Kate Baer tries her best not to give people advice.

But the bestselling poet and author of the new collection “How About Now” does want to share some of what she’s been reminding herself lately.

“I think most of us, when we get into our 40s, we’ve lived enough life to know that we’re so lucky to age and that there’s a lot of people who don’t get that privilege. We don’t get a dress rehearsal for this life. It’s like, this is it,” Baer said. “Whatever you want to do, it’s time to do it now.”

Baer, who lives in rural Pennsylvania with her husband and four kids, knew she wanted to be a writer when she was 8 years old. With her 2020 debut “What Kind of Woman,” her first work of paid writing, she landed atop the New York Times bestseller list for paperback trade fiction.

Baer talked with the Minnesota Star Tribune about her new book and the precocious midlife crisis she weathered while writing it.

This conversation has been edited for space and clarity.

Q: Can we start by talking about the very end of your new book, because I love the dedication: “To anyone holding this collection in your hands wondering if there’s enough time for you: I wrote this with you in mind. You’re still here. It’s not too late. How about now?”

A: I’ve always been a late bloomer, but for the first time in my life, I was kind of ahead of the game with a midlife crisis. At the very green age of 39, it started with multiple health crises. I had a pelvic floor prolapse, and then I was referred to an ALS clinic for an influx of just crazy neurological symptoms that no one could explain. I ultimately did not have that… Basically, I was really facing my own mortality. And so, I guess, with that came this uncomfortable, but ultimately freeing, reminder that there’s only, like, one life. So, I mean, “How about now?”

Q: Reading this collection, you can tell you’re going through a lot.

A: I also had this intense need for life to slow down. I felt like entire seasons were passing me by in what felt like weeks. Like it’s Christmas, and now we’re swimming. My role as a mother was also changing … I have four kids, so I was wearing that young mommy hat for so long, and now my kids are in puberty and asking me to stay out of their hair. I just felt like so many things were happening that I wasn’t just on the path to a nervous breakdown. I was, like, at the finish line.

Q: So many of these poems are intensely personal. But then at the same time, they tap into this universal feeling of being a middle-aged woman in today’s world, where I know readers will be like, “I need to send this poem to my entire group chat right now.”

A: It’s not like I have that intention: “Now I’m going to write a poem that’s for everyone. Now I’m going to share a story about my life.” I’m glad that that’s come together like that, but I wouldn’t say that’s super intentional. But I always hope that whatever I’m writing about connects with somebody else as well.

Q: My own favorite poem in this collection, and maybe it’s because I ask people questions for a living, is “Interview with a Male Moderator at a Decorated Literary Event,” which begins with the question, “Do you ever feel that men might feel alienated from your work?” and the reply, “Do you ever feel that men are missing out on the richest parts of humanity?”

A: I have found myself in the position of answering the question that’s basically like, “How can you make this for everyone?” from a man so many times, that that’s where that poem came from. There are times where I have felt belittled by questions, like “It’s so cute you have this hobby” kind of questions or, especially from men, like, “This is so nice for your little emotions that you could talk about with your girlfriends.” And I’m just like, “But babe, I feel sorry for you. You’re the one who’s missing out.”

I have three boys. I’m married to a man. I try my hardest to help them as much as I can. But, you know, I chaperoned an eighth grade field trip last year for my son, and when we got to lunch, there was a huge difference between how the girls sat for lunch and how the boys sat for lunch. And I felt sick about it. I was like, “Thank God, I’m a girl. But like, look, boys, you can also sit in a circle and talk, right?”

Q: What is it like to be a bestselling poet living where you do, in rural Lancaster County?

A: I’m only a train ride from New York and Philadelphia, and I’m in the part of Pennsylvania that’s, like, close to things like the beach and cities. It’s very nice to go outside and no one can see me. I usually love it in a lot of ways. It also can be very isolating. I definitely live in a conservative area and because my voice is not, it is awkward, because I’m also a person living in a community, going to PTO events and going to soccer sidelines. And I try to keep my lives separate, and I also try to keep my brain and my mind open and do a lot of listening and not get up on my soap box and just try to connect with people in my community. But it is hard…

It’s very peaceful where I live in some ways, and then in other ways, it does not feel very peaceful. But then it’s like, what am I projecting? There’s this virtual world we live in, and then there’s the real world. And it’s very hard not to conflate the two.

Q: How is this collection different from your past work?

A: I think with every book, it’s like a little chapter of my life, a little sliver. I could easily see, in any book I’ve written, to page through and be like, “Oh yeah, I was still breastfeeding.” Or like, “Well, yeah, this is when parts of my body went numb, and I didn’t know why.” So I mean, for sure, it’s hard. I’m still kind of close to it, but I think it’s very reflective. My books are very personal. They all are timestamps for me, for sure.

Q: Is there a poem in this collection that is like, the most precious to you?

A: I do have some favorites. There’s a poem called “You Used to Text Me for Nudes but Now It’s Just for Information for Our Taxes.” And there’s a line at the end of that poem that says, “Lift your mouth to the horn and call me back to you.” I really write by ear. And so that just like, kind of like when you hear a chord in a song, it felt so good. That felt so right to me. And so that poem is my favorite, not really because of the whole poem, but because of those last two lines.

I felt such a feeling of pride when I wrote that, and I was like, “Oh, that’s the good part of this.” There’s so little payoff in writing. I’ve written entire novels and thrown them out. There’s so few times that I’ve gotten that feeling and so many poems that are hard, going back and editing and editing and editing, and taking out commas, and trying to find a better word. So when that happens, I really don’t forget.

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