I just started writing for The New Yorker at 54

January 12, 2016
2 556 0
I just started writing for The New Yorker at 54

I just started writing for The New Yorker at 54

“I turn 55 next year, which is an age I never dreamed of. I was punk in the 80’s with dyed black hair, torn stockings, and a motorcycle jacket that I bought off the street and never washed. I write about things people didn’t tell me about and push the envelope and do it with humor. Am I still fuckable at 50? Say it out loud because then it doesn’t hold the power and the terror. You realize everyone goes through it. I always find the humor in things. It is the only thing that doesn’t change as we get older. It has to be a choice or otherwise the muffin top becomes a weeper. I am a late bloomer and have to keep telling myself that is worthwhile to keep contributing. I just started writing for The New Yorker at 54. I wish I could have done that at 34. I still struggle with defining myself. I am a human aside from all of the work I have done, but now I think of myself as a comedic writer.”

2 comments on “I just started writing for The New Yorker at 54”

  1. Jennifer Cullison says:

    Fourth was freeing and fifty was even more so. I embrace these years as I embrace the me I lost to kids and obligations of adult hood. Now is my time to fly!!

  2. Michelle Koran says:

    You’re an inspiration. I’m about to turn 40 and feel like I’ve done nothing so far. I also struggled with defining myself. Then I found a group of people who can relate. We call ourselves multipotentialites, or scanners. Take a look at this site – you might be one too!- puttylike.com. And it’s a good thing! I also want to share my writing and I keep telling myself I have time, but I keep hearing the clock ticking, like I’m running out of days.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *