Paul McCartney had his birthday yesterday, June 18. He is 64. If that number means nothing to you, you should go out and get yourself a life. Or at least a couple of new CDs.
McCartney wrote "will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm 64" when he was 24 or so. I wonder if he thought at all about his own life at age 64. Could he have known what heights their little band would reach, and that their music would still be popular 40 some years later? That he would write and publish more songs than anyone, ever, and become a knight? That he would earn more than $2 billion by the time he was done?
He didn't know what would happen to John. And to George. That the love of his life would die after 30 some years together. He didn't know that he would remarry, and – apparently – be separated from her on his birthday in 2006.
Like you, like me, the ever-ambitious McCartney has surpassed many of his personal and professional goals. But he has also endured untold trials and disappointments. Whatever McCartney expected when he was 24, he has done what he does best for more than four decades, and I expect that made the difference.
