustment you refuse to make, and why?

I started going gray in my early twenties and I have been coloring my hair forever. Even though it’s not the fire engine shade of my youth now, the red is such a huge part of my identity and my personality, I can’t yet imagine letting it go.

What turn of events had the biggest impact on your life? What took your life in a different direction, for better or worse?

Having metastatic cancer was a pretty big kick in the pants, of course. Realizing that all my somedays might never arrive, going from being a healthy and fit person to a sick one. But more than that, it’s when my older daughter almost died of a common infection when she was 16.

We know our parents are going to die. We acknowledge that we are too. But we don’t, and can’t, think about it with our kids. It genuinely altered my brain chemistry. I’ve struggled with anxiety ever since, and it’s just part of who I am now.

What is your number one regret in life? If you could do it all over again, what is the biggest thing you’d do differently?

I really resonate with George Saunders’s line about failures of kindness—“Those moments when another human being was there, in front of me, suffering, and I responded . . . sensibly. Reservedly. Mildly.” That’s it. That’s always it.

I want to be brave enough to step up. I want to be brave enough to be gentle and compassionate, and when I think of the times I avoided someone else’s pain because I didn’t know how to handle it, I regret it. And when I think of the times I wrote something snarky and trite for the clicks, I’m mortified. So if I had to do it again I’d definitely tell more editors to kiss my ass.

I’ll tell you what I don’t regret—every minute flat on my back somewhere looking at the sky. Taking a walk before dinner to clear my head. Sitting in a coffee shop with a friend for hours. Every time someone had a couch I could sleep on in a faraway place and I booked a flight. I get that I’m not in my fire in the belly years so the perspective is different. But the little things in service of myself and my time are what make the memories that matter, not the trying to get to the top of a heap I realize I didn’t even want to be on. Remember, “productivity” is just capitalism-generated bullshit!

Two years ago I learned I had a sister who’d been given up for adoption and died in 2014. That’s been biggest identity shift of my older life. Even though I didn’t get to be a sister, I still had a sister. There was someone out there who had the same mother and father I did. Even before I had kids, I could imagine my kids. I never imagined my sister. Now I think about her and grieve her every day.

What is high up on your “bucket list?” What do you hope to achieve, attain, or plain enjoy before you die?

“Dr. Williams.” That’s the big one. Writing a dissertation is hard, though! I want to see so much more of the world and have more adventures of all forms. I want to learn a lot more things. Mary Oliver’s instructions to “Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.” seem like a good template.

Mostly I want to live in a manner that enables people to say, “She helped.”

Is there a piece of advice you were given, that you live by? If so, what was it, and who offered it to you?

Maya Angelou’s “When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time” is one I wish I’d learned earlier. And very early in my online life, the mod of a group I was going through some drama with told me, “Maybe you should turn off your computer now.” It’s harder today when the computer is always in your pocket, but oh yeah, that’s a good one. That glowing brick of despair is not the only real thing in our lives, nor should it be. And we can actually disengage any time we want.

What are your plans for your body when you’re done using it? Burial? Cremation? Body Farm? Other?

My doctor’s got dibs. I was lucky enough to be part of an incredible scientific breakthrough, and anything I can do to be of service, even after I go, I’m going to do.

Okay, so I wouldn’t say I “missed” menopause, but I got to skip the line because of the cancer. It was strange in the midst of everything else to confront the end of my fertility like that. I sometimes feel that because I was busy trying not to die, I didn’t really reckon with that life transition. I think about it more now that so many of my friends are still in it.

How do you feel about dying? And what do you expect to happen to your “soul” or “spirit” after you die?

When I actually was dying, I remember looking up at the stars one night from the Jersey turnpike and feeling very peaceful at the idea that I came from those stars, and one day I’ll go back to them. I think our energy doesn’t entirely die or disappear, but it does get transformed. Every molecule in our bodies is eternal. That’s pretty fucking dope when you think about it.

Death is the easy part, it’s the dying that concerns me. I hope to achieve it with as much dignity and autonomy as possible.

What’s your philosophy on celebrating birthdays as an adult? How do you celebrate yours?

I believe in any excuse for celebration, but I’m not a traditional, have to have a cake or presents person. The past two years were pretty amazing because a friend who’s a yoga instruction leads these beautiful trips my birthday week. So two years ago I was standing under the northern lights in Iceland, and last year I was in Panama. I’ve just started school in Scotland so I don’t have a big friend group or big plans here, but for the next one I might force myself on my friends in Paris.

Check out all the Oldster interviews…

Check out Mary Elizabeth Williams’s podcast interview with Oldster editor-in-chief Sari Botton.

Check Out The Small Bow

Sydney Lea is a Pulitzer finalist in poetry, founder of New England Review, Vermont Poet Laureate, and recipient of his state’s Governor’s Award for Excellence in the Arts. He has published two novels (recently Now Look, 2024), seven volumes of personal essays (recently, Such Dancing as We Can, 2024), Wormboy (2020), a mock epic collaboration with former Vermont Cartoonist Laureate James Kochalka, and sixteen poetry collections (most recently What Shines 2023). His new and selected poems, Dancing in the Dark, is due in early 2027. He is a regular contributor to Oldster. A December, 2023 interview A.J. Daulerio conducted with him on The Small Bow sparked the Sober Oldster series.

—

How old are you, and how long have you been in recovery?

I am 83 and if I don’t get drunk or otherwise wasted for the next few months, I will have been clean and sober for 26 years.

How did you get there?

After years of self-deception, and efforts to use willpower to cure my malady, one night I had a moment of clarity. My wife was away and I had two very young daughters to see to, and I said to myself, You are in no condition to be a proper parent...or husband or friend or citizen.

On the outside, you see, all looked fine. I was employed by a tony college, chaired a worthy non-profit Maine conservation trust, and an organization that provided just what its name suggested, Central Vermont Adult Basic Education—designed for those who had either dropped out or finished school with insufficient literacy to be satisfied with their lives and also, increasingly, to various immigrant groups. I had published widely across the genres, won Guggenheim, Fulbright, and Rockefeller Foundation fellowships, and been a Pulitzer finalist. I spoke three languages...And yadda yadda.

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Inside, I was a total mess—quick to anger, contentious, arrogant, but full of such self-loathing I had trouble looking in the mirror.

Twelve Step groups may not be for everybody, but they saved my life and all that’s good in it. I still attend at least three meetings a week, to carry its message to fellow substance-addicted people and to help others the way some wonderful veterans helped me. Such help as I can offer, by example not preachment, keeps me sober too.

On the outside, you see, all looked fine. I was employed by a tony college. I had published widely across the genres, won Guggenheim, Fulbright, and Rockefeller Foundation fellowships, and been a Pulitzer finalist…Inside, I was a total mess—quick to anger, contentious, arrogant, but full of such self-loathing I had trouble looking in the mirror.

What are the best things about being in recovery?

I have to say that the luckiest family life anyone was ever given is first and foremost. We have five children and eight grandchildren, and my relations with them would never have been what they are today—though in fact I think I’d be long since dead—if I had kept traveling that ruinous road.

I also used to thrive (well, wrong verb, probably) on resentments. If anything was going wrong in my life, it was someone else’s fault. It took me a couple of years, but I purged those resentments, most importantly toward my poor alcoholic mother. Some of her treatment of me even as an adult was of a sort I hope never to exert on members of my family. But one day I thought “You are resenting someone who had the same disease as you do, but who was not blessed—there’s no other word—with recovery.” I got over that big one right then.

I have one resentment that is “justified,” and everyone aware of the situation knows it. But a sponsor advised me in my first year that righteous indignation was something best left to people who could handle it without going wacky. Now, when the thought of this man comes to mind, it’s like the thought of a drink or drug: it’s bound to arrive, but I can just let it pass through my brain immediately and let it disappear, not dwell on it and lket it eat me up.

Another thing from early in sobriety: I heard an older woman say something that really resonated with me: “I got off the debating team.” I’d spent countless hours of my life insisting I was right about this or that. Sometimes I am, but no matter: I don’t waste any energy on pursuing such a claim. Believe me, that’s a liberation.

I could go on and on about the benefits…

What’s hard about being in recovery?

I truly must answer “nothing.” Really and truly. Early on, I was quite agoraphobic without booze to give me courage. Large groups of unfamiliar people especially cowed me. Now I can socialize even with social drinkers in whatever numbers and I’m fine...unless someone gets drunk and starts to carry on with me. I think, “God, was I that boring, arrogant, self-dramatizing, self-pitying, etc.?” And I find a way to disengage. Also, if tasked with some public presentation, I recognize that the best I can do is the best I can do. And if that’s not up to par, the world will keep on spinning.

Twelve Step groups may not be for everybody, but they saved my life and all that’s good in it. I still attend at least three meetings a week, to carry its message to fellow substance-addicted people and to help others the way some wonderful veterans helped me. Such help as I can offer, by example not preachment, keeps me sober too.

How has your character changed? What’s better about you?

I don’t pontificate, rarely lose my temper, acknowledge some others’ superiority to me with admiration and not jealousy, and have a reasonable share of life-saving humility. None of this was true of the wasted Syd.

What do you still need to work on? What “character defects” do you still wrestle with?

I can lapse into periods, less and less long, when I have a low opinion of my own worth. I think this may come down being raised by my mom, who, barred by her gender from the sort of career she was certainly bright enough to pursue, always felt she’d have done better than I, given the same educational opportunities. For some time, even in sobriety, I had trouble vacationing, lest I disobey her persistent insistence that I “apply myself.” Fact is, this self-doubt is the flip side of arrogance: in either case, I am taking myself way too seriously. I have had an extraordinary spouse for four decades-plus, and she’ll often remind me, “Your mother is dead.” Oh yeah, I think....

I used to thrive on resentments. If anything was going wrong in my life, it was someone else’s fault. It took me a couple of years, but I purged those resentments, most importantly toward my poor alcoholic mother. Some of her treatment of me was of a sort I hope never to exert on members of my family. But one day I thought “You are resenting someone who had the same disease as you do, but who was not blessed—there’s no other word—with recovery.” I got over that big one right then.

What’s the best recovery memoir you’ve ever read? Tell us what you liked about it.

Mary Karr’s Lit, hands down. For one thing, unlike some (and there are those who, having written recovery books, go back to being wasted), she waited until she had a truly extended chunk of recovery before she offered it, and was wise enough to speak self-descriptively, not prescriptively.

We also share authorial careers. Hers, needless to say, is far more distinguished than mine, but be that as it may, her accounts of a different approach to her writing resonated deeply. Her commitment to the Higher Power that our fellowship(s) refer to, and which she vigorously resisted even for some time in sobriety, became a conversion to Roman Catholicism.

Mine is a lot less orthodox and billowy—a friend once described me as a “forest Theist”—and yet I, like most of my co-conspirators, believe that something much bigger than I redeemed my soul. Who knows why? My younger brother died a cocaine addict in his 30s and a cousin drank himself to death at the same age, and there’s nothing in my character that made me “deserve” recovery more than they, who simply never got it.

What are some memorable sober moments?

Well, first, I vividly remember lying post-detox in the local hospital’s locked psych ward in utter despair. Sobriety looked like Everest to me. At 3 a.m. or so on my second night, there was no burning bush, no white light, but a very matter-of-fact voice that spoke to me, saying, simply, It’ll be all right. I felt the weight of the world lifted from me and have not felt any compulsion to drink since that night. Those sentimental about their own skepticism will claim I imagined that voice. Could be. But to me it’s still as real as Boston, NYC, or the White Mountains I see out my window. I’ve been there.

Another moment. My late friend and predecessor as our state’s poet laureate, Ellen Bryant Voigt, arranged a “wired classroom” program, in which various Vermont poets, I among them, would interact with high school students, a few in person but most online. I’d been used to public reading and speaking but had never done anything like this, and for whatever reason found myself extremely nervous beforehand. But I remember clearly standing on the granite doorstep to the venue and thinking, “Just be the authentic you; if that’s less than they hoped for, there’s nothing you can do about it.” My anxiety evaporated in that instant. I won’t speak for the students, but I really enjoyed myself.

Are you in therapy? On meds? Tell us about that.

I take a threshold dose of Wellbutrin, and did have an excellent therapist early on. She died heartbreakingly young and I haven’t felt the need for another since her death.

Early on, I was quite agoraphobic without booze to give me courage. Large groups of unfamiliar people especially cowed me. Now I can socialize even with social drinkers in whatever numbers and I’m fine...unless someone gets drunk and starts to carry on with me. I think, “God, was I that boring, arrogant, self-dramatizing, self-pitying, etc.?” And I find a way to disengage.

What sort of activities or groups do you participate in to help your recovery? (i.e. swimming, 12-step, meditation, et cetera)

Twelve step meetings, clearly. Meditation (when I remember to do it). I hike a lot, living far in the backwoods. I often paddle a kayak on the nearby Connecticut River and the lakes surrounding out little, even more backwoods Maine camp. Until my 80^th year, I participated in flatwater kayak races up to 12 miles. I have recently had some health setbacks, but these have been greatly mitigated. Races or no, I mean to resume paddling hard again after ice-out. In fact, I’m planning on doing a six-miler in July.

Are there any questions we haven’t asked you that you think we should add to this? And would you like to answer it?

I think I may already have rambled on too long.

Read all of Sydney Lea’s contributions to Oldster.

With thanks, as always, to A.J. Daulerio and at for the collaboration. Check out the whole Sober Oldster series.

P.S. Check out ’s Etsy shop, where she has beautiful greeting cards and posters for sale.

Sometimes you’ll find responses from writers, musicians, and artists you’ve heard of—like Kate Pierson, Neko Case, Rosie O’Donnell, Ava Duvernay, Jerry Saltz, Lucy Sante, Ricki Lake, Hilma Wolitzer, Elizabeth Gilbert, Judith Viorst, Cheryl Strayed, Deesha Philyaw, Chloe Caldwell, etc.—but more often it will be people (of all ages) you haven’t heard of, Humans of New York-style. (Check out all the Oldster interviews…)

Here, author, actress, and activist responds. -Sari Botton

PS If you’re enjoying the work I do here at Oldster, please consider supporting it by becoming a paid subscriber. 🙏

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Denise Nicholas was born in Detroit in 1944 at Henry Ford Hospital. After attending elementary school in Detroit and intermediate/high school in Milan, Michigan, at age 17 she entered the University of Michigan.

During the Civil Rights Movement, at age 19 she left the university and joined the Free Southern Theater in Jackson, Mississippi. Two years later, she left the Deep South for New York City to begin a professional career as an actor, first in theater in New York City, where she appeared Off Broadway and as a member of the Negro Ensemble Company, and then in Los Angeles, where she was cast as the female lead in Room 222 in 1969.

After working in TV and film for more than 20 years as both an actor and, eventually, a screenwriter, she earned bachelor’s and master’s degrees at the University of Southern California and began writing fiction. Her acclaimed novel Freshwater Road, which Newsday called “perhaps the best work of fiction ever done about the civil rights movement,” appeared in 2005, and her memoir, Finding Home, which James McBride called a work of “deep talent and understated eloquence,” appeared in 2025. She is at work on her second novel, preparing an essay for a forthcoming anthology about caregiving, and also leads a small private writing class in Los Angeles called the Longwood Writing Workshop.

—

How old are you?

81.

Is there another age you associate with yourself in your mind? If so, what is it? And why, do you think?

In my memory bank, there are many good age years to focus on, years that I thought were the be-all in terms of positive living–career successes, great travel, good/positive relationships. However, in all honesty, I also measure as good years those that knocked me upside my head teaching me something. There are no hard lines here, no separated years that are one emotional or mental experience. My best age is right now for the kinds of things I’m doing.

When my looks were super important, I had many good years as an actor on television and a bit in film. Those years would be considered great on the physical side—25 to 50. These “now” years are less about my perceived looks and more about my mind and soul. I’m more contemplative now. My brains are working as fast as they used to but they’re definitely going deeper. My responsibility load would sink a lot of younger ships. So, I’d say since my 50s, I’ve been all about retraining myself to be a writer. I’m still going, so my 60s, 70s, and now into these first 80s years have been just great.

Physically I feel very good. I live in a two-story house, and I’m still bounding up and down these stairs with much greater ease than folks way younger than I am now. My mother lived to be 104 and died only recently. She had dementia, and while that disease shortened her mental life, she was well into her 90s before it became apparent.

Do you feel old for your age? Young for your age? Just right? Are you in step with your peers?

People continually tell me that I’m youngish for my age. Actually, I feel pretty darn good for whatever age. My friendship group includes people of different ages: I have very close pals who are at least 20 years my junior. I have friends who are older. We all hang out.

What do you like about being your age?

Learning how to let crap go. I own me. I accept my missteps and failures. I no longer beat the hell out of myself for my dumb moves.

What is difficult about being your age?

Knowing that I’m getting closer to the “end game” moment. Knowing that my decision to not have children has repercussions that haunt.

In my memory bank, there are many good age years to focus on, years that I thought were the be-all in terms of positive living–career successes, great travel, good/positive relationships. However, in all honesty, I also measure as good years those that knocked me upside my head teaching me something. There are no hard lines here, no separated years that are one emotional or mental experience.

What is surprising about being your age, or different from what you expected, based on what you were told?

So, the stories I’ve heard from older people about not feeling great, folding under the weight of time, I do not yet feel. I certainly don’t feel in any way decrepit—yet. Physically I feel very good. I live in a two-story house, and I’m still bounding up and down these stairs with much greater ease than folks way younger than I am now. My mother lived to be 104 and died only recently. She had dementia, and while that disease shortened her mental life, she was well into her 90s before it became apparent.

What has aging given you? Taken away from you?

More calm. A more philosophical way of being here. I’m more thoughtful, less demanding. I’m still a “moonstruck” kind of person: I search for beauty in nature, in my home. I’m more able to let dumb stuff go.

Age has taken/is taking my remaining sensuality. I invested in that part of myself as a woman from early on, and I’m extremely comfortable at this point that it’s heading on down the road. I’m good.

How has getting older affected your sense of yourself, or your identity?

Some of the more negative effects of aging have to do with the sense that as a woman, some of my power was in my youthful good looks, and that’s leaving with a quickness. Society does that to women, of course. I had long been aware, alerted, and I balled up my fists to find power in other ways. And I’ve succeeded.

The changes in how others responded to my looks ever since my earliest years created an angst, especially with that first diminishment we women endure as we begin to age. That’s been softened thanks to my long-ago decisions to fill out and strengthen various expressions of my brain power. I became a writer, first of all, but I also purchased and managed rental property, and then ultimately took over management of my mom’s care for her last five years. All of this shifted my personal sense of emphasis away from my looks and more toward my intellectual/emotional self.

Age has taken/is taking my remaining sensuality. I invested in that part of myself as a woman from early on, and I’m extremely comfortable at this point that it’s heading on down the road. I’m good.

What are some age-related milestones you are looking forward to? Or ones you “missed,” and might try to reach later, off-schedule, according to our culture and its expectations?

I’m such a maniac about getting things done, I can’t identify anything for this question.

What has been your favorite age so far, and why? Would you go back to this age if you could?

My favorite age—amazingly—is right now. I’m in good health, I’m in my own beautiful home, I’m writing (and getting very fine reviews), I’m still driving my own Benz… I’m good to go.

Is there someone who is older than you, who makes growing older inspiring to you? Who is your aging idol and why?

Until dementia robbed her mind, my mom was the most gently aging person I’d ever seen. Even in her last months of life, I’d sit by her and look at her skin, her hair… She aged so gracefully for so many years. She was my idol.

What aging-related adjustments have you recently made, style-wise, beauty-wise, health-wise?

I’m back to working out after a break for hip replacement surgery last January. Going up and down my home’s stairs all day helps. I have an “exercise guru” who also leads me through meditations as well as workouts.

Beauty-wise: more moisturizers all over the body every single day. I do not wear a full face of makeup every day, either. So far, don’t need it. My style is middle of the road in terms of dress, with periodic forays into younger looks that still work on this particular woman’s body.

I’m back to working out after a break for hip replacement surgery last January. Going up and down my home’s stairs all day helps. I have an “exercise guru” who also leads me through meditations as well as workouts.

What’s an aging-related adjustment you refuse to make, and why?

I’ve tried to continue driving at night when alone. Had to stop that. Not too much else to tell here. I’m still doing everything I ever did but maybe a little less? I do run out of energy quicker than in years gone by. But even taking that into consideration, I’ve got my life set up to keep rolling until I can’t. I’m still rolling.

What turn of events had the biggest impact on your life? What took your life in a different direction, for better or worse?

My younger sister’s murder in New York City in 1980 did a lot to push my writing life to a front burner. Michele was a writer.

What is your number one regret in life? If you could do it all over again, what is the biggest thing you’d do differently?

I’d be a better friend to a dear person who died quite young. I was too busy being a TV celebrity at the time.

My younger sister’s murder in New York City in 1980 did a lot to push my writing life to a front burner. Michele was a writer.

What is high up on your “bucket list?” What do you hope to achieve, attain, or plain enjoy before you die?

I want to write one more book—a love story.

Is there a piece of advice you were given, that you live by? If so, what was it, and who offered it to you?

My dad: “Don’t stay too long at the fair.”

What are your plans for your body when you’re done using it? Burial? Cremation? Body Farm? Other?

Body Farm.

How do you feel about dying? And what do you expect to happen to your “soul” or “spirit” after you die?

The spirit is our memory. There are no ghosts flying around trying to keep us safe. But memories can animate our todays as if they absolutely have been lurking around trying to keep us safe.

I certainly don’t want to die, but now that I’ve lost most of my earliest friendship group, both of my siblings, and most of the rest of my family, I guess there’s no other way.

I’ve only very recently experienced my mom’s death, and since my family is now the size of a pea, I had to handle it alone, including adding a new word to my vocabulary that still makes me giggle: cremains.

I hope those who have cared for me will keep some memory of me, as I keep my incredibly beautiful memories of the people I have loved.

What’s your philosophy on celebrating birthdays as an adult? How do you celebrate yours?

Champagne. Small group of pals. No more big parties. Memories.

Check out all the Oldster interviews…

Sometimes you’ll find responses from writers, musicians, and artists you’ve heard of—like Kate Pierson, Neko Case, Rosie O’Donnell, Ava Duvernay, Jerry Saltz, Lucy Sante, Ricki Lake, Hilma Wolitzer, Elizabeth Gilbert, Judith Viorst, Cheryl Strayed, Deesha Philyaw, Chloe Caldwell, etc.—but more often it will be people (of all ages) you haven’t heard of, Humans of New York-style. (Check out all the Oldster interviews…)

Here, , author of the novel No One You Know, and the newsletter responds. -Sari Botton

PS If you’re enjoying the work I do here at Oldster, please consider supporting it by becoming a paid subscriber. 🙏

Subscribe now

P.S. A reminder that as far as I’m concerned, everyone who is alive and aging is considered an Oldster, and that every contributor to this magazine is the oldest they have ever been, which is interesting new territory for them—and interesting to me, the 60-year-old who publishes Oldster. Also, I’m trying to foster intergenerational conversations in which elders learn what it’s like to be younger, and younger people learn from elders what it’s like to be older.

When you see a piece featuring someone younger than you, try to remember when you were that age and how monumental it felt. Bring some curiosity to reading about how the person being featured is experiencing that age. Or, if you prefer, wait for the next piece featuring someone in your age group. In the last few weeks alone, I’ve published pieces by people in their 60s, 70s, and 80s. Not every piece will speak to every reader. I’m doing my best to cover a lot of ground and be inclusive. Please work with me! Thank you. 🙏 - Sari Botton.

Emma Tourtelot is the author of the novel No One You Know, a Zibby’s Book Club pick. She is also the co-author of eight books about sex and relationships, as one half of the celebrated sex advice duo Em & Lo, and co-creator of Nerve Personals. Time magazine called her first book, “This generation’s smarter, funnier, and raunchier version of The Joy of Sex.” After being a sex advice writer for almost two decades, Emma is now a middle school librarian in the Hudson Valley, which somehow turns out to be more controversial than her first career. You can find her at EmmaTourtelot.com, at her Substack newsletter Emmanations, or on Instagram @emmatourtelot. —

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How old are you?

52.

Is there another age you associate with yourself in your mind? If so, what is it? And why, do you think?

It’s definitely not 52. I often hesitate when someone asks me my age these days: I forget whether I’m 51, 52, maybe 53. That never used to happen! So maybe I’m in denial? Weirdly, I’m better at remembering my husband’s age, and then I just subtract two.

I’m a middle school librarian, and my students are horrifically bad at guessing my age—sometimes they’ll say 25, sometimes 65. When they find out my actual age, they’ll often tell me that’s how old their grandparents are. Which is a long way of saying that 52 means very different things to different people.

My work friends are mostly a decade or two younger than me, and they feel like peers. My neighborhood friends are all my age or older, and they feel like peers, too. In fact, pretty much the only time I feel old is when I go to the city. No shade on NYC, but the Hudson Valley is a pretty good place to be 52.

Do you feel old for your age? Young for your age? Just right? Are you in step with your peers?

I was worried that switching careers in my early 40s would make me feel old for my age. (That’s when I hung up my hat as a sex advice writer and became a school librarian.) It was definitely weird being in grad school at that age. I was the dorky mom in the front row raising her hand and taking notes while the 20-somethings sat in the back on their phones.

My work friends are mostly a decade or two younger than me, and they feel like peers. My neighborhood friends are all my age or older, and they feel like peers, too. In fact, pretty much the only time I feel old is when I go to the city. No shade on NYC, but the Hudson Valley is a pretty good place to be 52.

What do you like about being your age?

I know what I like to do and who I want to spend time with, and I’m very comfortable choosing a night in on the couch. One of my oldest friends used to joke that my bar for friendship was set way too low. I don’t think she’d say that anymore! I’ve been in the same book group for more than fifteen years. I like hosting dinner parties that are small enough where the conversations don’t splinter into sub-groups, and I like everyone to be gone by 10 p.m. I like that all of my friends want to leave by 10. I’m working toward 9 p.m.—life goals!

These days, it’s much easier to find time to read and write, too. I can write for hours during weekend mornings before either of my teenage kids are up. And often I’ll write in the evening while they do their homework next to me on the couch. Or we’ll get into bed together and each read our own book.

I also like that I’m entering perimenopause right when it’s “trending,” so everyone is talking about it (not just ), and I kind of know what to expect. One of my text group chats is called Menoposse.

What is difficult about being your age?

People I love—including my husband—are losing their parents. People I love are getting cancer. My children are growing up way too fast. Also, seltzer now causes my stomach to make crazy noises. Seriously, my family can barely watch a movie next to me if I drink more than one glass.

What is surprising about being your age, or different from what you expected, based on what you were told?

When I was a kid, my sisters and I thought there was a rule that you had to cut your hair short when you grew up. You got a job, you got married, you got a mom bob—that was the deal, we figured. I was bummed about this but assumed I’d feel differently when I was a grownup. Then I grew up and I absorbed the message that older women have dry, witchy hair that should be tamed if they want to remain in polite society. Fortunately, neither of these things turned out to be actual laws.

I like hosting dinner parties that are small enough where the conversations don’t splinter into sub-groups, and I like everyone to be gone by 10 p.m. I like that all of my friends want to leave by 10. I’m working toward 9 p.m.—life goals!

What has aging given you? Taken away from you?

I got my first tattoo when I turned 46. It’s a quote from my favorite book, Charlotte’s Web: “This lovely world, these precious days.” I never would have done that in my 20s; I was far too afraid of seeming earnest. I was also worried that would I grow up to find my younger self cheesy. (It’s why I refused to write my own wedding vows.) Age has removed that fear. I don’t mind being a cheeseball now.

Age has also taken away friends, though. I hate that.

How has getting older affected your sense of yourself, or your identity?

I used to think that maybe I didn’t have a very stable identity. As a teenager I was this chronically shy, born-again Christian. Even in college, I went to church every Sunday and was a member of Campus Crusade for Christ. Then in my 20s I became a sex writer in the city. (No joke, I got the job at Nerve in 1998—the same year Sex and the City premiered. My roommate’s boyfriend—later her husband—played Skipper on the show.)

And then I became a school librarian in the Hudson Valley.

I’m so used to my current job being a kind of punchline. But then at my 30th college reunion I told an old friend that I’m now a middle school librarian—expecting a joke—and he was like, “Of course you are.” I felt so seen! And I felt like I had a through-line. I’d completely forgotten that my very first job, on that college campus, was working in the library.

The older I get, I guess, the easier I’m finding it to see my own through-line.

What are some age-related milestones you are looking forward to? Or ones you “missed,” and might try to reach later, off-schedule, according to our culture and its expectations?

I’m looking forward to retirement. My husband works from home and I get summers off, and every fall I’m a little sad that I don’t get to drink coffee on the front porch with him anymore. I’m looking forward to guilt-free daytime reading on the porch—actual novels, not just the newspaper. I might even take up aqua aerobics.

What has been your favorite age so far, and why? Would you go back to this age if you could?

I was really happy when I turned 50. I’d just finished my first novel, No One You Know. My agent loved it, and I didn’t yet know how brutal the publishing world could be, and how many rejections were in my future. Now I’m 52 and that book just came out, my parents are both alive, and my kids are teenagers who crack me up even when they’re making fun of me. Also, I’m about to celebrate my 20th wedding anniversary and I still like hanging out with my husband. So, I’m going to pick 52.

I also like that I’m entering perimenopause right when it’s “trending,” so everyone is talking about it (not just Miranda July), and I kind of know what to expect. One of my text group chats is called Menoposse.

Is there someone who is older than you, who makes growing older inspiring to you? Who is your aging idol and why?

My mom. She and I got our first tattoo together (she was 72 at the time). Her tattoo is a sewing machine with thread that forms a heart. She let my sisters and me design it for her. Making clothes for people is her love language—she made all the drapes in our house and she made my wedding dress, too. She’s still got great style. When we visited my parents in England this summer, my daughter Evie was dyeing her hair pink, and my mom let Evie give her a pink streak.

Also, I love that Laura Dickerman just published her first book (Hot Desk) in her sixties. And she’s the reason I know that Laura Ingalls Wilder was 65 when she published Little House on the Prairie. So, both Lauras, too.

What aging-related adjustments have you recently made, style-wise, beauty-wise, health-wise?

I stand on one foot, in tree pose, when I brush my teeth now. All the podcasters tell me that’s something older women should do.

What’s an aging-related adjustment you refuse to make, and why?

I will never stop wearing Converse high-tops, no matter how bad I know they are for my feet and back. I’ve been wearing them since I was a teenager. I’m currently in the process of breaking in a new pair, but I keep going back to the old ones instead. Change is hard.

I guess I’m refusing to make any age-related adjustments to the way I dress. My day-to-day uniform—denim overalls, white tank top, Converse high-tops, giant hoop earrings—hasn’t changed in more than thirty years.

There’s a sign in a women’s clothing store in Rhinebeck announcing, Flax is here! I promise you will never see me wearing anything made of flax.

What turn of events had the biggest impact on your life? What took your life in a different direction, for better or worse?

When I was 16, my dad’s job took us from England to New Jersey. That was a pretty big culture shock. I didn’t know what to wear, as I’d always worn a uniform before. I definitely didn’t know what to do when teachers high-fived me. I didn’t know how to high-five.

I walked into the high school cafeteria the first day and sat at an empty table, figuring other kids would join me. No one did, and I ate my lunch alone. I told my mom that everyone else brought their lunch in brown paper bags—not in recycled ice cream tubs like I did—so she went out and bought brown bags. Shocker, that didn’t change anything.

So I started eating my lunch in a bathroom stall and then just walking laps in the hallways. This really kind gym teacher saw me one day and said, “I can’t promise you that high school is going to get any better than this, but you’ll find your people in college.”

Then one day I decided that I was going to walk back into that high school cafeteria and ask the first people I recognized if I could eat with them.

Once you’ve done something like that, you can psych yourself up to do pretty much anything in life.

My mom and I got our first tattoos together (she was 72 at the time, I was 46). Her tattoo is a sewing machine with thread that forms a heart. She let my sisters and me design it for her. Making clothes for people is her love language—she made all the drapes in our house and she made my wedding dress, too. She’s still got great style. When we visited my parents in England this summer, my daughter Evie was dyeing her hair pink, and my mom let Evie give her a pink streak.

What is your number one regret in life? If you could do it all over again, what is the biggest thing you’d do differently?

I wished I’d kept a diary. I have such a terrible memory. Entire years of my life, gone to dust. Zero recollection. My husband has a steel trap and I am so envious of how much he remembers. I think it’s to do with what kind of childhood you had. Mine was pretty stable and happy and I don’t think that creates memories.

The problem is, I’ve always cringed at the way my voice comes out on the page. When I write, I edit as I go, so I could never bear to see my words in pen, first draft, kept forever. But man do I wish I had a first-hand record of what it was really like to be me back then. I did keep a prayer journal for a while, but I remember lying in it. I remember I had a lot more doubts than I let on in that journal. Not sure who I thought I was lying to. God?

By the way, even though I can fully acknowledge this regret, and even though I am sure that ten or twenty years from now, I would love to read a diary entry from today, I absolutely know that I’m not going to start keeping one.

I also wish I hadn’t majored in German, but that’s a minor detail. I plan to audit classes during my retirement—at Bard College, just down the road—and be that weird old lady in the back seat who’s actually done all the reading. All the philosophy and literature classes I wish I’d taken.

What is high up on your “bucket list?” What do you hope to achieve, attain, or plain enjoy before you die?

I never used to care about travel, I was always a homebody. I spent so much time flying back to England to see my parents and two younger sisters—they moved back to England when I was in college—that it didn’t leave much time for visiting other places. But the older I get, the more I want to see the world. In a train, whizzing past a random town, I will sometime feel this pang—I’ll find myself thinking, “I’ll probably never visit that place”—and it makes my chest feel a little tight. I’m feeling more attached to this planet, I suppose, and to the idea of exploring its wonders.

Is there a piece of advice you were given, that you live by? If so, what was it, and who offered it to you?

My mom’s irrationally optimistic approach to life is my gold standard.

What are your plans for your body when you’re done using it? Burial? Cremation? Body Farm? Other?

I guess cremation and scatter my ashes somewhere, but I’m not too attached to any specific plan. I’ve always believed that anything that happens after I die is for the living. As long as someone reads a Mary Oliver poem at whatever ceremony or gathering there is, I’m good.

I’m looking forward to retirement. My husband works from home and I get summers off, and every fall I’m a little sad that I don’t get to drink coffee on the front porch with him anymore. I’m looking forward to guilt-free daytime reading on the porch—actual novels, not just the newspaper. I might even take up aqua aerobics.

How do you feel about dying? And what do you expect to happen to your “soul” or “spirit” after you die?

I am one hundred percent in denial about the fact that I will die. That’s for other people. Not in an unhealthy way—I hope!—I just don’t really think about it. I used to believe in heaven, back in my born-again phase. Like, actual angels. And then for a while I believed in nothing. Now my belief system is a mash-up of whatever Mary Oliver used to feel when she walked in the woods, combined with my clumsy Western understanding of the Buddhist concept of universal consciousness (filtered through my husband, who actually meditates).

What’s your philosophy on celebrating birthdays as an adult? How do you celebrate yours?

I plan my own birthdays. I always have. I like to throw myself parties. I know who I want to attend and I know what sort of event I want. When I got married, we said the standard vows, but our private, unofficial vow was to never ever throw a surprise party for each other.

Check out all the Oldster interviews…

Sometimes you’ll find responses from writers, musicians, and artists you’ve heard of—like Kate Pierson, Neko Case, Rosie O’Donnell, Ava Duvernay, Jerry Saltz, Lucy Sante, Ricki Lake, Hilma Wolitzer, Elizabeth Gilbert, Judith Viorst, Cheryl Strayed, Deesha Philyaw, Chloe Caldwell, etc.—but more often it will be people (of all ages) you haven’t heard of, Humans of New York-style. (Check out all the Oldster interviews…)

Here, Lambda Literary Award-winning Kamikaze Lust author Lauren Sanders responds. -Sari Botton

PS If you’re enjoying the work I do here at Oldster, please consider supporting it by becoming a paid subscriber. 🙏

Subscribe now

Lauren Sanders (she/they) is the author of the novel Kamikaze Lust, which won a 2000 Lambda Literary Award and was reissued this fall in a 25th anniversary edition. Her other novels include With or Without You (a finalist for the Lambda Literary Award) and The Book of Love and Hate. Short fiction, reviews, rants, etc. have appeared in various publications. By day she runs editorial and digital strategy for a national foundation working in education and the arts. She lives in the nation of Brooklyn with her partner and oldster staffie mix, Maverick.

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How old are you?

60, now half way into my 61st spin round the planet.

Is there another age you associate with yourself in your mind? If so, what is it? And why, do you think?

Sometimes I’m 40, sometimes way older when I’m feeling wise (and wizened!). I tend not to get ahead of my own number too much. Around certain people I can instantly snap back to 10, always 10, before I got my period and just wanted to ride my skateboard. Depending on who’s the catalyst, this can either enlighten or enrage.

Aging has become part of my identity in a way that I like. In a culture that purrs and pores over youth, it’s difficult to think about aging until you’re forced to. I should use I here, not the collective you. It’s like any privilege: fish don’t feel the water they’re swimming in. But once you do you can’t swim away, or you can go back undercover, but I’ve never been that kind of person.

Do you feel old for your age? Young for your age? Just right? Are you in step with your peers?

I believe I am what my 60 is supposed to be. I feel fortunate to be living New York City. Coming up on my elder-dyke years surrounded by so many glorious queers of all ages, and other creative folk—lucky too that so many of us are still here on planet earth, and creativity feels less monopolizing. We’re more expansive, if a bit cleaner. I feel very much in step with this group whether someone’s number is 15 or 105. I do often find myself the oldest person in a room by at least a decade, and I’m just one of the guys.

What do you like about being your age?

It is true what people say, and many others have said a version of it in this very questionnaire: I just don’t give as many fucks. Or I choose what fucks to give. And that is the sweetest freedom. I was a bit of a rebel youngster. Sex and drugs and rock and roll. I thought that was freedom, then realized it was its own kind of conformity. Truth is, I was terrified of everything and pretending not be afraid of anything. Now I’m more clear about what scares me, what deserves my attention and what doesn’t, what I need to be free. It’s a work in progress.

I will say, too, that it’s fun being a mentor to younger folks. At work, with friends, writing stuff…I’m always kind of shocked when people come to me for advice or an ear, like, wait, I’m just a kid, what do I know?

Sometimes I’m 40, sometimes way older when I’m feeling wise (and wizened!). I tend not to get ahead of my own number too much. Around certain people I can instantly snap back to 10, always 10, before I got my period and just wanted to ride my skateboard. Depending on who’s the catalyst, this can either enlighten or enrage.

What is difficult about being your age?

The vagaries of inhabiting this time-bound body. I can’t really drink red wine or eat fried food without inviting trouble. I need a good seven hours of sleep to function and it can be hard to come by. Time blows the mind, too. How are we still fighting the same battles we were fighting decades ago? Will I still be here when the tide turns back in our favor? My sadness is more existentially profound, even as I feel personally less sad than ever.

What is surprising about being your age, or different from what you expected, based on what you were told?

“You are an old lady…you are invisible.” In my 20s, after I came out allover the place, I was obsessed with lesbians in Paris between the wars. Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas, okay, but Djuna Barnes, Natalie Barney, Janet Flanner—they were so glamorous and sexy and sad, some of them very sad (hello, Dolly Wilde). By their 60s they were portrayed as old hags, forgive my slur there, because what’s on the record of so many of them is they ended up heartbroken and depraved and broke and lonely. So by that old logic, 60 and dyke = destitute and alone. If you were lucky you died young or canceled yourself back to the shadows.

But 60 and dyke for me feels rich in life and experience and love and community. I never had a picture for this, and sometimes feel like we’re still inventing it as we go.

What has aging given you? Taken away from you?

It’s cliche, OK, but the smarts are real. I make decisions faster and they’re better decisions. I’m a good listener. I’m more patient with complex situations and concepts and people. I don’t get absorbed in drama or nonsense as easily.

Real too is the energy lag. The years have put a premium on my “good hours” in the day. I’ve always been a morning person. But now, if I miss the morning writing I’ll spin my wheels a bit more to get things done throughout the day. I also had to let go of running (the knees!) and hot yoga (the sinuses!) and I haven’t really found a good replacement for either.

Time blows the mind. How are we still fighting the same battles we were fighting decades ago? Will I still be here when the tide turns back in our favor? My sadness is more existentially profound, even as I feel personally less sad than ever.

How has getting older affected your sense of yourself, or your identity?

Aging has become part of my identity in a way that I like. In a culture that purrs and pores over youth, it’s difficult to think about aging until you’re forced to. I should use I here, not the collective you. It’s like any privilege: fish don’t feel the water they’re swimming in. But once you do you can’t swim away, or you can go back undercover, but I’ve never been that kind of person. What’s great is I’ve lost the debilitating notes of comparison I used to obsess over in my 20s, 30s, 40s—it’s incredible how much of society I’d internalized while thinking I was raging against it. I’ve let go of most of that and really do see myself growing into the kind of impish elder I’ve always admired.

What are some age-related milestones you are looking forward to? Or ones you “missed,” and might try to reach later, off-schedule, according to our culture and its expectations?

Carol Kane in Between the Temples goes back to get her Bat Mitzvah at 70 and falls in love with her much younger cantor. It’s mutual. It’s sweet and it’s sexy. Everyone disapproves. Kane wears so well this sense of everything in its time. Imagine, something you’re supposed to do at 13 she doesn’t get to do it or want to do it until she’s 70. Of course it comes with this whole other reward! I did a lot of those cultural milestones “on time,” for better or worse. I had a Bat Mitzvah and went to my stupid high school prom with a dude who was nice enough. When I’m 70 I’d love to take my partner to the prom.

What has been your favorite age so far, and why? Would you go back to this age if you could?

35 was pretty great. I published my first novel, Kamikaze Lust, and, with two other writers who’d also published on small presses, rented a minivan and toured across the country. We dressed up femme, which was amazing for a tomboy like me. To wear dresses in a way that felt like performance or creative drag, instead of something that was thrust upon me so hard I’d tantrum for hours, all of the adults like, what is wrong with her? We did readings in sex shops, comic shops, dance clubs, anarchist bookstores. We made a techno CD (how Gen X is that!). I was single in a way that for the first time in my life felt deliberate, like possibility, also not like it was thrust upon me because square peg, round hole. We’re doing a 25th anniversary edition of my book now and it’s powerful looking at it with all of this in the rearview.

What’s great is I’ve lost the debilitating notes of comparison I used to obsess over in my 20s, 30s, 40s—it’s incredible how much of society I’d internalized while thinking I was raging against it. I’ve let go of most of that and really do see myself growing into the kind of impish elder I’ve always admired.

Is there someone who is older than you, who makes growing older inspiring to you? Who is your aging idol and why?

This changes of course, but these days: Carol Kane (see milestones above)! Nikki Giovanni was an inspiration. Not just her writing but her unstoppable vitality. This stellar white-haired lady who unabashedly loved where she came from and her people. She wanted to go to Mars as much as she loathed the current president, and she was so vocal about all of it (see not giving AF above). Eileen Myles, though maybe they’d not be happy being mentioned in this context. They’re about a decade ahead of me and always tearing down walls. They could never be impersonated by AI. That’s the kind of queer elderness I’m gunning for.

Also, I have to give a shoutout to my parents who are both 84 this year and still have a more active social life, travel life, cultural life than anyone I know.

What aging-related adjustments have you recently made, style-wise, beauty-wise, health-wise?

I get highlights in my hair every four or five months, but I’ve been doing that since my late 30s. I spend a lot of time at the beach now, so that enhances the aging surfer effect, though my partner is the surfer (and a writer too!). I love paddle boarding, and I can see myself doing it forever. I take more vitamins and supplements and watch my protein and fiber. I’m on HRT which is a whole topic onto itself. Some people say you should taper off at 60, but I think it’s helping my energy levels and my sleep, two biggies for me. As a ghostly Ashkenazi Jew I always wear sunscreen.

What’s an aging-related adjustment you refuse to make, and why?

I will not say no to an excellent glass of red wine or a sour IPA on the beach or a cocktail shaken by a beautiful dyke with nerdy glasses and tattooed forearms. I’ve always worn sensible shoes (lesbians rule!) but will never give up my platform Fluevogs.

What turn of events had the biggest impact on your life? What took your life in a different direction, for better or worse?

Whew, this a tough question! OK, when I was about 11 we moved from one part of the town I grew up in in Long Island to another. Somehow I remember saying to myself with that move, it’s time to like boys now. That lasted at least a decade until I admitted that the hetero part of me was experimentation while the homo part was more fundamental. Around that time I also decided that I was not going to law school, a big deal in my family of lawyers and doctors. So I studied journalism and tried working as a journalist for a bit but started writing a novel about sex and sexuality and identity, and so when I started coming out to everyone, because it’s always a process, it was a defiantly queer and creative moment. The two elements have been inseparable for me ever since.

What is your number one regret in life? If you could do it all over again, what is the biggest thing you’d do differently?

I have been working on not having regrets and reshaping the things I still feel shame and embarrassment and pain over. I can go down a depression spiral where I regret everything I’ve ever done from my earliest memories of feeling like a misfit everywhere. These days I’m thinking about it like this: I wish I had said yes to some of the things I’d said no to and no to some where I said yes.

When I was about 11 we moved from one part of the town I grew up in in Long Island to another. Somehow I remember saying to myself with that move, it’s time to like boys now. That lasted at least a decade until I admitted that the hetero part of me was experimentation while the homo part was more fundamental. Around that time I also decided that I was not going to law school, a big deal in my family of lawyers and doctors.

What is high up on your “bucket list?” What do you hope to achieve, attain, or plain enjoy before you die?

I have never been an extremely goal-oriented person, for better or worse. Wait, let me explain: I’m good with goals when they’re tangible like finishing a task, even one as torturously long as writing a book. I’m not so good at life planning. Whenever someone asks where do you see yourself in five years, the floor drops out from under me. So the idea of a bucket list makes me anxious. But honestly five, ten, twenty years from now let me just read and love and write and scream at injustice, go out on my paddle board, maybe see some other parts of the world, just do more life.

Is there a piece of advice you were given, that you live by? If so, what was it, and who offered it to you?

My brilliant therapist once deadpanned, “Your partner’s always going to do shit that drives you crazy.” Or as my lovely partner likes to joke, don’t sweat the small stuff. Opening yourself up to another person, to other people, can be the most beautiful, life-affirming experience. It just takes a bit to get out of your own way sometimes.

I have been working on not having regrets and reshaping the things I still feel shame and embarrassment and pain over. I can go down a depression spiral where I regret everything I’ve ever done from my earliest memories of feeling like a misfit everywhere. These days I’m thinking about it like this: I wish I had said yes to some of the things I’d said no to and no to some where I said yes.

What are your plans for your body when you’re done using it? Burial? Cremation? Body Farm? Other?

I always thought I would be cremated and spread over a body of water, back to my coastal roots. But the carbon footprint on cremation is pretty intense and apparently the ashes are not so great in natural environments. I remember when we buried my paternal grandmother. It was a Jewish funeral parlor so they did Jewish burials—no embalming, no fancy clothes, a pine casket. Sometimes there’s no casket. You go out as you came in, said the undertaker. I guess we’re now calling this a “green burial.” You’re basically compost. I love that idea. To spring back to earth as milkweed or aster or a spicebush.

How do you feel about dying? And what do you expect to happen to your “soul” or “spirit” after you die?

I think about this question a lot in the context of writing fiction, novels particularly because to create characters over hundreds of pages you’ve got to know what they think about things, the inner-workings of their neuroses. In the novel I’m working on now there’s this conversation between two lovers and one says the saddest thing about dying is that when there’s no more me, there’s no more you. “Are you sure?” says the other. And that’s it: none of us really has a clue. I hope there’s something more for my soul in the next world. Maybe that’s one for the bucket list!

What’s your philosophy on celebrating birthdays as an adult? How do you celebrate yours?

Do it! For both 50 and 60 I made a big deal. Friends traveled in, several folks gathered around food and drink and merriment. Karaoke, of course, though I’m 100% tone-deaf. That’s real friendship, right? I’m already thinking about 70. On the off years, less elaborate but always observed. I try to not work on my birthday, make it a floating holiday.

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Tommy Swerdlow is a screenwriter, director, novelist and actor. He wrote the movie Cool Runnings and co-wrote other family films including Little Giants, Snow Dogs, and more recently Dr. Seuss’ The Grinch, and Puss In Boots: The Last Wish, which was nominated for an animation Oscar. His film A Thousand Junkies, which he directed, co-wrote and co-stars in, premiered at the 2017 TriBeCa Film Festival (It can be watched for free on Amazon Prime and elsewhere). His work in television includes the series Brutally Normal (WB 2000) which he co-wrote and co-created. His acting credits include Real Genius, Hamburger Hill, Howard the Duck, Child’s Play and Spaceballs.

His first novel Straight Dope was published by Stark House Press in July of 2021. He writes a Substack called Feel The Rhythm , which is a mash-up of autobiography, chronicle, food writing, poetry and...

Tommy is from New York City. He moved to LA in 1983 and has lived there ever since.

—

How old are you, and how long have you been in recovery?

I’m 63 and I’ve been clean for fifteen years.

How did you get there?

Well, that depends on what is meant by “there.” I got to the program long before I got sober and served for years as the poster child for unwillingness. It wasn’t even that I would relapse, it was that I couldn’t/wouldn’t stop using. I’m not sure why I even went to meetings (which I did on and off for fifteen years before getting clean), but I think there were two reasons: 1. Some part of me wanted to live a life of hope and light. 2. Another part liked sitting there strung out and being a very bad boy.

One of the things that fucked me up was that I got successful writing movies in the early 90s (I was writing family films with a dope habit, which goes to show that your heart can stay wholesome even when your behavior isn’t). This was not helpful as it inflated both my bank account and my ego. I was stubborn, willful and convinced I was a little junkie genius. Oh man, was I wrong.

By the early 2000s the screenwriting career was gone. I had a young son I was no kind of father to and a wife to whom I was even less of a husband (she was also an addict but far less wayward than I). At that point I had been injecting drugs into a huge open wound on my right shin for years as I had no veins elsewhere. I would cover the wound in a green chlorophyll salve and keep it bandaged, then unwrap the bandages to shoot up in it, then wrap it back up again; wrapping and unwrapping multiple times a day for years. It was total madness, the self-mutilation project as strong as the drug pull. More than once I woke up in bed with ants swarming my leg like an Amazonian nightmare, but I accepted it as the price of doing business. This was my life. There was no way out.

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In 2007, I got endocarditis, which is an infection of the heart valve. I may have not been willing to stop, but my body (or God, the universe, call it what you like) had other ideas. The jig was up! A week later I had open heart surgery. Nine days after that I developed a bleeding ulcer (the blood pouring out from my rectum). They couldn’t clamp it for thirty-six hours and punctured my duodenum in the process. It seemed I might die, but an emergency surgery was performed and I pulled through. Cut from sternum to navel, I was in the hospital for sixty-six days. Forty-four years old, I was convinced my life was over. I was wrong again.

I went home on 180 milligrams of methadone, which is more than advised. With nothing else to lose and nowhere else to go, I began attending Twelve Step meetings in earnest. I was on “the done,” which is not really program-kosher, but a group of addicts from eastside Los Angeles AA embraced me. I put myself in the middle of the program as they say, and began tapering down and going to two meetings a day. I got a sponsor and called him daily. I went through the steps, took commitments and did the deal.

It took me four years to get off methadone and AA was the center of my life for those years and several after. There is no doubt in my mind that it was the love and community of the program that kept me going and saw me through. And that’s how I got “there,” although I like to think of it as here.

I got to the program long before I got sober and served for years as the poster child for unwillingness. It wasn’t even that I would relapse, it was that I couldn’t/wouldn’t stop using. I’m not sure why I even went to meetings (which I did on and off for fifteen years before getting clean), but I think there were two reasons: 1. Some part of me wanted to live a life of hope and light. 2. Another part liked sitting there strung out and being a very bad boy.

What are the best things about being in recovery?

Being part of the solution and not the problem. When I was using, my addiction loomed over everything. I had a cloud following me around like Pig Pen from the Peanuts cartoon, but the dirt was inside. When I stopped, I literally got clean, or a whole lot cleaner. A good example was when my older brother (who I adored) passed away. I was able to show up for him as a force of love and light and not add on to the tragedy. I’ve also had a great healing in my relationship with my son, which took many years, and has more to do with his forgiveness and beautiful heart than it does any amends I’ve made, living or otherwise. But if I was still using there is no way it could have happened.

Another thing is the compassion it has given me for the struggles of others. I can still be pretty tough on myself, but there isn’t much you can do that I don’t have great empathy for, no matter how deviant, scandalous or tawdry. In fact, the worse it is the more I understand it. And there’s been huge joy in returning to my body and exercising. I had abused mi cuerpo with malicious intent. To work out and swim and do it with purpose and consistency feels like a daily investment in sanity. The physical equivalent of writing a thousand words a day (I don’t really write a thousand words a day, but I like the way that sounded).

And lastly, it’s just a huge relief to not be involved in a self-destruction project of that scale and scope. The time, money, and psychic force it took, all of it toward my darker angels. Don’t get me wrong I still struggle with myself mightily, but now I do it on the ‘natch, and there’s some dignity in that.

I should probably qualify all this by saying I don’t go to many (or basically any) meetings anymore, though almost everyone I know is in a Twelve Step program of some kind. I do live my life based on the principles I learned in AA and when people come to me with troubles, as they often do, I tell them to go to meetings be it AA, DA, SLAA, Alanon, the works. Just don’t ask me to go with you because I’ll probably say “no.”

What’s hard about being in recovery?

I don’t find being sober hard in any way. Maybe it’s because my consequences were so extreme, but I don’t get cravings and drugs have no appeal as a solution to discomfort. Sex, food, procrastination and especially self-loathing are substances I still indulge in, but not drugs. Also, I’m not in meetings so whatever might drive me a little crazy about the program and the people in it, doesn’t.

But I’ll tell you what is difficult and been coming down especially hard lately, and that is all the things that were lost, delayed or deformed due to my addiction. I know it couldn’t have gone down any other way and I am grateful for the ass-kicking I took, and the ways it humbled me, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I am a little haunted by what happened. 25-44, the center cut years of my life, dedicated to keeping high and staying “well.” A complete and total surrender, but in the wrong direction. I’m not full of regret as much as confusion and grief. Luckily, I’m still here and my story, with all its chapters, and chapters yet to come, continues. (I just thought about all the sober people reading this and thinking, “This cat needs a meeting bad!” You’re probably right.)

One of the things that fucked me up was that I got successful writing movies in the early 90s (I was writing family films with a dope habit, which goes to show that your heart can stay wholesome even when your behavior isn’t). This was not helpful as it inflated both my bank account and my ego. I was stubborn, willful and convinced I was a little junkie genius. Oh man, was I wrong. By the early 2000s the screenwriting career was gone. I had a young son I was no kind of father to and a wife to whom I was even less of a husband (she was also an addict but far less wayward than I).

How has your character changed? What’s better about you?

I’m much nicer. I used to be a bit of a cocky jerk and judgmental asshole, but there’s nothing like a twenty-year heroin habit to knock some of the snot nose out of you. Like I said earlier I have more acceptance for the vagaries of others and do not judge harshly except when it comes to matters of artistic taste. In others words, I accept you for exactly who you are but if you don’t have a subscription the Criterion Channel we have nothing to talk about.

It’s funny, I just went on a big spiel about time lost to addiction, but when I answer this question, I realize it was probably all for the best. I would be so different if I spent the last forty years sequestered in the warm, swagged-out bosom of the film industry; spending all my time around my fellow cinematic winners, getting the good treatment and living that rarified life. I like that I know what it is to stand on line at the methadone clinic. That I can relate as much to a skid row junky as I can to some so-called successful type, and probably more. Addiction and recovery have been good for my soul and world view. There is so much wisdom in struggle if we can let it open our hearts and not harden them. I know mine is far more open than it used to be and I plan to keep heading that way.

What do you still need to work on? What “character defects” do you still wrestle with?

I still wrestle with a lot of stuff, but this question is for everyone, not just folks in recovery. What recovery does is give you an opportunity to grow that most don’t get. They haven’t been blessed with bottoming out, so they just play it as it lays and keep on going. We screwed up so bad we were forced to look in the mirror and find out what’s really going on, or at least a little more of it.

As for personal struggles, I still grapple with the same things I always have, and I think number one is my perception of reality. I am hardwired to think I am in trouble or have done something wrong. That one is very old and sneaky, but I am aware of it. Sometimes being aware is the best I can do.

Also, I still have trouble with discipline and structure and must guard mine very carefully. I’m 63, so have to be realistic about what I can change and what I can’t. The great mystery of sobriety is the third part of the serenity prayer (The wisdom to know the difference). Knowing when to accept what you can’t change and when to change what you can and the fluid dance between the two. That’s some graduate program shit right there.

I like that I know what it is to stand on line at the methadone clinic. That I can relate as much to a skid row junky as I can to some so-called successful type, and probably more. Addiction and recovery have been good for my soul and world view. There is so much wisdom in struggle if we can let it open our hearts and not harden them. I know mine is far more open than it used to be and I plan to keep heading that way.

What’s the best recovery memoir you’ve ever read? Tell us what you liked about it.

I haven’t read many. I did read Permanent Midnight by (who I know, and know answered this questionnaire) and dug it. I know there are a lot of good ones, I just haven’t read ‘em. Some of the best writing about recovery I have read is a substack called “Notes from Treatment.” The writer is “” which seems fitting.

What are some memorable sober moments?

I would say sobriety is much more of a full game than a highlight reel. We “trudge” the road of happy destiny, we don’t do a Gene Kelly Singin’ in the Rain dance routine. That being said I have a lot of moments where I think, “This is pretty fucking good.” Sometimes I’ll just sit on the porch of my old craftsman shack, shelling fresh beans and listening to Coleman Hawkins and I just have to laugh at how it all turned out. Of course, twenty minutes later I realize my life is a complete disaster.

One great moment was doing a Q&A at the Tribeca Film Festival in 2017 for a film I had directed called A Thousand Junkies. I was up there with my co-writer/co-star and my other co-star. We had all met in recovery and somehow been able to take the lead of our addiction and turn it into the gold of story-telling. The film took four years to complete and there were endless opportunities to quit (something addicts are very good at). Seeing that project through changed my life, inside and out.

I still have trouble with discipline and structure and must guard mine very carefully. I’m 63, so have to be realistic about what I can change and what I can’t. The great mystery of sobriety is the third part of the serenity prayer (The wisdom to know the difference). Knowing when to accept what you can’t change and when to change what you can and the fluid dance between the two. That’s some graduate program shit right there.

Are you in therapy? On meds? Tell us about that.

No meds except for my ticker. As for therapy, no, not on the regular anymore, but I do check in with my “parts” mechanic if I need a tune up. I had a great fantasy that Adderall would change my life and give me the work ethic of Tolstoy. I tried one tablet and realized writing Russian literature was not in my future.

What sort of activities or groups do you participate in to help your recovery? (i.e. swimming, 12-step, meditation, et cetera)

I do swim as I mentioned, and I also cook as a daily meditation. I shop at the farmer’s market in Hollywood with religious devotion and great attention to detail and then cook what I buy, usually very simply, and it gives me a real sense of peace, purpose and connection. I also talk to fellow addicts and have some very close friends who are elders and wisemen. Recovery (with all its nuances, mysteries and potholes) is the baseline of these friendships along with jazz and anything else that reminds us that we’re alive, kicking and all still curious as hell.

Are there any questions we haven’t asked you that you think we should add to this? And would you like to answer it?

No. Besides, you’re dealing with addicts. A real addict (in recovery or not) is going to find a way to say what they want, whether you ask them the right questions or not.

Previously took The Oldster Magazine Questionnaire (and it’s a particularly good one). Check out his newsletter, .

With thanks, as always, to A.J. Daulerio and at for the collaboration. Check out the whole Sober Oldster series.

P.S. Check out ’s Etsy shop, where she has beautiful greeting cards and posters for sale.

Sometimes you’ll find responses from writers, musicians, and artists you’ve heard of—like Kate Pierson, Neko Case, Rosie O’Donnell, Ava Duvernay, Jerry Saltz, Lucy Sante, Ricki Lake, Hilma Wolitzer, Elizabeth Gilbert, Judith Viorst, Cheryl Strayed, Deesha Philyaw, Chloe Caldwell, etc.—but more often it will be people (of all ages) you haven’t heard of, Humans of New York-style. (Check out all the Oldster interviews…)

Here, makeup artist, entrepreneur, memoirist, and newsletter author responds. -Sari Botton

PS If you’re enjoying the work I do here at Oldster, please consider supporting it by becoming a paid subscriber. 🙏

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Bobbi Brown is a renowned makeup artist and entrepreneur, best selling author, sought after speaker, beauty industry icon, and a hotelier. She founded two successful cosmetic brands: Bobbi Brown Cosmetics and more recently created the clean beauty brand Jones Road. She also envisioned and now operates The George Hotel in Montclair, NJ.

Bobbi made the TIME100 “Most Influential People in the World” list and was also named one of Fortune’s Most Powerful Women and Forbes’ “50 Over 50” Most Influential Women. She has received the Glamour Woman of the Year Award, The Fashion Group International Night of Stars Beauty Award, and The Jackie Robinson Foundation’s ROBIE Humanitarian Award.

She was appointed to serve on the Advisory Committee for Trade Policy and has been inducted into the New Jersey Hall of Fame.

She received a BFA from Emerson College and holds honorary doctorates from Montclair State University, Fashion Institute of Technology, Monmouth University, and Emerson College.

She recently published her first memoir, Still Bobbi: A Master Class in Resilience and Reinvention.

--

How old are you?

I’m 68 years old.

Is there another age you associate with yourself in your mind? If so, what is it? And why, do you think?

Probably somewhere in my late 20s or early 30s. I don’t feel my age at all, and I’m told I don’t act it either. I’m still working hard, nowhere near thinking about slowing down. I work out, stay active, and love spending time with family and friends. I don’t see myself slowing down anytime soon.

Do you feel old for your age? Young for your age? Just right? Are you in step with your peers?

I’m not exactly sure what I feel, but I know I feel good. Age doesn’t really matter. Everyone moves at their own pace. I like to think I’m doing what’s best for me. I just wrapped up a 10-city book tour, and people keep asking how I managed it. Honestly, I’m not sure either. I just keep going.

Honestly, I’ve been loving my 60s. My 50s were a lot of fun too, but my 60s have brought grandkids, a new brand, my first memoir, plenty of travel, family memories, honors, and more than I ever imagined. I’m fully living in these years.

What do you like about being your age?

With age comes opportunity. Every year older comes another year of knowledge, perspectives, and ideas. When you age, you care a lot less about what others think, and more about what makes you happy. Plus, a bonus is finally becoming a grandma. Watching my sons grow, and now having my grandkids is one of the best parts of this age. Grandma BB is one of my favorite titles.

What is difficult about being your age?

I don’t see age as an obstacle at all. I was 59 when I left my namesake brand, and I had no idea what I was going to do. I launched Jones Road at 63 years old. Age isn’t supposed to slow you down.

What is surprising about being your age, or different from what you expected, based on what you were told?

For me, it’s that I don’t feel my age, and I don’t think I look my age all the time. Of course, the changes that happen naturally are a little surprising. But, it doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing.

Sometimes I look in the mirror and think ‘Oh my gosh, who is that?’ and other days I’m like ‘Wow, I look good’. Every day has its own surprises.

I don’t see age as an obstacle at all. I was 59 when I left my namesake brand, and I had no idea what I was going to do. I launched Jones Road at 63 years old. Age isn’t supposed to slow you down.

How has getting older affected your sense of yourself, or your identity?

I’m nearly 70 but I never think about my age. No one’s going to make me stop, and I don’t need to retire. I just need to recharge more. I don’t think about my age; everyone else is thinking about it, so maybe I should relax a little bit.

What has been your favorite age so far, and why? Would you go back to this age if you could?

Honestly, I’ve been loving my 60s. My 50s were a lot of fun too, but my 60s have brought grandkids, a new brand, my first memoir, plenty of travel, family memories, honors, and more than I ever imagined. I’m fully living in these years.

Is there someone who is older than you, who makes growing older inspiring to you? Who is your aging idol and why?

My dad and my Aunt Alice. My dad is 90 years old, but never lets it slow him down. He takes boxing classes, loves to dance, and is a great artist. My Aunt Alice is just as inspiring. At 94, she is still full of life and personality. She always has her hair and makeup done, and fully lives every day to its fullest.

What aging-related adjustments have you recently made, style-wise, beauty-wise, health-wise?

The truth is, I’m wearing less makeup today than I ever did, and so are the models who I’m making up in my chair. That transparent, naturally beautiful look feels more modern right now than a full face of makeup. But, of course, I feel better with just enough makeup. A little enhancement goes a long way.

What’s an aging-related adjustment you refuse to make, and why?

Retiring. I don’t think I ever will. I love to work, and when I’m not working, I wish I was.

What turn of events had the biggest impact on your life? What took your life in a different direction, for better or worse?

Leaving my namesake brand was one of the hardest decisions I had to make. To be honest it was was the bravest decision I’ve made. I had no clue if it would be successful, or how far it would go. But I had a vision and a belief, and I knew it was something I wanted to do. Don’t be afraid to take a risk.

The truth is, I’m wearing less makeup today than I ever did, and so are the models who I’m making up in my chair. That transparent, naturally beautiful look feels more modern right now than a full face of makeup. But, of course, I feel better with just enough makeup. A little enhancement goes a long way.

What is your number one regret in life? If you could do it all over again, what is the biggest thing you’d do differently?

I don’t have any regrets in life.. And I don’t believe in failures. Being a business founder is all about taking risks, and learning from them. I’ve taken plenty of chances, and while some may see hiccups as mistakes, I see them as lessons. They teach you how to do it better next time.

What is high up on your “bucket list?” What do you hope to achieve, attain, or plain enjoy before you die?

I would love to see my grandchildren/future grandchildren happy and would love to be at their wedding.

Is there a piece of advice you were given, that you live by? If so, what was it, and who offered it to you?

Leonard Lauder once told me ‘Never ask for permission; beg for forgiveness if you have to.’ And that really stuck. From my first lipstick launch at a department store counter to starting Jones Road during a pandemic, I’ve learned you can’t wait for approval. You just have to trust your instincts, take the leap, and deal with whatever comes next.

Leonard Lauder once told me ‘Never ask for permission; beg for forgiveness if you have to.’ And that really stuck. From my first lipstick launch at a department store counter to starting Jones Road during a pandemic, I’ve learned you can’t wait for approval. You just have to trust your instincts, take the leap, and deal with whatever comes next.

What are some age-related milestones you are looking forward to? Or ones you “missed,” and might try to reach later, off-schedule, according to our culture and its expectations?

Though I never plan to retire, I would love to know what it feels like one day to have nothing on my calendar.

What’s your philosophy on celebrating birthdays as an adult? How do you celebrate yours?

Birthdays deserve to be celebrated. I like to spend mine with my family. Recently, I’ve been spending my birthday week with my crew in the Bahamas. It’s the perfect opportunity to relax and decompress from always being on the go. But honestly, I’d be happy wherever they are.

Check out all the Oldster interviews…

Sometimes you’ll find responses from writers, musicians, and artists you’ve heard of—like Kate Pierson, Neko Case, Rosie O’Donnell, Ava Duvernay, Jerry Saltz, Lucy Sante, Ricki Lake, Hilma Wolitzer, Elizabeth Gilbert, Judith Viorst, Cheryl Strayed, Deesha Philyaw, Chloe Caldwell, etc.—but more often it will be people (of all ages) you haven’t heard of, Humans of New York-style. (Check out all the Oldster interviews…)

Here, poet and memoirist responds. -Sari Botton

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Judith Barrington is a writer who has published eight books: five collections of poetry, two memoirs and a text about writing memoir. She has taught writing at numerous universities and workshops in the U.S., U.K., and Spain. She grew up in England and moved to Oregon in 1976. She lives in Portland with her partner of 46 years.

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How old are you?

81

Is there another age you associate with yourself in your mind? If so, what is it? And why, do you think?

No specific age but I am always surprised to realize how old I have become.

Do you feel old for your age? Young for your age? Just right? Are you in step with your peers?

Young for my age. In step with my peers in my social life, my cognitive abilities, my engagement in my life’s work. I have Charcot-Marie-Tooth disease (CMT), a genetic neuro-muscular degenerative disease which affects my limbs; I use a mobility scooter for any distance longer than a block so I am not “in step” with most of my peers physically. The CMT also affects my daily allotment of energy.

What do you like about being your age?

Contentment. Joyfulness. Gratitude. A feeling of liberation from so much of what preoccupied me for much of my life.

What is difficult about being your age?

The deaths of beloved friends and relatives.

I have Charcot-Marie-Tooth disease (CMT), a genetic neuro-muscular degenerative disease which affects my limbs; I use a mobility scooter for any distance longer than a block so I am not “in step” with most of my peers physically. The CMT also affects my daily allotment of energy.

What is surprising about being your age, or different from what you expected, based on what you were told?

The ability to feel great joy so often. The pleasure of being with old friends. I did not expect that. These last dozen years have been the happiest of my life. I had always bought into the cliches about old people being sad and lonely.

What has aging given you? Taken away from you?

Aging has given me more knowledge. More books to read. More books to write. More discernment about friends. More ability to say NO. Because of my progressive disease, it has taken away my mobility, a clear speaking voice, and the kind of endurance I once took for granted. Age itself has taken away many beloved friends and family members.

How has getting older affected your sense of yourself, or your identity?

I don’t think about a sense of myself very often anymore. I don’t care if I seem eccentric. Being a feminist, a lesbian, a writer—many identities were once very important to me. They are now so deeply embedded in who I am I no longer care if others recognize me in any of those ways.

What are some age-related milestones you are looking forward to? Or ones you “missed,” and might try to reach later, off-schedule, according to our culture and its expectations?

I’ve led an unconventional life that did not contain the usual “milestones,” (or even alternative ones) so I don’t think in those terms.

Aging has given me more knowledge. More books to read. More books to write. More discernment about friends. More ability to say NO. Because of my progressive disease, it has taken away my mobility, a clear speaking voice, and the kind of endurance I once took for granted. Age itself has taken away many beloved friends and family members.

What has been your favorite age so far, and why? Would you go back to this age if you could?

69—because that year I survived and recovered from a brain bleed that nearly killed me. Every year after that has been gravy. But I wouldn’t go back, even though I lament how fast it’s going by.

Is there someone who is older than you, who makes growing older inspiring to you? Who is your aging idol and why?

I’ve always admired Gloria Steinem, who is ten years older than I, for modeling being 60, then 70, then 80, now 90, showing us all that you can continue to live a meaningful and generous life as you grow old.

Also Carlos Reyes, 90-year-old Irish poet.

What aging-related adjustments have you recently made, style-wise, beauty-wise, health-wise?

All my adjustments are health-related. I use a mobility scooter (I have a minivan with an electric lift so I can drive myself and manage the mobility scooter on my own). I am considering a lightweight wheelchair to make it easier to take an Uber or Lyft. I only go to restaurants with comfortable chairs and no loud music. I mostly make lunch dates instead of dinner dates. I do water aerobics three times a week.

What’s an aging-related adjustment you refuse to make, and why?

I won’t describe myself as “retired.” I published a book last year; I have been a writer my entire adult life and will continue to write even if my hands give out. (Computer dictation.)

I don’t think about a sense of myself very often anymore. I don’t care if I seem eccentric. Being a feminist, a lesbian, a writer—many identities were once very important to me. They are now so deeply embedded in who I am I no longer care if others recognize me in any of those ways.

What turn of events had the biggest impact on your life? What took your life in a different direction, for better or worse?

My parents drowned in a cruise-ship disaster when I was 19. I have no doubt my life would have been completely different if that had not happened. Its impact lasted through much of my adulthood. I was too young to have the emotional resources to grieve when it happened and it took me a long time and much therapy and other support to finally be able to grieve that huge loss.

What is your number one regret in life? If you could do it all over again, what is the biggest thing you’d do differently?

I would have found a way to continue riding horses and having relationships with them.

What is high up on your “bucket list?” What do you hope to achieve, attain, or plain enjoy before you die?

I want to make an audio book of my last published book, Virginia’s Apple. But I am not a “bucket list” person—I have never made lists of what I wanted to do or achieve. Every day presents new opportunities, new vistas, new wisdom. The most important thing to me now is to be with my life partner and enjoy every day as it comes.

Is there a piece of advice you were given, that you live by? If so, what was it, and who offered it to you?

As a poet, I was familiar with Mary Oliver’s work before it passed into mainstream culture. I loved this quote and still do, even though it’s become a common meme: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

I won’t describe myself as “retired.” I published a book last year; I have been a writer my entire adult life and will continue to write even if my hands give out. (Computer dictation.)

What are your plans for your body when you’re done using it? Burial? Cremation? Body Farm? Other?

My partner and I each plan to be cremated. We purchased a “plot” in the Chestnut Grove Memorial Garden, part of the historic Lone Fir Cemetery a few blocks from our house where we have walked our dogs and walked with friends almost daily for the fifty years we’ve lived here. We like that it has been a cemetery for everyone from the city “fathers” to the inmates of an insane asylum, and the Chinese railroad workers, going back to the mid-1850s. It is a beautiful old cemetery that is considered to be a major arboretum.

How do you feel about dying? And what do you expect to happen to your “soul” or “spirit” after you die?

I hope to live on in the good I’ve done while alive; I hope my writing lives on. I am not afraid to die although I hope I have many good years left.

My parents drowned in a cruise-ship disaster when I was 19. I have no doubt my life would have been completely different if that had not happened. Its impact lasted through much of my adulthood. I was too young to have the emotional resources to grieve when it happened and it took me a long time and much therapy and other support to finally be able to grieve that huge loss.

What’s your philosophy on celebrating birthdays as an adult? How do you celebrate yours?

Birthdays have always been important to me. I now celebrate mine every year by going out to a nice dinner with my partner and sometimes other friends. I enjoy getting cards and email messages and even phone calls from family and good friends. It’s important to me to mark it. I had a big party for my 50^th and also for my 70^th. Maybe I’ll have one for my 90^th.

Check out all the Oldster interviews…

Sometimes you’ll find responses from writers, musicians, and artists you’ve heard of—like Kate Pierson, Neko Case, Rosie O’Donnell, Ava Duvernay, Jerry Saltz, Lucy Sante, Ricki Lake, Hilma Wolitzer, Elizabeth Gilbert, Judith Viorst, Cheryl Strayed, Deesha Philyaw, Chloe Caldwell, etc.—but more often it will be people (of all ages) you haven’t heard of, Humans of New York-style. (Check out all the Oldster interviews…)

Here, author John Sunderland responds. -Sari Botton

PS If you’re enjoying the work I do here at Oldster, please consider supporting it by becoming a paid subscriber. 🙏 Through New Year’s Eve (TODAY), save 20% for life on annual paid subscriptions.

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Yorkshire-born John Sunderland was a museum designer, animator, art director for film, and is currently a book illustrator, painter, and author. He became a freelance designer, filmmaker, and animator creating the iconic mascot Dusty Bin for Yorkshire Television’s hit game show 3-2-1 and collaborating with British comedy legend Kenny Everett.

In 1981, he was appointed Project Designer of Jorvik Viking Centre in York, envisioning and designing the ground-breaking, first experiential museum that changed cultural heritage interpretation forever. Over the next three decades, John designed 24 award-winning museums and cultural heritage centers worldwide and completed more than 150 international consultancy projects. He documented his creative process in detail, producing 160 journals now preserved at the Borthwick Institute for Archives, University of York.

In 2014 John published On My Way to Jorvik, a humorous memoir about his unconventional journey from Yorkshire schoolboy to radical museum designer of Jorvik Viking Centre. His latest memoir, The Last Shepherd’s Dog and Other Stories from a Rural Spanish Village High and Hidden in the Costa Blanca Mountains, was published in November.

—

How old are you?

75 and counting (I hope).

Is there another age you associate with yourself in your mind? If so, what is it? And why, do you think?

Between 30 and 50, but honestly, I identify with whatever the current age and season of life I’m living in at the time. It’s all been inspiring and miraculous. Actually, another life began for me at 70 when I realized that I felt just as alive as I did 30 years before. A main reason for that was my creativity remained at full strength. I thought that it would change, and my muse could get a sulk on by moving to different parts of the world. But even with change of age and situation, I express myself using different materials relating to where I live, like carving walking sticks from local wood from the mountainside.

I remember walking over the Williamsburg Bridge to Manhattan from Ridgewood, Queens, where we lived, one day in 2010. I was about to turn 60. This old chap ran past me and other people walking. He was wearing some sort of crazy outfit, with a sign on his back which read, “Life Begins at 70.” I remember thinking how grateful I will be to make it to 70. And here I am still kicking, just like him.

Do you feel old for your age? Young for your age? Just right? Are you in step with your peers?

I had come close to dying and was extremely fortunate to have had heart surgery which I desperately needed at the Beth Israel Hospital in Boston. The year was 2001 and at the time I was living on Cape Cod, in the town of Provincetown. For a time, I thought 51, my age that year, was as far as I was meant to go. So, every year since I feel has been an extra bonus.

I feel completely at one with my current age of 75, and proud to have lived a full life, which continues with my wife and partner Kathy, here in Spain. Apart from the usual aches and pains, life in the right now, especially my creative life, is as thrilling and wonderful as at any time. I just don’t have as large an audience. And I’ll add my doctor told me just about a year ago that if I didn’t change my drinking habit, i.e. attempting to drain Spain of red wine, I wouldn’t need to plan for a retirement home. So, I packed in drinking.

Check out John’s wife Kathy Kirkpatrick’s Oldster Questionnaire:

What do you like about being your age?

The freedom that comes with age. Freedom that comes from knowing, believing in, and being yourself. Another gift comes with your unique panorama of life to look back on and learn from. I am more patient with myself and more understanding of others, accepting imperfections in myself and others. I have been married several times and see each marriage is a unique and extraordinary experience. Can’t speak for my exes though.

What is difficult about being your age?

Losing my toothbrush, searching for it, then finding it in my mouth.

What is surprising about being your age, or different from what you expected, based on what you were told?

Being absolutely gob-smacked to awake each morning to a new day and feel excited by it. Just how amazing it is choosing to get up in the morning, sometimes as early as 5 a.m. when I could sleep in every day until 10, and then discovering there’s a magic kingdom between dreams and reality.

Being surprised of what I am capable of at this age, mentally and physically. I grew up in a society that saw life to all intents and purposes ending at 60—that was it! Life can continue to be enriching and productive, if you choose. It’s like starting out in life with a library of just one book. By the time you’re in your 70s, you have a library of a hundred. That’s a lot of wonderful stories and true-life adventures.

I remember walking over the Williamsburg Bridge to Manhattan from Ridgewood, Queens, where we lived, one day in around 2010. I was about to turn 60. This old chap ran past me and other people walking. He was wearing some sort of crazy outfit, with a sign on his back which read, “Life Begins at 70.” I remember thinking how grateful I will be to make it to 70. And here I am still kicking, just like him.

A major thing was, and is, finding that you can do the seemingly impossible; stop drinking and start life over. You can free yourself of that manacle you didn’t admit you were wearing. It’s a miracle that your life-spirit, forever patient, waited for you to return and joyously opened the door of Life for you again. Honestly, to anyone on the brink of such a dramatic life changing change, do it, take that step. Yes, at first, it’s tough, but that passes quickly, and with every day you stand a little taller. You will amaze yourself; I promise.

I’m surprised by how ageless I feel, how sensuous, how passionate. That love never stops expanding. I and several of my contemporaries have made it to this age in good shape and with our appetites for life intact. I have also found as the sexual flame begins to dim with age for both of you, an increased sense of sensuality takes over.

What surprises, and on the downside, is what senseless and cruel things we are capable of as a species to ourselves and our home planet. It’s just plain stupid! Here we are on our little beautiful planet. Why can’t we be happy? I believe we are visited and always have been and observed by alien civilizations most likely over a long period of time. Possibly we’re like fish in an aquarium to them, or in a zoo, Planet Zoo. They have watched and waited for us to grow and evolve beyond our most base nature. But no, even though we are capable of great things, here we still are, red in tooth and claw! That’s what they see. And it looks as though as a species, we’re planning to export the same bad behavior to other planets and beyond.

A major thing was, and is, finding that you can do the seemingly impossible; stop drinking and start life over. You can free yourself of that manacle you didn’t admit you were wearing. It’s a miracle that your life-spirit, forever patient, waited for you to return and joyously opened the door of Life for you again. Honestly, to anyone on the brink of such a dramatic life changing change, do it, take that step.

What has aging given you? Taken away from you?

A wonderful, unique experience which continues with increased tolerance and empathy. Aging has given me great memories, some wonderful friendships, fantastic opportunities, experiences and adventures. One of my special friends is 80, and he’s still rocking on. I appreciate relationships, especially with children and partners, which made life worth living. And feeling wealthy and blessed with every breath.

Surviving friendships, and new ones, have become more significant in my life.

How has getting older affected your sense of yourself, or your identity?

I forgive myself. (You wouldn’t believe it though if you heard me cursing the stupid old sod!)

What are some age-related milestones you are looking forward to? Or ones you “missed,” and might try to reach later, off-schedule, according to our culture and its expectations?

Finding a common happy place with some of my children, now middle-aged people. I have five but only one is talking with me at the moment. And truly forgiving my own father.

What has been your favorite age so far, and why? Would you go back to this age if you could?

Honestly, all of it has been my favorite!

I’m surprised by how ageless I feel, how sensuous, how passionate. That love never stops expanding. I and several of my contemporaries have made it to this age in good shape and with our appetites for life intact. I have also found as the sexual flame begins to dim with age for both of you, an increased sense of sensuality takes over.

Is there someone who is older than you, who makes growing older inspiring to you? Who is your aging idol and why?

Before November of 2024, I would have listed Sir David Attenborough, poet Mary Oliver who I knew, artist David Hockney, writer Bill Bryson, and writer Alan Bennett. Right now, on a world stage, it would have to be Bernie Sanders. I lived in America for 14 years; in the context of what’s happening currently to that once luminous country, it has to be him. I appreciate his energy, leadership, sacrifice, and courage.

What aging-related adjustments have you recently made, style-wise, beauty-wise, health-wise?

I can finally enjoy a walk in the hills without my dog Pascual, who passed on two years ago and who I dearly miss. He was a shepherd’s dog, alive to everything around us, and was my sensory extension on our walks around our Spanish village. He’s the central character of my latest book.

Wearing next to nothing and nothing at home in the summer.

Living more simply, seeing God in Nature every day.

Wearing hats, I love hats.

Accepting that although most deafness can’t be cured it can be helped greatly if you wear the right hat!

Patterned handkerchiefs.

Wearing things for comfort like togas and sarongs.

The joy of my penknife and favourite fountain pen, discovering new pens and brushes.

Growing what hair I have left below my shoulders.

Drinking a glass of fresh lemon juice with a pinch of salt, first thing every morning,

Doing weights and exercises at home and at the village Gymnasia session on Monday evenings.

Walking in the local hills and mountains year-round.

Having two studios! That’s my great indulgence; one in the village where I paint, and my studio workspace outdoors at home with a view of Mediterranean Sea and mountains. I feel so very blessed every day as an artist and writer.

What’s an aging-related adjustment you refuse to make, and why?

Giving in to not being able to reach and trim my left foot big toenail! I allow myself to use age as an excuse. And I refuse to become bitter as time passes.

I can finally enjoy a walk in the hills without my dog Pascual, who passed on two years ago and who I dearly miss. He was a shepherd’s dog, alive to everything around us, and was my sensory extension on our walks around our Spanish village. He’s the central character of my latest book.

What turn of events had the biggest impact on your life? What took your life in a different direction, for better or worse?

The day my mother introduced me to her secret man-friend one rainy evening after she’d met me from choir-practice. I was 10 or 11. We met under the bus-station clock. I liked him, he shook my hand. Childhood was never the same for my sister and me after that. We became, shadow-children. It seemed half our lives were lived with mum and him in a secret and private world.

The same man, who later on had a job at the local television station, got me a freelance artwork commission there shortly after leaving art-college. That’s where I created Dusty Bin. That was definitely a life changer.

A revelatory thought which occurred in my 12-year-old mind, as a truant from a double math lesson—after spending time in the local museum, art museum and cinema, an idea popped into my head while walking to choir practice in the rain: “Why can’t museums be more like movies?”

And then, two decades later a collaborator handed me a pamphlet about how archaeologists in York were planning to build an underground museum. It was to house and display finds from their excavation at Coppergate, York, of the Viking era in the city of a thousand years before. That was it—I was off, totally convinced I had some ideas that could create a new and improved kind of museum experience. I told myself one way or another I would get the job. And I did so against all odds as I wasn’t qualified!

The completion of Jorvik Viking Centre and witnessing its ongoing success and popularity launched an unbelievable career. All because I followed my boyhood passion. As I wrote in On My Way to Jorvik, you can achieve extraordinary things if you put your heart, mind, and soul into it. I discovered the universe is alive and listening.

The suicide of someone close to me had a huge and lasting impact.

The completion of Jorvik Viking Centre and witnessing its ongoing success and popularity launched an unbelievable career. All because I followed my boyhood passion. As I wrote in On My Way to Jorvik, you can achieve extraordinary things if you put your heart, mind, and soul into it. I discovered the universe is alive and listening.

What is your number one regret in life? If you could do it all over again, what is the biggest thing you’d do differently?

That my father never kicked a ball around with me. Being the cause of emotional pain in others whilst on the other end of the scale, being blinded by false love and loving too much. Not being able to fully learn Spanish, never mind the local dialect. As a kid, that for no real reason I shot a sparrow with my new air-rifle when I could have used a can for a target. And that I stole a pencil-sharpener from a counter at Woolworths.

What is high up on your “bucket list?” What do you hope to achieve, attain, or plain enjoy before you die?

To continue writing books that people enjoy. Similarly with painting. I’ve written all my career as part of my work. After I retired, in 2014 my first book was published and my second was just published. Before and between those, a book of poetry, three sci-fi novels, and at least one children’s book lay on my shelves. My wife keeps at me to polish them and get them published before I die. Writing magical realism (fiction and memoir based) has opened up a whole new field to me. I love telling stories, making people smile and feel good inside about being a human. It’s just brilliant!

Nudism as way of life, and at home when it’s feasible and warm enough! (Although I do miss pockets.) Creating a painting or story I am fully satisfied with when completed. Ensuring a home for my collection of hand-carved walking sticks, and artwork. I hope that my journals, now housed in the Borthwick Institute, become a well-used educational resource for creative students and people generally.

Is there a piece of advice you were given, that you live by? If so, what was it, and who offered it to you?

“As one door closes another one opens.” Jack, my first father-in-law, said. He was a scrap metal dealer, and lived by that belief.

“Be true to yourself.” My mother said, when in her 60s.

Bucket list item: Nudism as way of life, and at home when it’s feasible and warm enough! (Although I do miss pockets.)

What are your plans for your body when you’re done using it? Burial? Cremation? Body Farm?Other?

My body will be donated to a university here in Spain for medical research.

And what do you expect to happen to your “soul” or “spirit” after you die?

I believe in Infinity and growth of the Soul.

What’s your philosophy on celebrating birthdays as an adult? How do you celebrate yours?

With gratitude, delight, wife, friends, family hopefully, and non-alcoholic beer!

Check out all the Oldster interviews…

Oldster Magazine explores what it means to travel through time in a human body, at every phase of life. It’s a reader-supported publication that pays essayists and interviewers. To support this work, please become a paid subscriber. 🙏 Now through New Year’s (TODAY!!), save 20% off annual subscriptions, for life.

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