This is 60: Grant Faulkner Responds to The Oldster Magazine Questionnaire
"I like that I can make grand pronouncements about aging and the human condition with increasing street cred."
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.”
Here, 100 Word Story cofounder, podcaster and author responds.- Sari Botton
Grant Faulkner is the co-founder of 100 Word Story, the co-host the Write-minded podcast, and an executive producer on America’s Next Great Author. He has published several books, including The Art of Brevity: Crafting the Very Short Story and All the Comfort Sin Can Provide, a collection of short stories. He writes the newsletter .
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How old are you?
60 and 45 days.
Is there another age you associate with yourself in your mind? If so, what is it? And why, do you think?
I jog with a group of mostly older adults once a week, and everyone stands in a circle before we run to introduce ourselves to new runners. I love imagining us all as 5-year-olds in circle time right before recess. I love seeing the older faces turn into expectant, eager children, and I become younger as a result.
I thought of myself as 29 for many years. Now, at 60, I’ve somehow inched my way to 37. Why? We age in a strange ratio of years to months. One year might equal just a few months internally. We cling to our own preferred timeline, I suppose, one that is closer to our physical and mental peak, even if Time has snuck in to lay down its rules. Perhaps our minds are wired to think we’re younger than we are in order to still be useful and not get kicked out of our tribe.
Interestingly, I find it impossible to imagine myself as 70 or older. I can’t imagine myself with white hair, even though I now have white in my beard.
I feel young because I can generally pass for 10 years younger than I am, and I’m starting new ventures, professionally and personally, that mainly younger people tend to do…I feel old because I have some severe heart problems, and I take a bunch of medications and am also supposed to eat a low-sodium diet, use my CPAP machine for my sleep apnea, and not drink booze.
Do you feel old for your age? Young for your age? Just right? Are you in step with your peers?
All of the above.
I feel young because I can generally pass for 10 years younger than I am, and I’m starting new ventures, professionally and personally, that mainly younger people tend to do.
I feel just right because … my knees still work. Mostly. But some other things don’t work, or I feel them weakening. And there aren’t any repair people to call. Another way to describe this age: “The Age of Disrepair.”
I feel old because I have some severe heart problems, and I take a bunch of medications and am also supposed to eat a low-sodium diet, use my CPAP machine for my sleep apnea, and not drink booze. It’s hard to eat a low-sodium diet in this country. It’s also hard to not drink, even though I managed to do so for five years. It’s easy to take medication, though, and I’m among the best nappers in the history of the planet.
What do you like about being your age?
I like owning a lot of pairs of reading glasses.
I like that people buy me ceramic mugs and cozy pajamas and Pendleton sweaters for gifts.
I like that I’m happier for other people’s successes than I used to be.
I like that humility comes more naturally with age.
I like that I see life as a messy affair. We’re all seekers, and sometimes we just get on the wrong path, so I tend to forgive people more easily.
I like that I can make grand pronouncements about aging and the human condition with increasing street cred.
I like that I feel life as more of a gentle affair.
I jog with a group of mostly older adults once a week, and everyone stands in a circle before we run to introduce ourselves to new runners. I love imagining us all as 5-year-olds in circle time right before recess. I love seeing the older faces turn into expectant, eager children, and I become younger as a result.
What is difficult about being your age?
The math. The math of every day, every year. The tick tick ticking. It can be motivating—as in I’ve got a big, heavy, immovable deadline, so I’d better get cracking. It can even be strangely comforting—as in maybe death does hold some necessary peace. But most of the time, it’s depressing, the speed that the clock moves forward, the things it takes away.
What is surprising about being your age, or different from what you expected, based on what you were told?
I’m surprised that I have to work so relentlessly hard to make it, that there isn’t a safety net, and the cushion I have is flat. I’m surprised by how easy it is to not have enough money for good health care and shelter, and how easily I could fall through the cracks.
I’m surprised by the number of celebrities who I don’t know the names of.
I’m surprised how being old is an invitation to be ornery—which can be another way to tell the truth.
I’m surprised by how sometimes I’m not interested in taking care of myself in some very important ways.
I’m surprised by how I’m less afraid of death with each year.
I’m surprised by how much I notice how other people are aging, and that I sometimes feel they are betraying me by letting themselves age.
I’m surprised by how little my achievements matter, yet I’m never done.
The math. The math of every day, every year. The tick tick ticking. It can be motivating—as in I’ve got a big, heavy, immovable deadline, so I’d better get cracking. It can even be strangely comforting—as in maybe death does hold some necessary peace. But most of the time, it’s depressing, the speed that the clock moves forward, the things it takes away.
What has aging given you? Taken away from you?
Perhaps most importantly, age teaches me how to love, and how love is full of struggle and mistakes, but love holds a mysterious grace that requires an effort, an endurance.
I like the idea of grace as not something received as “unmerited mercy” from God, as it’s often defined, but as something that one must practice and seek and earn. Jacques Derrida held that grace was a disruption of norms. That’s what age gives: a greater ability to disrupt norms in pursuit of grace. I don’t believe in God, but I believe in earning grace.
I didn’t used to cry much, only in movies, and now I sometimes find myself crying profusely. Evagrius Ponticus, a desert monk, believed that tears were a way to open oneself up to God. He believed that tears could help people feel humble and recognize their need for a savior. I cry like that now. Aging has given me the ability to cry. I cry for every crack breaking in the ceiling of my mind. That’s the way I let the light in. A form of prayer, I suppose.
How has getting older affected your sense of yourself, or your identity?
There is the Henri Bergson quote: “For a conscious being, to exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on endlessly creating oneself.”
I feel as if I create myself every day. Some days I’m a listener, some days I’m a performer, some days I’m both.
Sometimes I think getting older is a study in gentleness. Gentle thought, gentle exercise, gentle love. When I was younger, I was more interested in winning arguments, proving myself. Now, I don’t think arguments can really be won.
So I try to move gently. I strive less. Righteousness repels me. Stridency has no place in my life. I guess it’s acceptance, in the end. I’ve accepted myself (and the limitations of myself), accepted the world (and pay less attention to what it lacks), and I’m more content to be gently part of the proceedings.
Sometimes I think getting older is a study in gentleness. Gentle thought, gentle exercise, gentle love. When I was younger, I was more interested in winning arguments, proving myself. Now, I don’t think arguments can really be won.
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?
My birthday is December 29, so it’s always been challenging to get people excited by it, even myself. So every 10 years I do something memorable on my milestone birthdays—I make sure I’m in a place I’ve never been before, doing different things. I’ve done my milestone plan since I was in London for my 20th birthday. This year I took a solo road trip to Death Valley because that seemed metaphorically and dramatically appropriate. My leopard-print coat was my companion (see photo).
I don’t know what other age-related milestones there are. Was I supposed to buy a sports car? Grow a mustache? I have grown a big beard.
I remember when I was a teenager, I promised myself I’d one day dunk a basketball, and I didn’t achieve that. I hate to think I’ve missed a milestone.
What has been your favorite age so far, and why? Would you go back to this age if you could?
I’ll answer with a cliché: my current age, 60. I’m pretty content (despite being anxious). I’m healthy enough (even though I’m ailing). I’ve got a little bit of money (but I worry about ending up homeless). I have all of this love around me (despite never having enough). I finally figured out how to be a writer (I think). I don’t care how big my muscles are (but I don’t like looking at my body in the mirror).
I always thought 33 would be my best year, but it was one of my worst. You just can’t plan these things (a lesson of aging). I had carpal tunnel and couldn’t write and I was trapped in a job I didn’t like, and…suddenly I didn’t know how to live.
I would have thought I’d pick a year from my 20s to go back to because all of those years were so adventurous—I was always becoming something else in a dramatic way and in a new place, but I don’t think I want to live those years again because they were special just as they were.
Every 10 years I do something memorable on my milestone birthdays—I make sure I’m in a place I’ve never been before, doing different things. I’ve done my milestone plan since I was in London for my 20th birthday. This year I took a solo road trip to Death Valley because that seemed metaphorically and dramatically appropriate. My leopard-print coat was my companion (see photo).
Is there someone who is older than you, who makes growing older inspiring to you? Who is your aging idol and why?
Paul Strohm, who is the father of one of my best friends, Jake, has been a role model of aging and life in general. A bon vivant. A man never content to live within categories. An intellectual explorer. A with-it guy who has an eye for high style, an ear for the good joke, a taste for a new cocktail. He’s always been young in the best of ways, sometimes younger than me despite our age difference, yet also gracefully old.
My grandfather on my mother’s side was also a pretty good ager. He died at 98 while reading the book I gave him for Christmas. When I first decided to be a writer as a 20-year-old, I lived in a shack on my grandparents’ farm, and he walked down to the farm from town every day and did strenuous things like bail hay. He was a thinker, a man who sang in the shower, a walker, a man who never followed the same path twice. He poured a stream of sugar in his iced tea and enjoyed a good piece of pie. He listened to people he disagreed with. He always had a gentle twinkle in his eye.
What aging-related adjustments have you recently made, style-wise, beauty-wise, health-wise?
My hair cutter Bobby Jean convinced me to grow a big beard as an aging statement. It’s funny how a beard can change life. I like thinking of how to be stylish as an older person. I like the flamboyance of scarves and hats. I like finding ways to mix new style with my older style. I like to dress in suits. I’m thinking about dying my hair bright blonde because I’ve never done that.
I work out just to stay fat, as Will Ferrell once said. I celebrate the art of showing up instead of practicing a “no pain/no gain” approach. If I can sweat a little during the day, I consider it a good day of exercise.
When I was diagnosed with my heart problems, I gave up drinking for five years. I recently started again because I went through a rough period of life and I needed a moment of release on bad days, something to look forward to. My brain is both more tender and more jagged than it used to be. My cardiologist said I could have one drink each day. I sometimes have two. Just for a taste of the old days because I used to have many more.
My hair cutter Bobby Jean convinced me to grow a big beard as an aging statement. It’s funny how a beard can change life. I like thinking of how to be stylish as an older person. I like the flamboyance of scarves and hats. I like finding ways to mix new style with my older style. I like to dress in suits. I’m thinking about dying my hair bright blonde because I’ve never done that.
What’s an aging-related adjustment you refuse to make, and why?
I’d like to say I won’t wear Depends, but we’ll see when I get there.
If I ever have to use a cane, I hope to buy a super stylish antique cane. I think all of the equipment made for disabled people and the aging should focus more on style. A cane should be like a scarf. A wheelchair should be designed like a sports car.
What turn of events had the biggest impact on your life? What took your life in a different direction, for better or worse?
In the course of a few weeks in my mid-50s, I was diagnosed with heart failure, atrial fibrillation, hypertension, a severely expanded Aortic Root, and an enlarged left atrium.
My heart beats as if it’s playing a Thelonious Monk piano solo, banging around in odd syncopations. If I exert myself too much, my Aortic Root can literally burst, and then that’s it. Caput.
I’ve realized that my heart problems are part of a lifetime pattern of ailments—which I have caused through reckless living, intense living, stupid living: chronic fatigue syndrome in my 40s; debilitating carpal tunnel and repetitive stress injury in my 30s; insomnia in my 20s; ulcers in my teens. Suicidal ideation has coursed through my life since I was eight or so, carrying all of these things in its currents.
I’m writing a memoir about this. I’m trying to figure it all out.
But, really, having children with my wife Heather Mackey is actually the biggest turn of events. That might warrant a whole different questionnaire. My family has been magnificently there for me in so many ways every day. They define self-fulfillment for me—they are my comfort, my solace, my entertainment, the center of my thoughts. I can’t imagine aging or life without them. When I come home and none of them are here, I become deeply lonely.
I regret that I haven’t always lived up to my standards of taking care of others. I wish I’d viewed the burdens of caring for my parents or my children more as opportunities to experience them and all of life in a different way. It’s always been difficult for me to shift from my adult working pace of life to the slower rhythms of care giving. So my regret: that I often failed to slow down and be present.
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 regret that I haven’t always lived up to my standards of taking care of others. I wish I’d viewed the burdens of caring for my parents or my children more as opportunities to experience them and all of life in a different way. It’s always been difficult for me to shift from my adult working pace of life to the slower rhythms of care giving. So my regret: that I often failed to slow down and be present.
In the end, I wish I’d loved more and loved better. All the time. In all ways. Loving everyone and myself (isn’t it interesting how challenging it can be to love yourself?). Releasing myself more to another’s mysteries, another’s needs. I served myself in so many ways, and I’m not sure how much nourishment that really provided.
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 sing with a band and perform live.
I’d like to dance with abandon all night at a rave.
I’d like to go on a lengthy spiritual pilgrimage.
I’d like to sit peacefully and read for long, timeless periods of time.
I’d like to return to Paris for one last espresso.
In the end, I wish I’d loved more and loved better. All the time. In all ways. Loving everyone and myself (isn’t it interesting how challenging it can be to love yourself?). Releasing myself more to another’s mysteries, another’s needs. I served myself in so many ways, and I’m not sure how much nourishment that really provided.
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 ran cross-country in high school, we’d sprint up hills, chanting, “Kill the hill.” Now I say, “Surrender to the hill.”
In times of trouble, I like “This too shall pass.” There’s a great comfort in knowing that everything passes.
Above all, though, I like the Dalai Lama’s definition of religion: kindness. Kindness, kindness, kindness. You can’t go wrong.
What are your plans for your body when you’re done using it? Burial? Cremation? Body Farm? Other? And what do you expect to happen to your “soul” or “spirit” after you die?
I want to be draped in a shroud and placed in the ground to join my friends: the vast, intricate network of thread-like structures called “mycelium” that intertwine through the soil. It’s a type of eternal life to join them, I think.
Per my soul, I think one definition of a soul is the stories we leave behind. I hope to leave many stories behind.
I like solitary celebrations. Strange, I know, but a symptom of being born just after Christmas, I think. Since my friends and family seemed less and less energized to celebrate my birthday as we got older, I decided I’d take the day and indulge in whatever I wanted to do. I like solitude. I like periods of deep reflection. It’s become a day of indulgences and reflection.
What’s your philosophy on celebrating birthdays as an adult? How do you celebrate yours?
My birthday philosophy is to never turn down a celebration. There are far too few in this life.
But celebrations can take many forms. I like solitary celebrations. Strange, I know, but a symptom of being born just after Christmas, I think. Since my friends and family seemed less and less energized to celebrate my birthday as we got older, I decided I’d take the day and indulge in whatever I wanted to do. I like solitude. I like periods of deep reflection. It’s become a day of indulgences and reflection.
I haven’t had a birthday party since I was a kid. I think I’d feel uncomfortable at a party for myself, but I’d like to stand at the back of the room at my funeral.
I liked everything about this interview, and this line made me laugh out loud: "I’m surprised by the number of celebrities who I don’t know the names of."
"I like that I’m happier for other people’s successes than I used to be."
That is so, so true.