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, writer, editor, and educator Vanessa Mártir responds. -Sari Botton
PS If you’re enjoying the work I do here at Oldster, please consider supporting it by becoming a paid subscriber. 🙏
“I supported your work because there’s nothing else like it, i.e., a place to find writing about aging, old age, and all the rest. I enjoy reading it.” - Jim Dowd , paid subscriber.
P.S. A reminder that as far as I’m concerned, everyone who is alive and aging is considered an Oldster, and that every contributor to this magazine is the oldest they have ever been, which is interesting new territory for them—and interesting to me, the 60-year-old who publishes Oldster. Also, I’m trying to foster intergenerational conversations in which elders learn what it’s like to be younger, and younger people learn from elders what it’s like to be older.
When you see a piece featuring someone significantly younger than you, try to remember when you were that age and how monumental it felt. Bring some curiosity to reading about how the person being featured is experiencing that age. Or, if you prefer, wait for the next piece featuring someone in your age group. In the last few weeks alone, I’ve published pieces by people in their 60s, 70s, and 80s. Not every piece will speak to every reader. I’m doing my best to cover a lot of ground and be age-inclusive. Please work with me! Thank you. 🙏 - Sari Botton
Vanessa Mártir is multi-genre writer, editor, and educator, and the founder of the Writing Our Lives Workshop and the Writing the Mother Wound Movement. She is a first semester Blackburn. Fellow in Randolph College’s MFA Program, a 2026 NYSCA/NYFA fellow and a 2021 Letras Boricuas fellow. Vanessa’s work has been widely published, including in The New York Times, Washington Post, The Guardian, Longreads, Aster(ix), AGNI, and the anthologies Not That Bad, edited by Roxane Gay and So We Can Know, edited by Aracelis Girmay. When she's not writing or teaching, you can find Vanessa hiking an old growth forest or tending to her garden. For more, visit vanessamartir.com.
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How old are you?
50
Is there another age you associate with yourself in your mind? If so, what is it? And why, do you think?
13, the age I was in the fall of 1989 when I left my home in Bushwick, Brooklyn to attend boarding school in Wellesley, Massachusetts. I never moved back. This was one of the most defining moves of my life.
I’m writing about the girl I was, who was so audacious and determined, and also so very scared and unsure of herself. The world let me know quickly that I would have to change to fit in. I spent a long time trying to find a place where I could fit until I realized there was nothing wrong with who I was in the first place.
The other day, I had a conversation with a friend, also 50, who told me she was four years away from retirement. Meanwhile, I’m back in grad school, dreaming of being a college professor and finishing my memoir. I’m where I’m supposed to be, excited about being back in school, what I’m learning, the exhilarating terror of trying and doing new things at this age.
Do you feel old for your age? Young for your age? Just right? Are you in step with your peers?
It depends on the day, really. Today I feel just right for my age.
I try not to think about where I should be because, frankly, I’ve taken a rather circuitous road to writing and publishing.
The other day, I had a conversation with a friend, also 50, who told me she was four years away from retirement. Meanwhile, I’m back in grad school, dreaming of being a college professor and finishing my memoir. I’m where I’m supposed to be, excited about being back in school, what I’m learning, the exhilarating terror of trying and doing new things at this age.
What do you like about being your age?
It’s weird to be 50, because it’s at 50 that I started really paying attention to age, and the reality that I’m middle aged. I am thinking about my mortality in a different way. When my mother died three years ago, I discovered that she had started writing a memoir when she was 47, the age I was when she died. My mother was a beautiful writer, her writing is lush with sensory writing and vivid descriptions. I wonder what she could have done if she’d had access, if she believed herself worthy of sharing her life stories with the world. Knowing that has made me even more determined to pursue my goals of finishing and publishing my memoir.
What is difficult about being your age?
Perimenopause.
What is surprising about being your age, or different from what you expected, based on what you were told?
I thought risk taking was a young person’s privilege. I was wrong. I’m still a risk taker. Perhaps I’m more calculated, and risk taking these days doesn’t involve flying down a steep hill on rollerblades without a helmet or any kind of safety gear, but sometimes the risks I take feel just as exhilarating. Like, earlier this year I decided to apply to Randolph College’s MFA program. Not only did I get in, but I received a fantastic fellowship that ensures I won’t put myself into further debt.
Turns out you can start over or choose a different path at any age.
When my mother died three years ago, I discovered that she had started writing a memoir when she was 47, the age I was when she died. My mother was a beautiful writer, her writing is lush with sensory writing and vivid descriptions. I wonder what she could have done if she’d had access, if she believed herself worthy of sharing her life stories with the world. Knowing that has made me even more determined to pursue my goals of finishing and publishing my memoir.
What has aging given you? Taken away from you?
Given: Perspective and Empathy. I’m less sure of a lot of things, and that’s okay. I’m also super sure about some things and that, too, is okay. Like my boundaries are not negotiable. This is huge for a recovering people-pleaser.
Taken: Patience. I have less time to waste on nonsense.
I am also trying to unlearn the capitalist notion of productivity—the false notion that my meaning and worth are determined by how much I produce. I like to move slower these days. I like to spend time outdoors, hiking old growth forests, putting my hands in soil, discovering and learning new things, but I still fight the ingrained belief that these things are frivolous.
How has getting older affected your sense of yourself, or your identity?
The life I envision is slower and quieter than the one I imagined in my 20s and 30s. Turns out I don’t want extravagance or a lot of partying and socializing. Don’t get me wrong, I want to publish and travel with my stories, but I want to spend just as much time in my garden, sitting in silence, listening and observing nature.
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 just celebrated my daughter’s college graduation. A few days later, I hopped on a train to Virginia to start my MFA program. This doesn’t feel like something I missed out on—grad school, that is. It’s something I was meant to do now, with lots of wisdom and experience under my belt.
What has been your favorite age so far, and why? Would you go back to this age if you could?
This is a hard one but if I have to pick one, I’d say 40 because I entered the decade feeling so much more healed and sure of myself and where I was going and why.
I also really like being 50 right now. My audacity surprises and excites me.
If I could go back, I’d go back to my college days, but of course I’d do some things differently. Like I’d end the relationship with the abusive ex much sooner and I’d take more art and writing classes.
I just celebrated my daughter’s college graduation. A few days later, I hopped on a train to Virginia to start my MFA program. This doesn’t feel like something I missed out on—grad school, that is. It’s something I was meant to do now, with lots of wisdom and experience under my belt.
Is there someone who is older than you, who makes growing older inspiring to you? Who is your aging idol and why?
Rita Moreno because she keeps being epic and unstoppable.
What aging-related adjustments have you recently made, style-wise, beauty-wise, health-wise?
I can’t wear heels like I used to and refuse to be uncomfortable just because they look good.
Also, I have a whole new skin regimen because older skin demands attention.
What’s an aging-related adjustment you refuse to make, and why?
I refuse to believe it’s too late for me to do things. Like, it isn’t too late for me to go back to school, it isn’t too late for me to be a college professor, and it certainly isn’t too late for me to try new things. Like, while I’ve written poetry, I have never considered myself a poet, but poetry has been pulling at my hem for some time now and these days I’m leaning into it.
What turn of events had the biggest impact on your life? What took your life in a different direction, for better or worse?
I’ve had a lot of losses in my life (my mother 3 years ago, my nephew in 2021), but it was my brother’s death in 2013 that was seismic in my life. He was only 41, my first best friend and confidante. He loved and believed in me in ways I didn’t love and believe in myself. It is after his death that I’ve become the woman he always said I was. To this day, whenever I am faced with a big decision, I talk to him and ask for guidance. He always shows up, often in the form of a hummingbird. Even after death, he stands by me.
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’d worked on healing and loving myself sooner.
I refuse to believe it’s too late for me to do things. Like, it isn’t too late for me to go back to school, it isn’t too late for me to be a college professor, and it certainly isn’t too late for me to try new things. Like, while I’ve written poetry, I have never considered myself a poet, but poetry has been pulling at my hem for some time now and these days I’m leaning into it.
What is high up on your “bucket list?” What do you hope to achieve, attain, or plain enjoy before you die?
I am definitely going to finish and publish my memoir, and I will one day edit a “Writing the Mother Wound” anthology.
I also hope to hike as many old growth forests as humanly possible. I’m eying a goal of hiking all of the national and state parks of the US., and I want to walk some of the holy trails like the Camino de Santiago and the Camino de Costa Rica, for my own spiritual purposes since I am not religious and am really averse to institutionalized religion.
Is there a piece of advice you were given, that you live by? If so, what was it, and who offered it to you?
Some time ago, I was working with a therapist who knew about my love for gardening and my quest to be more loving and kind to myself. When we discussed my struggles with harsh self-talk, they recommended that I name a favorite plant after myself & speak kindly to her, fawn over her, and say her/my name each time.
This spring I chose the yellow hibiscus because I love them so much. I hunt this plant down every spring, especially this kind with the red burst in the center. When I see the flowers, my whole body reacts, like every cell is smiling.
I go out on my deck every morning. Tell her: “Look at how beautiful you are, Vanessa.” “My gosh, you’re such a show off, Vanessa.” “Look at those blossoms, Vanessa.” If she doesn’t have a flower that day, I count the buds, tell her she’s almost there. I comment on how shiny and green her leaves are, saying Vanessa after each compliment, each kind word.
One day this week, Vanessa had six blooms! So many, I couldn’t fit them in one picture. I am overwhelmed by her beauty, and how it feels to speak to Vanessa (and in turn myself) with such admiration and awe. I’m astounded by what this simple, daily practice is doing to my insides! I am close to tears as I type this.
All this to say, if you too are working on talking to yourself with more gentleness and love, I suggest you get a plant and name her after yourself. This work of loving ourselves can be hard. We need all the tricks we can think of. I am worthy of this effort, and so are you. :)
What are your plans for your body when you’re done using it? Burial? Cremation? Body Farm? Other?
I want my ashes buried at the roots of a tree.
I’ve had a lot of losses in my life (my mother 3 years ago, my nephew in 2021), but it was my brother’s death in 2013 that was seismic in my life. He was only 41, my first best friend and confidante. He loved and believed in me in ways I didn’t love and believe in myself. It is after his death that I’ve become the woman he always said I was. To this day, whenever I am faced with a big decision, I talk to him and ask for guidance. He always shows up, often in the form of a hummingbird. Even after death, he stands by me.
What do you expect to happen to your “soul” or “spirit” after you die?
I definitely believe in an afterlife, though I’m not sure what that looks like. But I know I’ll see my brother, mother, nephew, and second mom again. And if I have my choice, I’ll come back as a tree.
What’s your philosophy on celebrating birthdays as an adult? How do you celebrate yours?
I used to celebrate my birthdays with lots of people, making a big event out of it, but this has calmed down as I’ve gotten older. After my 50th didn’t go like I wanted it to, I have made a promise to myself that I will do something just for me on that day. It will likely involve some time in a forest somewhere. This is a nonnegotiable.
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