This is 52: Emma Tourtelot Responds to The Oldster Magazine Questionnaire
"I’m a middle school librarian, and my students are horrifically bad at guessing my age—sometimes they’ll say 25, sometimes 65."
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, 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, Emma Tourtelot, author of the novel No One You Know, and the newsletter Emmanations responds. -Sari Botton
PS If you’re enjoying the work I do here at Oldster, please consider supporting it by becoming a paid subscriber. 🙏
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. —
—
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 Miranda July), 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.
I love this interview SO much - it spoke to me in so many ways and am in awe of Emma's outlook and approach to work and aging. Love it.
Hair is a signifier for women at any age! Like Emma, I also grew up believing that you had to cut your hair short when you grew up and became a mother. It felt so rebellious to keep my long hair in my early thirties, when my son was born, like the older version of shaving my head when I was 16. Now it's long and streaked with gray, and I wouldn't change a thing.