Waking up a few weeks before your 64th birthday with no plan and no peace is a particular kind of hell. You don’t need an alarm clock—you’ve got shame for that. It usually starts in the chest, climbs up the throat, and lands behind the eyes when you catch your reflection on the way to the bathroom.
That morning, I remember staring at the sink, razor in hand, refusing to make eye contact with myself. Not because I was afraid of getting older—but because I already knew what I’d see: a man with no money, no status, and nothing left that looked like redemption. And in this country? That’s the holy trinity of failure.
See, if you age with money, you’re “distinguished.” You’ve mellowed. You’ve “weathered the storms.”
If you’re broke? You’re just some balding, sunken-eyed loser waiting on an organ failure or a final eviction notice.
We don’t talk about this much. Aging without achievement. Growing older without the security blanket of accomplishment to wrap around you. But I think a lot of us know the quiet dread of it.
You start scanning your life like a ledger sheet.
All the love you blew through.
The projects you never finished.
The people you let down.
The time spent not becoming the man you swore you’d become.
And if you’re not careful, that scan turns into a sentence.
You declare yourself guilty and try to live out the rest of your years quietly, without asking for too much.
But let me tell you something I’ve learned the hard way:
There’s still time to be remembered for something better.
You’ve got to be willing to look past the top-line failures and dig for what you did right.
That kindness you showed when no one was watching.
That one person you helped when you didn’t have anything left to give.
That piece of wisdom you buried because you thought no one wanted to hear it.
Those things count.
But we tend to disqualify ourselves.
Especially if we’re addicts, or drunks, or screwups with a record of damage.
Here’s something I know but rarely say out loud:
Most of us who think we’re losers are just hyper-focused on our worst moments—and we’ve got nothing left in the tank to balance the scale.
Addicts are the worst about this. When we’re using, we’ll rob your smile while it’s forming.
But get us sober?
And we’ll give you our last dollar, the coat off our back, and a hug that actually means something.
It’s Jekyll and Hyde.
But it’s also proof: the good’s still in there.
So tonight, if you’re feeling like it’s too damn late for you—just stop for one minute.
Breathe.
And try to name one thing you did right.
I don’t care if it was twenty years ago.
I don’t care if you think it doesn’t “make up” for anything.
It still matters.
You still matter.
And you’ve got time—not for glory, maybe. But for dignity.
For truth.
For something real to be left in your wake.
Whispered ending:
The world will remember your worst day if you let it—but you don’t have to.
There’s still time to offer something better.
