It probably won’t surprise you to hear that I have big love for Julia Louis-Dreyfus’s podcast “Wiser Than Me,” where she interviews older women about their long and amazing lives.

Because she’s Julia Louis-Dreyfus, she often knows (or has at least met) her subjects, which gives their conversations a wonderfully intimate quality; at the end of some episodes, I often find myself feeling like I just had coffee with two fascinating and familiar girlfriends.

At the very end of each podcast, Julia always calls her mother, the poet Judith Bowles, to debrief the conversation. These are some of my favorite moments of all, especially when her mom has been listening along to Julia’s interviews. When 90-year-old Carol Burnett told Julia she was “one of the greatest comedic actresses of our time,” listening to Julia talk to her mom about it was as emotional as the interview. Plus, Julia calls her Mommy, which I also think is pretty adorable.

I have loved almost all of Julia’s conversations with women she calls “SO much wiser than me,” but my favorites include Jane Fonda (who’s now 87), Bonnie Raitt (76), Carol Burnett (90), Glenn Close (78) and Annie Liebovitz (76).

At the beginning of each interview, Julia asks (politely) if the subject is willing to tell her actual age. Unsurprisingly, they all do, except (so far) for journalist Nina Totenberg, who tartly observed, “Ageism is real,” before the conversation moved on. I thought that was kind of hilarious, especially for a journalist, in this age when the first thing a Google search reveals about a famous person is her age.

It’s the next question Julia usually asks that I have been thinking about today: “How old do you feel?”

Because today is my birthday, and two years ago, I launched this newsletter with the goal of writing about and talking to fascinating people about the challenges and opportunities of getting older. I’m also deeply interested in how to keep a career going into what some of the women whose work on aging I follow call Q4. I think that getting older is a gift, especially for those of us who have had long and varied careers and are able to continue to build on ALL of the experiences we’ve had, good and bad. I am definitely a much more effective writer, editor, strategist and listener because of all that’s come before.

I’m 66 today, an age that I remember my grandmother reaching, though her life was defined by a completely different set of circumstances than my own. She grew up poor, one of 10 siblings, and by the time I knew her, she was the hardworking helpmate to my grandfather, a former big band musician (he played with both Benny Goodman and Gene Krupa). When I was a child, he was making a living both building houses and managing apartment buildings, often not in the best parts of town. Nana collected rent, cleaned up after scofflaw tenants, played games with my sister and me and our cousins, and cooked the best Sunday dinners I’ll ever eat (creamed corn and fried chicken … ahhh). If my grandmother ever thought about what she wished she were doing instead of cleaning filthy apartments and watching her grandchildren, I never knew about it. She died before I was old enough to think to ask.

I’m pretty certain Nana felt about as old as she was most days. In fact, I remember her talking about getting old — and feeling old — when she was younger than I am now.

To say my life — and my perception of aging — is different from hers is a wild understatement. I have been lucky enough to be able to make choices about my life and my career that mean I am doing exactly the kind of work I love most with clients and friends whose missions and companies I admire. I get to say no to people and work that doesn’t interest me. I have ideas for new projects and new connections almost every day. I am able to see a little of my impact on the world, in big and small ways, if I remember to look for it.

And all of this is because I am the age I am.

But how old do I feel? That’s a more difficult question. Can you feel like you’re many ages all at once?

I’m having my right knee replaced next month, so, at least when I rise from a chair, I feel pretty creaky (okay, I’m in PAIN). That’s certainly a way I know my actual age, but I like to think that part of the reason my knees are the way they are is because of all the field hockey I played, the running I did and the biking I’ve loved across the decades. It’s probably also because of the ridiculous shoes I wore as a young professional striding around New York City in the 80s.

But, aside from that, I guess I feel alternately around 35 and 50, depending on the day.

When I’m in 35-year-old mode, I’m energized with ambition for new projects and cool ideas, whether it’s from a particularly stimulating conversation, a project that turned out well, or discovering and mastering a new technology; I’ve found a few AI tools that I really like. The stereotype that people my age are unable to understand and use technology makes me furious, especially when it’s applied to women. You have to keep learning, right?

I feel 50ish when things don’t go as well: when I have a difficult conversation, say, or am faced with a project that doesn’t go the way I’d hoped. I usually feel like I can summon what Malcolm Gladwell calls mastery — you’ve surely heard about the “10,000 hours” rule, from his 2008 book Outliers — to keep me steady and help me resolve the issue. It doesn’t always work, but I also don’t go down as many rabbit holes now as I used to.

As Nina said, ageism is real, but I also think that as more and more of us who have built long and passionate careers keep going, the more likely it will be that we won’t be the, well, outliers any more. At least I hope so.

Since I launched this Substack on my birthday in 2023, all of you who have so generously supported me with paid subscriptions are asked to re-up again every time my birthday rolls around. I didn’t actually mean for that to happen, but I am SO grateful if you are moved to support me.

Happy holidays to all!

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