This is 60: Lambda Literary Award Winner Lauren Sanders Responds to The Oldster Magazine Questionnaire
"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."
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, 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. 🙏
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.
Really connected with this: “My sadness is more existentially profound, even as I feel personally less sad than ever.”
Loved EVERY. DARN. WORD.