This is 63: Samina Najmi Responds to The Oldster Magazine Questionnaire
"Maybe I feel younger because there’s so much I still want to learn and do."
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, Sing Me a Circle author and multiethnic US literature professor Samina Najmi responds. -Sari Botton
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Samina Najmi teaches multiethnic US literature at California State University, Fresno. Her memoir-in-essays, Sing Me a Circle: Love, Loss, and a Home in Time, won the Aurora Polaris Award in Creative Nonfiction and was published by Trio House Press in Oct, 2025. It has received a starred review from Publishers Weekly and is featured among Poets & Writers’ five nonfiction debuts of the year and Debutiful’s Best Nonfiction Debuts of 2025. The Community of Literary Magazines and Presses (CLMP) includes it among notable 2025 nonfiction debuts and its recommended reading lists for Asian/Pacific American Heritage Month 2025 and Women’s History Month 2026. Daughter of multiple migrations, Samina grew up in Pakistan and England, began her American life in Boston, and has called Fresno home since 2006.
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How old are you?
Sweet 63, born in ’63!
Is there another age you associate with yourself in your mind? If so, what is it? And why, do you think?
I feel, as Sandra Cisneros says in her story “Eleven,” that when you’re 11, you’re also 10, 9, 8, and all the ages you were before then. So, I’m 63 and also all the years I’ve been from one to 62. Somedays I’m arrested at 43—a big year, when I moved my family from Boston to Fresno and began teaching at Fresno State. Other days I shrink into my unsure 13-year-old self. Layers of an onion, Cisneros says. Or one of those Russian dolls inside a doll inside a doll.
Do you feel old for your age? Young for your age? Just right? Are you in step with your peers?
Throughout childhood and much of my adult life, I felt older and had older friends. But now I feel roughly ten years younger than my age. Perhaps this is because I’m a late bloomer—had my kids in my late 30s, arrived at my tenure-track job in my 40s, and produced my debut book at 62—so in those contexts, my “peers” haven’t always been my age, and we do see ourselves reflected in our peers. Or maybe I feel younger because there’s so much I still want to learn and do. In any case, I feel like I just got here.
I’m surprised how relevant I feel, how not afraid to be alone. Women, in particular, are raised to dread the loss of youth and physical beauty, and the implicit or explicit warning is about “ending up alone.” I dreaded the loneliness when my children left home to make their lives in other places. Come to find that at 63, I have more time to engage in my communities and at the same time enjoy my solitary splendor!
What do you like about being your age?
You know, right now my life is in an unnatural state of perfect balance. I’ve been around long enough, with enough luck when I needed it, to have something to show for my years. Weathered my share of storms and lived to write the tale. Solvent, and still physically and mentally able. Enjoying my adult children and my 85-year-old mother from a distance that may not be ideal but affords me space for myself. No pressure to prove anything to anyone. That’s a lot to like about being my age.
What is difficult about being your age?
The tell-tale signs of what’s ahead: a stiff and stubborn thumb on my dominant hand, how much longer it takes to memorize my students’ names at the beginning of the semester, compared to how fast they vanish at the end of it. In other words, for me the difficulty is not in being 63; it’s in knowing that there’s a lot left to lose, including loved ones.
What is surprising about being your age, or different from what you expected, based on what you were told?
I’m surprised how relevant I feel, how not afraid to be alone. Women, in particular, are raised to dread the loss of youth and physical beauty, and the implicit or explicit warning is about “ending up alone.” I dreaded the loneliness when my children left home to make their lives in other places. Come to find that at 63, I have more time to engage in my communities and at the same time enjoy my solitary splendor!
What has aging given you? Taken away from you?
Aging has given me the gift of self-knowledge and self-assurance. The ability to cherish a fleeting moment and not ask for more. Time, rather than aging, has taken away loved ones. You know, now that I’m thinking about it, I honestly don’t think aging has taken anything away—yet.
How has getting older affected your sense of yourself, or your identity?
Like many people, I’m much surer of myself—my worth, but also my values, my way of doing and seeing things. Getting older has made me much more mindful of my responsibility to be a good ancestor, as they say in Indigenous communities. So, on one hand, I’m far more secure in myself, and on the other, it’s less and less about myself.
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 celebrate my threescore-and-tenth with as many of my loved ones around me as possible.
Getting older has made me much more mindful of my responsibility to be a good ancestor, as they say in Indigenous communities. So, on one hand, I’m far more secure in myself, and on the other, it’s less and less about myself.
What has been your favorite age so far, and why? Would you go back to this age if you could?
My roommate Elaine asked me this question when I turned 29, and I told her then that my favorite age was 28. And now, having just turned 63, I can honestly tell you that my favorite age so far has been 62. This may have to do with my innate optimism, but it’s also true that it’s a privilege to grow old. So many in my family didn’t live as long.
Is there someone who is older than you, who makes growing older inspiring to you? Who is your aging idol and why?
My mother comes to mind because she’s still so curious about the world in her 80s. She writes, reads, and takes singing lessons. And she loves beautiful things: a song, a sunset, the ocean, a good book, and good company. Despite limited mobility, she remains positive (and willful!). She says she cherishes what she has because if she lives long enough, she will lose these abilities, too. And the alternative is to not be alive, so she considers herself lucky. I’m taking notes, Ammi!
What aging-related adjustments have you recently made, style-wise, beauty-wise, health-wise?
Well, I decided long ago to be comfortable, style-wise. Pure cotton and no more than two-inch heels. But I’ve now added a wide-brim hat to my repertoire because we get a lot of sun in Fresno—I mean upwards of 100 degrees’ worth in the summer—and my skin’s more sensitive to the heat. Also, I just signed up with a physical fitness trainer. In great part, my aging-related adjustments have been about redistributing my resources, both money and time, to reflect my priorities in this phase of life.
What’s an aging-related adjustment you refuse to make, and why?
I still wear makeup and color my hair but draw the line at cosmetic surgery. You can’t outpace time, but you can outspend your money! Seriously, no judgment there; it’s just not for me. Maybe that’s because I write memoir and creative nonfiction, and I’m invested in sharing my truths as they are, however vulnerable they make me. I’m sure there are multiple perspectives on this, but if I performed cosmetic surgery on facts, it would alter those facts on the page.
The tell-tale signs of what’s ahead: a stiff and stubborn thumb on my dominant hand, how much longer it takes to memorize my students’ names at the beginning of the semester, compared to how fast they vanish at the end of it. In other words, for me the difficulty is not in being 63; it’s in knowing that there’s a lot left to lose, including loved ones.
What turn of events had the biggest impact on your life? What took your life in a different direction, for better or worse?
That moment in the spring of 1988 when the mail carrier parked his bike outside my home in Karachi, rang the doorbell, and said he had a telegram delivery. I ran outside, and sure enough, it was a telegram from Tufts University, saying I had been accepted to the doctoral program in English. That moment, followed by a letter offering a full ride, changed the course of my life. There’s always a trade-off involved in any choice you make, so yes, it altered the trajectory of my life for both better and worse, I’m sure.
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 been able, twenty-five years ago when my kids were little, to slow down and savor the moment more. An academic career is demanding; there were very few mothers of young children wherever I taught, including Fresno State. I expected a lot of myself, both as an educator and as a mother, so in those early years I always had the feeling that whatever I was doing, I should be doing something else or be somewhere else. If I could do it all over again, I’d be less exacting of myself, say no to work-related extras, and be more present in the smaller moments that make up a child’s life. Then again, as John Okada says in his 1957 novel, No-No Boy, you can’t wish to change one thing without altering the whole pattern. I take comfort in that.
What is high up on your “bucket list?” What do you hope to achieve, attain, or plain enjoy before you die?
I’m lucky to be able to say I’d just like more of what I’ve had: more writing, more reading, more traveling—Egypt! Morocco!—more meaningful engagement in my communities, and more time with loved ones.
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 know, my father had a literary bent, but he wasn’t given to extravagant verbal expression. In response to complex questions about the moral choices we make, he’d often say simply, in English: “Something is better than nothing.” At the time, this seemed like such an unglamorous response to the deep stuff, but in recent years I’ve found myself thinking how Abbu was guided by this belief through much of his life and had so much to show for it by the end. He did great good for so many, we didn’t even know how many until after his death.
I remind myself of Abbu’s words when I wish I could do things more completely or perfectly. Yes, absolutely, something is better than nothing—in writing and exercising and giving and loving. My little something is more than nothing.
It will be time when it’s time. I’m not afraid. I realized this when I was 58 and diagnosed with breast cancer. Luckily, it was early stages and curable, but I did have to confront my mortality…Once you’ve had a close call, you’re so grateful for every birthday you live to see. I was ecstatic to turn 60.
What are your plans for your body when you’re done using it? Burial? Cremation? Body Farm? Other?
I’m donating my organs, but beyond that, I’m leaving it up to my children to do what’s most comfortable for them in their grieving process. I’d just like to do my part and make it easy on their pocketbooks.
How do you feel about dying? And what do you expect to happen to your “soul” or “spirit” after you die?
It will be time when it’s time. I’m not afraid. I realized this when I was 58 and diagnosed with breast cancer. Luckily, it was early stages and curable, but I did have to confront my mortality. Also, I think immortality would bore me.
Science is always playing catch-up to spirituality, but there are two things it has arrived at that ring true to me: first, that there are dimensions beyond what we know, and second, that energy never dies. Love is an energy. I have loved life enough that I expect that energy to outlast my body. I’m only half-joking when I tell my kids I’m going to stick around and haunt them.
In response to complex questions about the moral choices we make, my father would often say simply, in English: “Something is better than nothing.”…I remind myself of Abbu’s words when I wish I could do things more completely or perfectly. Yes, absolutely, something is better than nothing—in writing and exercising and giving and loving. My little something is more than nothing.
What’s your philosophy on celebrating birthdays as an adult? How do you celebrate yours?
Once you’ve had a close call, you’re so grateful for every birthday you live to see. I was ecstatic to turn 60. Flew out to my old stomping grounds in Boston to be with old friends and both my kids who were working there at the time. They got me a tiara and a sash that said Birthday Girl, and you bet I walked into the restaurant wearing them unabashedly!
My most recent birthday a couple of weeks ago, I celebrated quietly in Fresno: lunch with a friend, with lots of calls and messages before and after. I resumed my virtual Italian lessons after a year’s hiatus, dabbled among my plants, and let my cat Snickers wish me happy birthday. Opened some real mail, including a hand-made card from my childhood friend Carolyn in England (with whom I was reconnected a couple of years ago).
I don’t have a philosophy about birthdays in general, but with regard to my own birthday: it doesn’t have to be anything out of the ordinary; just a concentration of the small beauties that matter to me in the day to day. That’s what I’m celebrating.
I so agree with Samina! I am 87 yrs. old and still enjoy good books, exercise, sunsets, music, art, and friends including family and others I've met in life, some from long ago and some just met a week ago by first sharing a smile. Life is good! Every day is an opportunity to enjoy and I am very grateful. I love your website, Oldster!
"My little something is more than nothing." Love this.