Despite the advice in and ’s just published Good Writing, I’m going to leave in “very.” The co-authors point out very as a crutch word which should be ruthlessly eliminated (they might strike out ruthlessly too; it’s a little redundant next to eliminated).

I don’t care.

Very belongs here; the word emphasizes the unending pull of my love for my mother, even if I never felt quite seen or fully valued by her.

In the last three years, I’ve experienced missing her in nearly every form: sometimes as a passing thought, other times as a gut punch.

Close to a decade ago, I was reading The Story of Babar to a four-year-old granddaughter. She was nestled in my lap and nodding her head attentively as we turned the first few pages. The story, as you might recall, concerns a young elephant whose mother is killed by a hunter, after which he goes to the city where he is befriended by a kindly Old Lady. “But wait!” Josie said, as I read quickly, hoping to move past the killing. “What happened to his mother?!” Her instant horror made me wince; I wanted to protect her. Because losing your mother is unthinkable, but then it happens.

We hear often about the depth of a mother’s love for her child; just this week actor Jessie Buckley won an Oscar for Best Actress for her role as the mother in Hamnet; wailing like a grief-stricken animal when her son dies.

But what about the other way around–especially, daughters who love their mothers despite everything? That’s what I want to hear about from you today.

If you are older like me, your mother is likely deceased. But perhaps your mother is still alive; maybe you long for her because of missed connections, or for other reasons. Or maybe you had a lovely relationship and it’s a different kind of missing. Tell us more.

I want to hear from you

• Whether your mother is deceased, or alive, do you find that you miss her?

• Sometimes I wonder if I miss my actual mother, or the idea of what she could’ve been to me. How do you reconcile the relationship you crave with your mother vs. the one you have?

• What do you do with overwhelming feelings of loss?
  

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Read on for what I’m working on right now.

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Ever since I attended a creativity workshop1 with and in Baja, MX, I’ve been fired up about radical permission.

I keep wondering: what would it mean to give myself radical permission when it comes to this newsletter? What am I drawn to write about that I’ve been holding back on, that feels taboo? Here are a few things:

• GRIEF: the liberating, flip side of grief we don’t hear enough about

• MONEY: inheriting money from my father; the questions it raises

• SEX: the truth about sex in my 70s; there’s so much I haven’t figured out yet

The flip side of grief

When I lost both of my parents in the past three years (first my mom, then my dad), I had the dizzying sensation that I’d been unmoored. For over 70 years, they provided an inescapable reflection of who I thought I was; without them, who was that person? I loved both my mother and father very much, but their deaths—once the initial grief dissipated, once I’d gotten used to being untethered—offered something else… freedom.

I am giving myself radical permission to tell you about this liberation, this feeling of relief, because I suspect others have experienced something similar. It could relate to the death of parents who loved you conditionally, or perhaps the death of an abusive partner, or anyone you’ve had a complicated relationship with. I call it the flip side of grief; it exists alongside love, and neither cancels out the other.

My parents’ absence has freed me to feel stronger, more grown-up, more daring, more [b]old, even if it means becoming a person they wouldn’t have approved of—namely, someone who writes and publishes truths they preferred to hide. They were both highly judgmental, wanting to teach me lessons and mold me into their version of a better person, right up until their deaths. As a parent myself, I do understand this impulse. This was their version of “love,” though it’s not one I share or practice.

Still, the truth is that I don’t think I could have experienced the freedom that so often comes with old age had I not lost my parents first: the freedom to not apologize, to stop worrying about what others think of you, to do what you want, when you want.

But I’m experiencing it as more than that. I see this freedom as an obligation, maybe THE obligation of old age. It’s the imperative to reckon with my life, to accept ambiguity, uncertainty, and unresolved conflict, and to remain open to revision, to changing, to new perspectives. This is the work of Eldering, of becoming wise, and I’m taking it very seriously.

But more on Eldering another time.

Questions of inheritance

I have a lot to say on the topic of money–things I’ve never dared discuss before–but I’m saving them for another essay. Today, I’ll offer a list of questions. They make me squirm with discomfort; maybe that means they’re good ones:

• Given my inheritance from my father, what does it mean to have enough money that I don’t have to worry too much, month to month, about the balance in my checking account? Is this purely a positive thing, or are there negatives? Is wealth ever a bad thing? How do I know I’m using it properly?

• What does it mean about me that I chose to fly business class across the country to take a “creativity workshop” with a celebrity author in Mexico? Is it indulgent to make a choice like this?

• My relationship to money feels different; instead of making decisions purely based on cost, I find myself asking other questions: is this a good idea? Will I regret doing, or not doing, it? Is there really an advantage to spending more, for a more expensive hotel, or a better cut of meat?

• I support a dozen or so nonprofits whose work I believe in and feel strongly about. Deciding how much money to contribute to each, and how or whether to get involved, is an added responsibility I welcome; but it still raises questions. Are they interested in me, or my “generous” contributions?

Stay tuned for more about money and how it affects my life.

Sex & a special Q&A guest

Coming up is a [B]old Women Q&A with 82-year-old Joan Price, the best-known “senior sexpert” in the U.S., and maybe beyond.

I did a “spicy” interview (her word) with Joan on my podcast several years ago. She’s just out with new editions of her two most popular books, Sex After Grief and Naked at Our Age: Talking Out Loud About Senior Sex, and is being interviewed this week on the NYTimes Modern Love podcast - !

As for my own sex life, Joan’s forthrightness on the value of masturbation, setting aside PIV (penis in vagina) as the definition of sex, and how to jumpstart desire has been very helpful to me, although none of her advice has answered all my questions. There is still so much I don’t know about sex in my 70s, and I hope to explore that more.

What about you?

• What have you given yourself radical permission for lately?

• What is the line you wouldn’t cross, as a writer? What is “too” taboo?

• I am curious which topic you‘d like to hear more about: money or sex?

Leave a comment

Not so for me. I’m floating in a post-holiday, liminal space that’s making it hard to remember who I am, what I’m doing, and where I’m going. I feel aimless and bored, a bit itchy, under stimulated, even a little depressed. When I think about using this month to plan a whole year, I just… can’t. A whole year is too big, too squishy, for me to hold, let alone fill with deadlines and goals. And then there’s the shit show going on around me here in the U.S., that I’m, by turns, paying attention to and trying to ignore.

Part of what’s causing my malaise, I think, is that our holidays this year were nonstop excitement. We went on an adventurous trip to Central America with our son and his family; I waded through an overflowing lake in Guatemala to climb into a boat, I walked and hiked for hours through the extraordinary Mayan ruins of Tikal, I even ziplined over the jungle in Belize! But then we got home, and the contrast of these quiet days with our adventurous travels feels stark.

In my post-holiday comedown, I’ve been realizing something: there was more to the trip than adventure; each day was tightly scripted. Our group was up at 6 AM, we had hard and fast meeting times, we were on the go all day, and we had other families to talk to and collaborate with.

In other words, short deadlines and structured frameworks. I need them, I crave them—both as an antidote to my ADHD brain and, possibly, to gently yank me out of this floaty space. I want to feel more in control, buckled in, forward-looking but in a short-term way. This doesn’t mean I’m not considering a “rebrand” or a reinvention in 2026 (I am!); it means I’m taking my time to focus on the here and now, on how to get the most out of these quiet January days.

So far, I’m back to creating my To Do lists on stickie notes; one yellow square is just the right size for one day, which is really all I can hold in my head. It doesn’t matter if I’m entirely realistic about what I can accomplish (I’m not); what matters is that I include check-off boxes, write with a brand new Sharpie pen, and cross items off throughout the day.

One item on the sample list, above, is clearly too big and open-ended to “complete” in one day (discuss the next decade with my husband—where and how we’ll live, what we’ll be doing, etc.). So I always include things that I know I can finish: take a 20-minute walk, fold a pile of laundry. And near-term deadlines I can meet, like finishing this Substack post. And a specific way to connect with friends (invite Fred & John to dinner). Washing my hair truly feels like an accomplishment because it’s so cold and raw here (brrr) in Maine. Do I sometimes add items that I already did so I can cross them off? Of course! “Do more laundry” (check), “make the bed” (check).

I’m not feeling especially [b]old right now; I’m working on small wins, not thinking too big, and not looking too far ahead–anything to create a feeling of agency, and even momentum, as I regain my bearings. I think it’s working…

What about you?

• How does the “new beginnings” month of January feel to you? Do you leap in with resolutions? Or do you take things slowly?

• Are you wedded to a daily To Do list? Can you tell us how you plan a day, a week, a month, a year?

• Do you feel restless or aimless after a big trip or a break from your routine?
  

Leave a comment

Not anymore, at 74; now it’s easy for me to ask for help lifting my rolling carry-on bag into the overhead compartment. The request tumbles out of my mouth without a moment’s hesitation. After all, I don’t want to drop it on anyone! Okay, the truth: my arms are not as strong and steady as they once were. I really do worry about dropping it… more embarrassing than asking for help, certainly.

Usually, I turn and look for a young man and he always says yes. But the people who offer without being asked? The ones who help me even on escalators when I’m trying to balance a rolling suitcase with a shoulder carry-on? Younger women!

Recently, standing on the tarmac with my rolling bag in hand, I looked up at a very long staircase to board the flight. I paused, hesitating… then the 40-something woman right in front of me reached down, without saying a word, and hefted my heavy suitcase to the top of the stairs. Oh my goodness, thank you!

But then, how pathetic do I look? To the outside world, am I a fragile old woman? It seems too soon, but I’ve decided I don’t care. Like a properly wise elder, I’m going to enjoy this new perk.

What about you: do you lift your bags into the overhead compartment of trains, planes, etc?

Tell us more!

• Tell us your story of being helped, or helping others. Is there a proper etiquette to offering or receiving? If you are a helper, does this fuel your commitment to the gym?

• If you are someone who likes help with your bags, do you find it difficult to ask? What do you say?

• In general… outside of luggage, is it hard to ask for help?

Leave a comment

You might have seen Rice’s recent essays on Substack (here and here in ) about her decision to hire a sex worker on her 70th birthday, as a gift to herself. The NYT Modern Love podcast invited her to discuss her birthday gift, and she’s since become something of a celebrity in the world of eldersex1. UPDATE2

Gail’s calmly stated reasons for wanting to hire a young sex worker are so intriguing I can’t get them out of my head. Her first reason was to enjoy out-of-this-world orgasms, of course, but she also wanted to “shock herself awake” as she entered her 70s. Namely, she desired “the thrill of a physically and emotionally exhilarating experience.”

Her budget was limited, she explained to the NYT, so she considered two different experiences: skydiving (where you’re strapped to a male partner) or sex with a handsome young guy. She chose the latter because, well, if she was going to get that close to a man, this seemed like more bang for the buck.

Last week I wrote about low libido and what the possible remedies are for a 73-year-old woman in a long-term loving marriage… I may have similar goals to Gail, especially when it comes to shocking my libido awake, but no, I don’t plan to hire a sex worker… at least not at the moment.

Plus, at the end of my “libido” essay, I realized I was also writing about something else: not just my more muted feelings of desire but also grief over what was...

”Perhaps what drove me to see Dr. M was an urge to turn back the clock, to the way things used to be between a hot, younger Sam and a hot, younger me: exciting, urgent, irresistible. Maybe I am really asking, why can’t I be young again? Getting old has so many blessings, but loss of libido and less sex with my husband? It’s the bullshit and it sucks.”

What I’m doing for my libido…

So far, I’m trying to convince my beloved husband to leave sexy “notes” for me (I’m doing it for him!), and trying to become at peace with my changing body. I am also still curious about testosterone gel.

To continue exploring these topics of desire and body image in [b]old age, I’d love to hear about your own experiences.

What about you?

1. Given her budget, Gail chose between sky diving or hiring a sex worker for her 70th birthday; which would you choose, and why? My answer, below, in the Comments.

2. Do you ever look back at your hot, younger self, and find that you are grieving for it?

3. How have you successfully improved, or changed, your sex life in [b]old age? Tips welcome.

Leave a comment

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2

I was right! Gail’s two essays will be published in The Times of London!

Gail Rice Writer/Psychologist

The Times London

A few months ago, I sent Sari Botton at Oldsters my story about hiring an escort for my 70th birthday. Who would have thought that her generosity in publishing that first piece and then another would land me a gig on the NYT Modern Love Podcast and last week I was approached by Bridget Harrison, an editor at…

Listen now

6 months ago · 7 likes · 1 comment · Gail

A very special friend of mine used to say, “We’ll be sitting side-by-side in our rocking chairs when we get really old.” Ha I would think, imagining me making her a cup of tea, her speaking loud enough that I could hear. But this idea never went further than that. Old, old age is for other people, after all.

Like so many of us (and maybe you, dear reader), I thought very old age was a foreign land. I wasn’t planning on visiting anytime soon and I figured I wouldn’t like it when I got there.

So a recent article in the New York Times, about a group of women who created a retirement community of tiny houses in Texas, got me thinking. If an assisted living or retirement community were in my future, how would I feel about living with just women?

I found myself saying, YES, I’d like that! As much as I’m grateful for the company of my husband of 52 years, a community of all women sounds oddly appealing. It means (mostly) never worrying about my looks; it means a lot of laughing; it means sharing the life experiences that so many women can relate to. The fun we’d have trading stories about conforming (or not) to society’s expectations; dreams realized (or not); sex (good or bad), and more.

So now I turn it over to you, dear reader. I’d truly love to hear your thoughts on this subject; I know they will help me think through where I will live, and how, in very old age.

Questions for discussion

• Would you consider an all-women retirement community?
  

• Are you thinking about moving to any kind of retirement community?
  

• When will you know (or did you know) when it’s time to make such a move?

Leave a comment

I hope you’ll read today’s post and respond to the discussion questions below. (The poll is now closed.)

Do you want to live to 100?

Both of my parents died recently, each in their early 90s. But both began to decline noticeably years earlier, in their late 80s. While it was painful for me to watch, it was undoubtedly miserable for them. That’s the main reason I don’t truly aspire to live to 100, a desire we’ve heard a lot about from Silicon Valley billionaires.1 The prospect of old, old age is scary for me: the physical weakness and disability, deteriorating mental faculties, dementia, dependence on others, so many limitations on what you can do.

And although lifespan is increasing around the world, healthspan2 is not; in fact, on average there is a nine-year gap3 between healthspan (the period of life in good health) and lifespan. In other words, the last years of life are often marked by disability and illness. That is a very sobering reality and certainly something I witnessed with my parents. My own declining strength in my 70s is both surprising and unnerving.

I had to stop myself from going down too many rabbit holes for this post but I couldn’t resist a few life expectancy calculators… I checked with the U.S. Social Security Administration’s calculator, and was told that, at age 73, I can look forward to a tad under 15 more years. According to the UK’s Office of National Statistics, my average life expectancy is 89, giving me 16 more years.

Neither one of these is a firm prediction, of course, because so much depends on my current lifestyle, health, and family history. Still… even though I don’t fully believe these lifespan estimates, they reverberate annoyingly in the back of my head. I feel greedy, illogical, frustrated; I want MORE… more years, more life, more time with my husband, children and grandchildren; and I also want continued good health.

Inspired by a recent article by journalist and author Steven Petrow, I also decided to check out the Death Clock. I resisted testing this app for quite some time (did I want to know??), but finally decided what the heck. At least I got a better answer: death at age 95.

What about you? What are your thoughts about how many more years you want to live?

Questions for discussion

• Do you want to live to 100? (Take this quick poll and see the results)
  

• Whether or not you want to be a centenarian, what habits are you adopting now to increase your healthspan?
  

• Have you cut back or stopped drinking4 altogether – or are you contemplating doing so? (Curious about doing this myself.)
  

• If you had to pick a target age you’d like to get to, what would it be? For me, it would be about 95, assuming my health remains good. Here’s hoping the death clock is correct.

Leave a comment

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When my eye surgeon appeared at my side in the crowded pre-op area (a dozen blue-clad techs were rushing back and forth to prep me and a handful of other patients), she looked like an angel—small, calm, and neatly dressed in lighter blue scrubs and a matching blue surgical bonnet. For what seemed like close to an hour, I’d been sitting in a hospital bed, IV-inserted and at the ready, feeling as if I were in Grand Central Station with a whirlwind of activity around me—but no one actually paying any attention. Finally, here was the surgeon focusing on me and my left eye, for my upcoming cataract1 surgery!

I was (a teeny bit) terrified about both the anesthesia and the surgery, so I peppered her with questions. Is the anesthesiologist really going to stick a needle in my eye? “No.” Are you sure it won’t hurt? “Yes.” How do you get the old lens out of my eye and put the new one in? “Ah,” she replied in a magnificently reassuring voice, “Let ME worry about that and do my job. I can tell you about that later.”

Twenty-five years ago, I leapt at the chance to have LASIK surgery. It was still a new thing, and right after the surgery–my nearsightedness corrected!–it seemed like a miracle. I could wake up and get out the door to an early yoga class without putting in my contacts. I could see audience faces when I was giving a talk. I could see the movie screen and actors on stage.

But over the years, my vision has degraded in ways that make it truly wonky2. Wonky is how I explain my poor eyesight to friends and family and even in the eye doctor’s office to describe my increasingly double3, fuzzy vision. So here’s a brief saga of my worsening eyesight, which I’m hoping at least some of you can relate to.

I had LASIK done as monovision because I’d been wearing contacts that way and was used to it. This means my left eye was corrected so I could see clearly up close (aka without putting on reading glasses); my right eye was corrected for distance. Somehow my brain compensated for this dual vision by fusing the images so I could see clearly when I looked into the distance.

Unfortunately, over time, my eye muscles weakened4 and my brain became less able to “fuse” the near and far images; my depth perception practically vanished; and night driving, with oncoming lights, was terrifying5. Walking on uneven terrain, whether a hiking path or a city sidewalk, has been particularly challenging because I have to think about each step. In low light, I could hardly see, whether it was to read a book or find my husband in a crowded waiting room. I’ve walked by him too many times to count.

A partial solution for distance vision was to wear glasses with prisms6 to correct the double vision; it worked, sort of. Reading in bed had become more and more difficult without a direct, bright light. I’d been asking my ophthalmologist about cataract7 surgery for several years; finally, she said yes, the time was right; and referred me to a surgeon colleague (the angel).

Gulp… here’s what the surgery was like, three days ago8.

Back to the operating room… more than you want to know about cataract surgery

I don’t remember much after my surgeon departed again for the OR. The anesthesiologist approached and pushed a “cocktail” of sedatives9 into my IV. (I could have refused this, as the woman in the pre-op bed next to mine did; I figured she was crazy, or very, very brave.) The next thing I remember is the surgeon saying gently, “Hold still so the laser can do its thing; you will feel a little pressure.” I was in the OR, draped except my left eye, but I have no memory of being wheeled in. The anesthesiologist had used a local lidocaine to numb my eye so I didn’t feel anything, but I was intentionally awake enough, despite the sedative, to be able to hear the surgeon. I had opted for the more expensive surgery “package,” which includes a Femto laser10 making the initial (VERY quick) incision. It makes a cleaner cut and, my eye surgeon explained later (making good on her promise), it makes it easier for her to suck out the emulsified cataract lens and insert the new artificial clear IOC (intraocular lens).

If you want the microscopic details…

The proteins that make up the ocular lens are softened by the laser and then broken up into tiny chunks by the ultrasound probe inserted by the surgeon; the probe also sucks out the microscopic chunks. The new artificial lens is “folded” and slipped into place through the 2 mm (millimeter) incision, about the size of a sharp pencil point. The whole procedure takes 12 minutes, my surgeon told me. Cool, huh?!

So how is my [b]old left eye doing?

Three days post-op, the swelling and inflammation from the surgery continue to diminish (they are not visible), and the distance vision in my left eye is surprisingly sharp—MUCH better than before. I have no pain at all, and no feeling of scratchiness, or other reminder of surgery. Another big improvement is that the colors I see through my left eye are much brighter and “whiter” than with my right eye—a common result because cataracts make colors less bright and give everything a yellow-ish tone.

All considered, I’m looking forward to cataract surgery on my right eye in two weeks! I expect my vision to become clearer and sharper overall; but (spoiler alert) I will still need to wear glasses to correct my diplopia. And will continue to be very dependent upon reading glasses.

A glass of sherry before operating…

My physician husband asked me to add that his great great great grandfather performed the first cataract surgery in the U.S. in about 1820, after training in England; the story goes that Edward Reynolds MD stepped into the library, drank a glass of sherry, said a prayer—and then operated on his father (who, apparently, was the only person willing to undergo the new operation).

Subsequently, Reynolds co-founded Boston Eye and Ear, now part of Mass General; there has been a physician in every generation of Sam’s family since (both our daughters are MDs).

Questions for discussion:

Today I’m wondering about your vision!

• Have you had cataract surgery, and, if so, what changes or improvements in your eyesight have you noticed?

• Has your eyesight degenerated11 as you age? In addition to cataracts, macular and retinal changes are age-related.

• What [b]old adaptations might you be making in your life because of your changing vision?

Leave a comment

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If you're following the news, you know it's been a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week. The stock market is plummeting, the dizzying trade tariffs are on again / off again, the world order is shifting and unstable, and the nonsensical chaos created by Trumpty-Dumpty continues. So I ditched the introspective discussion post originally queued up for this week. I couldn’t bring myself to stir up any more anxieties, yours or mine; as soon as I start thinking too deeply, my brain runs off the rails.

Before we get into this week's discussion question, I want to share a bit of good news! The legendary Judith Viorst, author of the bestselling children's book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, is my next [B]old Woman Q&A. She is 94 and just published a new memoir! Stay tuned for this one; I know you'll love it. Update: here’s the Q&A with Judith:

What are you doing to escape the news?

I'll go first! Here's everything I'm reading, watching, and listening to right now:

Reading

Getting lost in a good book is my go-to activity to block out everything; that includes my To Do list as well as the destabilization of the global order. If I’m really in avoidance mode, I read in my favorite chair in my favorite sunny spot in the middle of the day, feeling enormously guilty but doing it anyway. Why the guilt, for heaven’s sake! I’m 73 and semi-retired, I should be allowed to read in the middle of the day! But that’s just me, always feeling pressure to be more productive.

I read both “high-brow” literary fiction and popular fiction, meaning it’s considered “low-brow” because it’s more plot-driven. (As long as it’s well-written, I don’t care which it is.) So far this year I’ve loved Jakob Kerr’s Dead Money and Curtis Sittenfeld’s new book of short stories, Show Don’t Tell. I look for new titles in several places, including the NYT Book Review, The Guardian, People1, and recs from my elder daughter, who is a voracious reader.

I’m also drawn to nonfiction thrillers. I just finished Careless People by former Meta executive Sarah Wynn-Williams, about Facebook’s lies, deceit, and unethical business practices. Wynn-Williams, Facebook’s former Director of Global Strategy, recounts blow-by-blow, thriller style, what she learned and what she encountered during her tenure as one of the top execs. The tech wizards inside the company tweak algorithms to spread misinformation and manipulate elections (Trump, in 2016); company leaders collaborated with the Chinese government to gain entry into that country; and, of course, Facebook deliberately fails to protect our personal data (to read this explicitly detailed is hair-raising). Even more disturbing are her accounts of sexual harassment and misogyny inside the company; COO Sheryl Sandberg was part of this.

Not surprisingly, at least one former Facebook employee is publicly disputing2 Sarah’s version of what went on; and in a final irony, Facebook/Meta itself has filed an injunction3 to prohibit Wynn-Williams from promoting or discussing her book publicly. I’m drawn to this kind of insider stuff about the tech industry, a culture I’ve followed closely for over 25 years, and which I was part of in the early aughts. Twenty years ago I yearned to be part of it; more recently, I feel disgust.

I’m just starting Chimamanda Ngozi Adichi’s new book, Dream Count; I loooved her last book, Americanah, published over a decade ago. Has anyone read this one yet? How did you like it?

Watching

This week, my husband, , and I finished Season 3 of The White Lotus, of course, but like a lot of people I was disappointed by the ending. It didn’t feel as if all the pieces of the story fell into place. Creator Mike White is oh so clever but he didn’t quite nail it. Never mind, it’s a perfect diversion, especially if you like drooling over a luxury resort in beautiful Thailand.

We both loved Adolescence, the four-part Netflix crime series, filmed in Yorkshire in northern England, about a 13-year-old boy who is arrested after the murder of a girl at his school. This is a must-watch; it’s brilliantly filmed and acted (each episode was shot in one take), and unfurls the real issues at stake aside from murder: the pernicious influence of social media, the online “manosphere,” toxic masculinity, misogyny. Riveting.

We’re currently watching Bosch: Legacy, the final season of the tightly-scripted police procedural based on Michael Connolly’s books and starring Hieronymous (Harry) Bosch, a former LAPD detective, now a private investigator. I get so into the characters in these series that I climb into bed peppering Sam with questions about who said what and why… and in the case of Adolescence, what really happened. (You’ll have to watch it!)

Listening

I regularly listen to the New York Times’ The Daily (about headline issues) and The Ezra Klein Show (to understand tariffs and trade deficits, etc.). I know, I know… I should branch out from the NYT, so I look forward to your suggestions. As with well-written books, and having had a podcast4 myself for five years, I like tightly-edited shows—and the NYT does this reliably.

My husband Sam briefly appears in a new podcast series, The Redefector, telling the extraordinary true story of a high-ranking KGB officer, Vitaly Yurchenko, who defected to the U.S. in 1985; ninety days later, he disappeared from the supposedly watchful eyes of the CIA, and redefected back to Russia.

Sam, now a retired gastroenterologist, was asked to examine Yurchenko for his purported stomach troubles, during the weeks the spy was stashed away in a safe house near DC. In Episode 4 of the podcast is Sam’s very funny retelling5 of the “special” patient’s visit to his medical office. The guy had on an obvious wig, Sam says, and a make-up disguise that looked like Dutch Boy paint. Oh, and there was nothing wrong with him; he is still alive and living in Moscow!

That’s it from me. Your turn!

MY QUESTIONS FOR YOU:

• What are you reading, listening to, watching for diversion these days?
  

• What other activities do you engage in to stay sane in this uncertain time?

Leave a comment

I’m 73 years old and I started this newsletter to get okay with the very normal yet challenging process of aging; by contrast, what’s happening right now in the U.S. is NOT normal, and I cannot get okay with it. It’s brazen, it’s chaotic, it’s cruel, it’s all encompassing, and it demands attention. I’m finding the daily news painfully addictive, but I have to know everything. And I want the knowledge to hurt, to goad me into action of some kind, to be [b]old, both as a writer and a concerned citizen.

But so far, other than paying close attention, I don’t have a clear plan.

My response, for now, is to learn more

One thing I’m doing is reading more widely1. One of my new Substack subscriptions is to , the 78-year-old former Secretary of Labor, now a professor at UC-Berkeley. He publishes daily, keeping track of every action by Musk and 47 that shows contempt for the rule of law. Sometimes he infuses humor, recently re-publishing a letter from deceased President Richard Nixon, Nixon’s letter to Elon Musk.2 It’s written from Hell; definitely worth a read. Most helpful to me, however, are Reich’s concrete suggestions; for example, call the U.S. Capitol switchboard at 202-224-3121 and tell them where you’re from. Ask to be connected to your Representatives and/or Senators.

Inspired, I made my first ever “concerned citizen” call3 to a Congressional office; in my case, to Maine’s Sen. Angus King4. And speaking of my home state of Maine, you may have heard that our governor, Janet Mills (the first woman governor of the state), stood up to Trump and challenged him in person, at a governors’ lunch in DC5.

Another new read for me is The Contrarian, started in mid-January by former Washington Post columnist Jen Rubin. It calls itself an independent, pro-Democracy publication; in just over five weeks it has accrued over 500,000 subscribers. So there are a lot of people, like me, who want in-depth coverage–and commentary–on 47’s authoritarian movement, including this week’s pushback from citizens across the country.

A very thoughtful Stack I pay close attention to is Breaking the News by . Jim, also a friend, is a veteran journalist and author, who writes about politics, technology, and American renewal, often in an historical context, and, as an instrument-rated pilot, explains how the recent airline disasters point to what the downstream effects will be of cutting funds.

Maybe there’s no “right” response, yet

I’ve been consoling myself with the thought that I’m not the only writer with a non-political focus who hasn’t figured out how to respond, at least creatively, to what’s happening in America. Writing about [b]old age–at least as I have been–does not seem to be the answer; actually it seems pretty off-topic. I don’t want to repeat the cries of outrage and frustration which are being voiced by so many. That doesn’t add much. Nor do I want to summarize and interpret all the latest actions by 47 and Musk. That is not needed.

Normally, I’m always looking for a jolt of inspiration; the odd or intriguing thing that will spark an idea for a new post about the experience of aging. But to be creative, my brain has to stop spinning in anxious circles; it has to wander a bit, aimlessly, without pressure, without a goal. And that’s really hard right now.

Maybe I should shift my attention to the small things, at least sometimes

Rarely, and especially when I’m anxious, do I pause long enough to look around quietly, and with wonder; I’ve been trying to do that more. I try to see the frozen snowbanks, the sun glinting fiercely off them, through my eight-year-old grandson’s eyes. It takes a lot longer to walk to school with him right now because he has to climb up and down every icy bank and slip on purpose and squeal. For that moment, I’m okay; I have a purpose, to love my grandchild. Maybe small moments are grounding you too.

But the question remains, what the heck am I, are all of us, supposed to be doing right now to stand up to 47, as writers and creatives? I can’t stop asking this question: how can and should I respond, as a writer and a [b]old woman, to the extraordinary events unfolding daily in the U.S.? I want to be able to look back and viscerally recall this time (what happened and how we didn’t know how it would turn out), and I want to feel proud that I did my part, even if—for the moment—it’s just paying very close attention and weaving awareness, and questioning, into my writing.

As for [B]old Age the newsletter, it’s not going anywhere. I am more motivated than ever to be among the many elders using their voices for good, and I feel that now is the time to reimagine what role [B]old Age plays in this historic moment.

MY QUESTIONS FOR YOU:

• What issues would you love to see me cover here in the [B]old Age newsletter? (I’d really like to hear!)

• If you’re a fellow creative, what feels like the right thing for you to be doing at this moment in history?

• What do you think, do older people have a special responsibility to speak up?

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One summer a few years ago, when she was in her late 80s, I tripped on a step and fell on a brick patio, right next to her. She was but a few feet away, watering her garden. She neither turned her head, nor asked if I was okay. My brain sprang to, “Does she really not care if her 70-year-old daughter injures herself?” A ridiculous conclusion, I know, but we didn’t exactly have the close and confiding relationship I wanted. Only some time later did I understand–and yes, with some amusement–what had actually happened. She had become significantly deaf, but she hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, as far as I know. Nor did she routinely wear her hearing aids, leading to a string of misunderstandings, when she didn’t return a friendly greeting from a friend across the street (she hadn’t heard it), took a dinner conversation in an unexpected direction because she couldn’t hear and follow the discussion, etc.

I’m pretty sure that my mother’s approach to the infirmities of old age is lodged in my brain somewhere: don’t whine, don’t talk about it, maybe even keep it a secret. Like her, I don’t want to admit to weakness or disability; her solution was to carry on as usual and pretend that nothing had changed. I get that, I really do, and I admire her for it. Part of me wants to do just the same: pretend that getting old, or deaf, or frail is not really a thing, that depression isn’t a thing, that death doesn’t apply to me.

On the other hand, I find myself wanting to be more honest about acknowledging and even embracing old age. Which puts me in kind of a pickle: which is the right approach? The message I got from my mom was pretty clear, and I can still hear it: complaining is bad and boring. The message I feel compelled to articulate is a little different: it’s okay for me to talk about my degenerating body, or for my friends or readers to do the same, because it means we’re accepting the fact of aging in a healthy way; we’re explaining the bullshit of what it’s like, but without self-pity. Getting old IS a thing…

Speaking of pain, I do have one chronic condition: a stiff neck. When I turn my head on the pillow at night, it hurts; when I stare down at my iPhone too long1, it hurts; when I turn my head in certain yoga poses, the pain stops me cold. I can’t swivel my head all the way around, so I have to turn my whole body to check for oncoming cars when I’m crossing the street. I rarely mention this problem or the pain to anyone. I’m also getting a little deaf myself, but as I said, I’m not complaining…

An old, close, and formerly adventurous friend, in her early 70s like me, emailed recently with a life update, “(My husband) and I are FINE despite old age afflictions… I continue to do art, handwork, read, all my normal stuff, with the exception of walking. Travel is a huge ordeal for me and I dread outings that require much standing. My right leg is kaput and hurts most of the time...” Oh Lucy, I ache for you, hearing this. At the same time, I’m so glad that you can speak openly about a significant disability, and that you are carrying on, that all is FINE.

Maybe this is where I diverge the most from my mom, despite my admiration for her non-complaining. I want to hear about the messiness of your lives, about the challenges of getting old and how you’re coping and feeling, whether it’s a bad hip or the loss of a spouse. I want to hear about your pain, and to share a little of mine.

MY QUESTIONS FOR YOU:

• Who do you open up to about pain, physical or emotional?

• Is it better to ignore pain and debilitating conditions, as my mom did? Or does talking about it help?

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If the distance and dramatic time difference were not enough, both my husband and I returned home with what seems to be the Japanese flu; two weeks later, we’re not fully recovered. So not only am I not restored after this “break,” I’m depleted (like you are after being really sick), and feeling a bit sorry for myself. If you’re thinking of saying, “I told you so,” it’s not necessary. I am hearing that message loud and clear already.

In my defense, I knew that a trip to Japan probably wasn’t the best way to rest, but I thought taking a break from writing and publishing might be pause enough. And, if I’m being totally honest, I thought that maybe I could fake being rested, and that you–and I–wouldn’t notice.

What’s more, I didn’t want to consider how overseas travel is much more tiring and taxing on an aging body than a youthful one. Has this experience taught me to be more realistic about long-distance travel? Is my New Year’s resolution to be more honest and realistic with myself—and you? I don’t know yet, but more about traveling and old age in an upcoming post. In the meantime…

MY QUESTIONS FOR YOU:

• Do you need to schedule more rest in your life, as you get older?

• Are traveling and resting incompatible, as you age?

My mother had always created beautiful Christmases. When I was a child, her holiday rituals included baking, icing, and decorating DOZENS of cookies, in the perfect shape of Santa, the reindeer, a Christmas tree, etc., to leave on the doorstep of the families in the neighborhood where I grew up. In the weeks before Christmas, under my mother’s watchful eye, I painstakingly decorated Santa or Rudolph, placing a tiny silver ball just so, for a shiny eye. Looking back, I know I relished her attention and direction.

For my oldest child’s first Christmas, some primal instinct made me want to emulate her (even though by then my mother and I weren’t as close as I wished). I attempted the cookie baking and decorating, while juggling my seven-month-old in one arm, in order to carry on the tradition and impress our new neighbors in Atlanta, GA; I was so exhausted by the effort I can’t remember how many cookies I created and delivered (surely, not enough).

In more recent years, my younger sister carries on the cookie baking tradition. She’s wisely turned it into an annual social event that is eagerly anticipated. She invites several dozen close friends over to do all the decorating—no one’s cookies are perfect and that makes it more fun.

Nowadays I find myself much more relaxed when it comes to the holidays. Even with six grandchildren, I don’t feel the same pressure to produce lavish gifts or bake scads of cookies or decorate the house from tip to (mistle)toe for the holidays. In fact, I welcome the opportunity to do something different (see beach photo below). Come Christmas morning, I’m well-rested and generally calm. Still, I can’t help but notice that familiar beat of anxiety that creeps in just after Thanksgiving and lasts until January 1st. I’ve come a long way in relieving myself of the holiday pressures to be the perfect wife/mother/grandmother, but somehow a bit of the stress still lingers.

MY QUESTION FOR YOU

How do the holidays affect your mental health? Are you ever a sobbing heap? How do you cope with holiday stress and family expectations?

— Debbie

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Sam and I drove through the Armagnac region of Southwest France last week. We stopped to see the ruins of the 4th century Villa de Séviac1, famous for its magnificently-decorated and perfectly-preserved mosaic floors. 

The tile floors, laid bare after decades of archaeological digging on what was once a farm, made me reflect on the multiple layers of history (in this case, over 1,700 years) that you find everywhere in Europe, so much deeper than our history in the U.S. 

And it made me think about layers of my memory, going back years and decades, and how perfectly-preserved it is–or isn’t.

It’s sometimes hard to know, in [b]old age, if something actually happened the way I am remembering it, or if the memory, has, like me, been shaped little by little, over years of living, until the memory is altogether different from the event. Like so many of us at this later stage of life, I relish calling up the sensory-laden scenes from my childhood, my early days of marriage, or images of my adult children when they were tiny. 

Specifically, I’m curious about the memories that we call up and use in a personal essay to tell a story about our past, our childhood, and/or our relationship with parents or siblings.

Recently, a close cousin emailed to say she had a different memory of my maternal grandmother than what I expressed in my essay about my mother. I absolutely adored my Granny Eliza, as I called her, and I reminded my cousin that I had made that point in the essay. Still, what my cousin objected to was my suggestion that my grandmother was an alcoholic and that was the reason she had locked herself in her room for days at a time. I think this was most likely the case, from what I’ve heard through family stories, but perhaps there is another explanation. Perhaps my grandmother struggled with depression. The point is, I will never know exactly. 

The email was followed by a good phone conversation and we agreed to disagree…or at least to admit that neither one of us had any way of knowing with certainty what had happened and what kind of mother my grandmother had been. In any event, I have removed the word “alcoholic2” from my essay and substituted “had a drinking problem.” 

MY QUESTION FOR YOU: When you write about your parents or other close family members, how do you know whether your memories are accurate? Does it matter, if you feel it’s your lived experience? 

If presented with enough evidence, are you willing to change your memories (and writing)?

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I can feel my mind opening in a way that is uncomfortable. In some ways, it feels embarrassing to still be asking, “Who am I?” at 72. In others, it feels good. I may be older, but I am not set in my ways or my thoughts, yet. I’m rethinking my anger and resentment about how my parents misunderstood and misjudged me; my reactions definitely played a part. I’m opening to new ways of seeing my role in my family; I was the outsider, the different one, by my own actions. As my self-concept is changing, the floor beneath me feels like it’s shifting. Which leads me to…

MY QUESTION FOR YOU: How has grief opened questions about yourself and changed your own self-concept? Have you struggled to forgive not just the person who died, but also yourself?

— Debbie

I am also questioning whether women think differently about legacy and what it means. I think they might, given the responses I got recently when Twelve [B]old Men Reflect(ed) on Old Age. And finally, I am asking how legacy and creativity are interconnected. I’ll post this essay soon (in Sept.!); in the meantime I’d love to hear from you on the topic of legacy.

MY QUESTION FOR YOU: What is your definition of legacy? Do you know how you want to be remembered? Do you know what you want to pass on?

P.S. I’ll be taking a week off here and there this August, to savor the end of summer and practice doing less.

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I’m working on a post for this Friday on the topic of exercise, movement, and body image as we get older, and I’d love to include some of your responses to the following questions:

MY QUESTION FOR YOU: How would you describe your physical relationship with your aging body? What kind of exercises and movements feel especially good to you? Do you have a daily exercise ritual? What sorts of things make movement more or less difficult than it was before?

Here’s the post!

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I wish I could say I believe unconditionally that old age is not something to be ashamed of. I’m working on it, but I haven’t quite managed (yet) to be completely proud, positive, and non-apologetic about growing [b]old. All I have to do is look in the mirror and I am met with insecurities and even loathing of my aging body. In addition, because of my wonky double vision and lack of depth perception, I try never to drive at night. I carefully look down when I walk to avoid stumbling and falling, and there are certain hikes I don’t attempt any more. But I am acknowledging, as opposed to denying, old age and I’m making accommodations; it’s okay, really!

These personal realizations have led me to think about what’s behind Biden’s refusal (as of this writing) to step aside after last week’s presidential debate, in which he starkly reminded over 50 million viewers that he is a very old man. Leaving aside the political implications, he’s reinforcing a common narrative around aging, that old age must be DENIED at all costs! Because, he seems to be telling us, the reality of old age is bad and to get very old is a failure; we even use the term “failing” about an elderly person.

MY QUESTION FOR YOU: Without getting into your own thoughts about Biden’s cognitive and physical abilities, how are YOU experiencing the reality of old age? Have you had to give up something, maybe driving at night or a certain activity or sport you once loved, because your age makes it impossible (or unsafe)? Does this feel like a personal failing, or simply a normal part of aging? 

MY QUESTIONS FOR YOU: Do you avoid messy feelings around grief or in reaction to other life-changing events? Have you had a reaction like mine in the face of all the “I’m so sorry”s? What do you do to acknowledge and feel your feelings?

Debbie

No, not like that. I’ve been surveying a group of 12 or so [b]old men to find out if their experience of old age is different than it is for [b]old women. They’re all writers, here on Substack or elsewhere, or they’re personal friends. One is my husband. My questions for this group ranged from health and appearance concerns, to identity, to priorities. I had some hunches about how they’d respond, but I have to say, their answers are fascinating and surprising. I’m going to share them with you all next week. In the meantime, here’s one of the questions I asked them—I’d love to hear your answers first.

MY QUESTION FOR YOU: What is one thing you wish people knew about what it's like to reach "old age" as a woman?

Here is my Q&A with twelve [b]old men

Debbie