Day 3624 🎶 When I’m Sixty-Four (For Real This Time)

When I first heard the Beatles’ “When I’m Sixty-Four,” I was a teenager, not much older than Paul McCartney was when he wrote it. Like him, I couldn’t truly imagine being sixty-four. Old people were other people. Youth wasn’t just a phase—it was an identity. We thought we were youth, as if time would somehow skip over us.

But yesterday… I turned 64.

Paul wrote that song at sixteen, sitting at his father’s piano in Liverpool. It was whimsical, even quaint—a tribute to another generation, with images of mending fuses and Sunday drives. He shelved it for years until the Beatles brought it back to life on Sgt. Pepper’s, giving it that music hall flair and childlike charm. At the time, it seemed like a cheeky fantasy of old age.

Now, it feels like a mirror.

I’ve been an AARP member for over a decade. I’m eligible to tap into my retirement funds. In less than a year, I’ll qualify for Medicare. Hair grows in places I don’t want it—and refuses to grow where I do. It’s a little ridiculous, and a little poetic.

And in a few weeks, it will be ten years since my daughter Shayna transitioned to spirit.

That last part puts everything else in perspective. There was a time, not too long ago, when I didn’t think I’d make it one year, let alone ten. The days after her passing were so dark, so heavy, I couldn’t imagine any future at all—let alone one where I’d still be standing at 64.

But here I am.

Still needed.
Still being fed—well, I do most of the cooking.
Still loving. Still laughing. Still learning.
Still growing.

I walk six miles a day. I do yoga. I produce content I hope makes a difference in the world.

Young Paul and young Brian didn’t need to worry. Life unfolds in ways we can’t imagine when we’re young, and thank God for that. Because what seemed like “old age” from a teenager’s lens turns out to be rich, layered, and oddly beautiful—yes, even with the ear hair.

So if you’re reading this and you’re young—enjoy every moment. And if you’re reading this and you’re not-so-young, remember: you’re not “done.” You’re just ripening.

At sixty-four, I’ve loved deeply, grieved profoundly, and discovered that even the most unimaginable pain can be met with unimaginable grace.

Here’s to the next chapter.
And yes, Paul—I am still needed.
I am still fed.