One of my DJs at Phat Cats, my ballroom in Second Life, played a song for me. Her name is DJ Delo, and she knows the song. Everybody who knows me well knows the song. It's "My Way," made famous by Frank Sinatra. And, being the impulsive old bastard that I am, I decided I should write something about my life. See? That's how it works with me. I hear a song, something pops into my head, and suddenly I'm off doing something else. I don't need six months to think about it, a committee to approve it, or somebody to tell me whether it's a good idea. I feel like doing something, so I do it. Sometimes it turns out wonderfully. Sometimes it turns into a complete disaster. And sometimes, many years later, I look back and wonder what the hell I was thinking. But there's a reason that particular song means so much to me, and it goes back a very long way.

When I was a kid, I knew Frank Sinatra. I don't mean I once saw him perform or stood in line to get an autograph. I knew him. I spent time around him and other entertainers at the Diplomat Hotel in Hollywood, Florida. I sang with Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., and others on many occasions. Sinatra treated me like a friend, even though I was just a kid. He gave me plenty of advice over the years, and I learned a great deal from those people. Well, most of them. Jackie Gleason was an ass, but that's another story. Sammy Davis Jr. taught me a great deal about racism, too, and that's a story that deserves an article of its own. For now, what matters is that I spent part of my childhood around some remarkable people, and I genuinely believe that the song "My Way" influenced the way I approached life. Maybe I was already inclined to live that way and the song simply reinforced it. After all, I've been told I was a rebel from the day I was born, and 65 years later, nobody has managed to straighten me out.

My parents certainly tried. We never really had a particularly good relationship, and I don't think they had the slightest idea what to make of me. When I was a young boy attending public school, they insisted on dressing me in little suits. Suits! I didn't even own jeans or sneakers. Imagine being a little kid going to public school dressed like you're on your way to a business meeting while everybody else gets to dress like a normal kid. I caught a lot of shit for that, and it wasn't always just teasing. Some of the other boys actually beat me up after school. I was different, I stood out, and kids can be cruel to anyone who doesn't fit in. Then one summer I grew, and I mean I grew BIG. When I went back to school, I beat the hell out of the biggest bully. Naturally, I was the one who got into trouble. Apparently, it was perfectly acceptable for him to beat me up, but when I finally fought back, suddenly there was a problem. Funny how that works, isn't it?

Something interesting happened after that. I became popular. The kids who had been giving me a hard time weren't treating me the same way anymore, and I discovered how quickly people's attitudes can change when circumstances change. But I hadn't forgotten what it felt like to be the kid getting picked on, and when I saw other kids being bullied, I stood up for them. I suppose there's a lesson in that, although I'm not going to pretend beating somebody up is the answer to every problem. What stuck with me was the unfairness of it all. I hadn't chosen to wear those ridiculous little suits. Somebody else had decided what I should look like, and I was the one who paid the price. Now, more than half a century later, I deliberately dress in ridiculous outfits and couldn't care less what anybody thinks. The difference is that today, I get to choose. And believe me, my choices have gotten considerably more entertaining.

I'm 65 years old now, which is rather remarkable considering I never expected to live past 30. I grew up during the Cold War, when atomic bombs and nuclear annihilation weren't just subjects for science fiction movies. They were real possibilities hanging over everyone's heads. There were people building bomb shelters, preparing for nuclear attacks, and worrying that some idiot somewhere could press a button and end everything. As far as I was concerned, there was a pretty good chance I wasn't going to get old. So why spend your entire youth preparing for a future that might never happen? I took chances. Lots of them. I did things other people wouldn't dream of doing. I spent money, went places, met people, got into trouble, and generally approached life with the attitude that if there was something I wanted to experience, I might as well experience it. That doesn't mean I lived entirely day to day. Maybe week to week is more accurate. I just didn't spend my life obsessing over what might happen 40 years down the road. Of course, there's a problem with expecting to die young. Sometimes you don't.

Thirty came and went, and I was still here. Then 40 came and went, and somehow I was still here. It wasn't until my 50th birthday that it really hit me that I was actually getting old. That was a strange realization for someone who had spent so much of his life assuming he would never reach that point. I hadn't exactly prepared myself for old age because, frankly, I hadn't expected to need to. But that's pretty much how my life has gone. Something happens, circumstances change, a plan falls apart, or something wonderful comes along that I never expected, and my reaction is generally the same. Well, shit. Now what? It's not necessarily a complaint. It's a question, and I've spent my life finding interesting answers. Sometimes the answers were brilliant, sometimes they were incredibly stupid, and sometimes they led me into situations I would have been better off avoiding altogether.

There are people who like to look back on their lives and announce proudly that they have absolutely no regrets. Bullshit. I've lived 65 years. Of course I have regrets. I've done things I shouldn't have done, made decisions that turned out badly, and wasted time I can never get back. I spent two and a half years in prison when I was a young man, starting around the age of 18. Was that one of the highlights of my life? Of course not. It was two and a half years I would have preferred to spend doing something else. But I learned a great deal there, and something happened during those years that I'm still proud of. It was a young-adult prison, and I noticed that a great many of the young men there couldn't read. Think about that for a moment. These were young people who had already gotten themselves into serious trouble, and many couldn't even read well enough to navigate the world around them. How were they supposed to improve their lives when they lacked something so basic?

So I approached the prison authorities and told them what I'd noticed. I said I thought I could help. They sent me to school, and I started teaching. I didn't know at the time what would eventually come of it. I saw a problem, thought I could do something useful, and did it. Many years later, the warden called me and thanked me. He told me the program I had helped start had continued over the years and had proven successful. That meant something to me, and it still does. I don't tell that story because I want a medal or because it somehow erases the mistakes that got me into prison in the first place. It doesn't. I tell it because even in a place where I was paying for my mistakes, I found something worthwhile to do. When I got out, I didn't suddenly become a perfect human being. I still screwed things up, made plenty of mistakes in my personal life, and learned some lessons the hard way. But I stopped breaking the law. Sometimes growing up means learning which parts of yourself to keep and which parts need to change. I didn't stop being a rebel. I just learned that some things carry consequences that aren't worth paying.

I've made mistakes in relationships, too, and I'm not going to pretend otherwise. Some relationships failed, some choices were wrong, and there were times when I probably should have stopped and thought a little longer before acting. But there were also chances I took that turned out to be among the best decisions of my life. One of those was asking Deniz to marry me when I barely knew her. She's my third wife, and through her I finally discovered what love really means. That's a much bigger story, one that deserves its own article, and I'm not going to try to squeeze it into a few paragraphs here. The point is that taking chances doesn't always lead to disaster. Sometimes you gamble and discover something wonderful that you never even knew you were missing. I have no intention of claiming that every chance I've taken was worth taking, because that would be nonsense. But I wouldn't trade away the good ones simply to erase the bad ones.

Now, getting back to being 65, I've discovered something absolutely wonderful about being an old man. You can get away with more shit! It's fantastic! I call practically everybody "kid." I borrow from W.C. Fields and use lines like "Get away from me, kid, you bother me!" I can walk around with my cane, dress ridiculously, say outrageous things, and behave in ways that might have gotten me strange looks when I was younger. Now people just smile. Some probably think I've got dementia or something, and I'm having the time of my life. I don't particularly care what explanation they come up with. If they think I'm a harmless eccentric old fellow, that's fine with me. In fact, it seems to make the whole thing even more entertaining. When I was young, people thought I was crazy because of some of the things I did. Now they can just chalk it up to old age. What a wonderful arrangement!

Take Disney World, for example. Most people go to Disney wearing shorts, comfortable shoes, and maybe a Mickey Mouse T-shirt. Not me. I have a scooter, and I like to dress it up. Flashing lights, steampunk decorations, bubble machines, the whole works. I wear a top hat and cruise around looking like some deranged Victorian inventor who has somehow gotten loose in the Magic Kingdom. It's magnificent. The women love it. The men, not so much, at least from the reactions I get, and that makes the whole thing even more entertaining. People look, people smile, people laugh, and I just keep going. Why not? I'm at Disney World, for God's sake. It's supposed to be fun! And here's something I find particularly interesting. People frequently tell me they wish they had the nerve to do things like that. They watch me and say they wish they could be so uninhibited. Well, why can't they? Who's stopping them? Most of the time, nobody. They're stopping themselves because they're worried somebody might look at them funny or think they're ridiculous. So what? Somebody thinks you're ridiculous. Congratulations. You've survived.

When people tell me they wish they had the courage to do the things I do, my advice is simple: do it before you get old! Don't wait until you're 65 to discover that other people's opinions don't have to control your life. I'm enjoying this freedom now, but imagine how much more fun you could have if you discovered it at 25. Think about how many experiences people deny themselves because they're afraid of looking foolish. They want to dance but stay seated. They want to wear something outrageous but choose something ordinary. They want to try something new but worry about what their friends might say. They spend years conforming to expectations that nobody actually has the authority to impose on them. Then, if they're lucky enough to get old, they look back and wonder why they spent so much time worrying about people whose opinions never really mattered in the first place. That's one mistake I wish more people would avoid.

Recently, I was in a restaurant when a great song came on. I liked the music, and I felt like dancing, so I got up on a table and danced. Yes, a restaurant table. People loved it, and some even clapped. Now, I'm sure there are people reading this who are thinking about how inappropriate that was. What if somebody had been offended? What if people thought I was making a fool of myself? Well, I probably was making a fool of myself, and that was part of the fun! There's a difference between doing something that genuinely hurts somebody and doing something unusual simply because it makes you happy. I don't believe in going around making other people's lives miserable for my own amusement, but I'm also not interested in living my entire life according to what some imaginary committee of respectable people thinks is proper behavior. I had a good time, other people enjoyed it, some applauded, and we all went on with our lives. The world didn't end. Although, thinking about it now, perhaps dancing somewhere other than on top of a table would be a little easier on the old bones. But where's the fun in that?

I probably ought to mention that I'm in pain much of the time. Getting older hasn't been particularly kind to my body. There are things that hurt, things that don't work like they used to, and days when just getting around is an unpleasant experience. I'm not going to pretend pain is wonderful or that you can overcome every physical problem through sheer determination. That's nonsense. Pain is pain, and sometimes it really sucks. But I refuse to let it become the only thing that defines me. I can be an old man in pain and still enjoy a good song. I can use a cane and still dress like a lunatic. I can have physical limitations without deciding that the rest of my life must be spent sitting quietly and behaving myself. Of course, there are limits, and I know perfectly well that I'm not invincible. My body has made that abundantly clear. I just don't see any reason to stop enjoying the things I can still do simply because I can't do everything I once could.

Now, before anybody gets the impression that I think I've lived the perfect life, let me set the record straight. I haven't, and there are things I genuinely wish I had done differently. One of them is spending more time with my children. I have eight kids, and I really should spend more time with them. What's stopping me? I'm not entirely sure. Maybe I've simply gotten used to everyone having their own lives. The children grow up, routines develop, everybody gets busy, and before you know it, spending less time together becomes normal. And that's a strange thing to realize. I can be impulsive enough to decide to write an entire article because a DJ played a song. I can decide to dress up a scooter with flashing lights and bubble machines. I can do all sorts of things without giving them a second thought. Yet something as simple as spending more time with the people I love can somehow slip through the cracks. I don't have a particularly clever joke for that. I really should do better.

That's one of the things I've been thinking about as I've gotten older. Some regrets are about things you can never change. You can't go back and recover two and a half years of your youth. You can't undo every stupid decision you made decades ago, and you can't reclaim time that has already passed. But some regrets are about things you can still do something about. I can't change how much time I spent with my children yesterday, but I can change what I do tomorrow. Maybe that's another part of doing things my way. It doesn't have to mean stubbornly repeating every mistake I've ever made. I can still decide to do something differently, and it'll still be my decision. There's no contradiction in being proud of the life you've lived while recognizing that you could have done some things better. I'd be far more suspicious of somebody who reached my age and claimed to have never done anything wrong.

People sometimes ask whether getting older frightens me. Well, I certainly don't enjoy everything that comes with it. I would rather not spend my final years suffering, and I don't want to linger through a long, painful death. But am I afraid of dying? Hell no. I never expected to live this long in the first place! And I'll tell you something else. I'm curious about what comes next. We know from physics that energy cannot be created or destroyed. It changes form. Now, that doesn't mean science has proven that our consciousness survives death. It hasn't. But I find myself wondering what happens to that part of us that thinks, remembers, loves, laughs, and experiences the world. Does any of it continue? Is there something beyond this life? I'd like to think so, but do I know? Of course not. Nobody has given me a definitive answer, and I'm not going to pretend I have one. The unknown has never been a particularly good reason for me to stop being curious, and death is certainly one of the greatest unknowns there is. I'm fascinated by the possibilities, but that doesn't mean I'm in any hurry to leave. I've still got far too much to do here.

In fact, I have an important new project underway. I've decided I want to be Papa Smurf. Seriously. I'm looking for somebody who can paint me blue. Not a little blue makeup on my cheeks for an afternoon. I'm talking about going all the way. Blue skin, red hat, white beard, full outfit. And I don't want to do it for 20 minutes, take a few pictures, and wash it off. I want to stay blue for a while, maybe a week or so until the color wears off. Imagine going to the grocery store as Papa Smurf, stopping for gas, going to a restaurant, or walking around in public as a blue old man with a red hat and a white beard. Can you imagine the reactions? I'm laughing just thinking about it. Now, some people will undoubtedly ask why a 65-year-old man would want to do something so ridiculous. My answer is another question. Why the hell not? Who decided that once you reach a certain age, you have to stop doing silly things? Who wrote the rule that says older people must dress conservatively, behave seriously, and spend their remaining years discussing their medications and the weather? I certainly didn't agree to it. I spent enough of my childhood being forced to wear little suits because somebody else thought that was how I should dress. Now I get to decide, and if I decide that the appropriate outfit for a 65-year-old man is blue skin and a red hat, well, that's between me and whoever I can find to paint me.

I've done too many things in my life to list them all. Some were wonderful, some were ridiculous, and some were incredibly stupid. I've known remarkable people, and I've met people I wouldn't want to spend another five minutes with. I've taken chances that worked out better than I could have imagined and others that turned into expensive lessons. I've laughed, loved, lost, succeeded, failed, and started over more times than I care to count. And I'm still learning. That's something I think people forget about getting older. You don't suddenly become a finished product. You don't wake up on your 65th birthday with every question answered and every mystery solved. At least I didn't. I'm still figuring things out, still making decisions, and sometimes still making mistakes. And I still get excited about ridiculous ideas. Would I change some things if I could go back? Absolutely. Would I spend less time doing things that ultimately didn't matter and more time with the people who did? Yes. Would I avoid some of the trouble I got myself into? You'd better believe it. But would I trade my entire life for a quiet, predictable existence in which I never took chances, never did anything outrageous, and never risked looking foolish? Not a chance.

I don't think everyone needs to live the way I have. In fact, some of my decisions would be terrible advice for anybody. But I do think people should ask themselves whether they're actually living their own lives or simply following the expectations of everyone around them. How many things have you wanted to do but never tried because somebody might disapprove? How many adventures have you postponed until you have more money, more time, or more confidence? How many times have you thought, "I'd love to do that," and then talked yourself out of it? And how many of those opportunities are going to be waiting for you forever? Probably not as many as you think. You don't need to climb onto a restaurant table. You don't need a steampunk scooter or a bubble machine. You certainly don't need to turn yourself into Papa Smurf. Those are my particular forms of insanity. Find your own. And remember that doing things your way doesn't mean you always have to be right. It doesn't mean refusing to listen to people or ignoring the consequences of your actions. It means accepting responsibility for your choices while remembering that the life you're living belongs to you.

So here I am, 65 years old. A boy who used to sing with Frank Sinatra. A kid who got beaten up for wearing little suits. A young man who spent two and a half years in prison and helped teach other young men to read. A rebel who made plenty of mistakes, learned a few things along the way, and somehow survived decades longer than he expected. An old man who sometimes needs a cane, lives with pain, and still enjoys making a complete spectacle of himself. I've got regrets, memories, a family I should spend more time with, stories I haven't told, and adventures I haven't had. And I've got a DJ named Delo who played my song and got me thinking about all of this. Thank you, Delo. You probably had no idea what you were starting when you played that song for me, but that's how these things happen. One minute I'm enjoying some music at Phat Cats, and the next I'm looking back over 65 years of living and wondering where the hell all that time went.

When I hear "My Way," I think about the people I've known, the choices I've made, and the extraordinary, ridiculous journey that brought me here. I don't claim I did everything right, because I certainly didn't. I've made mistakes, and I've got regrets. I've also had one hell of a life, and I don't intend to stop enjoying it simply because I've reached an age when some people think I ought to settle down and behave myself. If there's something you've always wanted to do, don't spend the next 40 years waiting until you're old enough not to care what anybody thinks. Do it before you get old. As for me, I have to find somebody willing to paint me blue, spend some more time with my kids, and figure out what other trouble I can get into without getting arrested. I've got no idea how much time I have left, but I've still got plenty of curiosity and absolutely no intention of becoming a respectable old man just to make somebody else comfortable. I did it my way, I'm still doing it my way, and I expect I'll keep doing it that way for as long as I'm around. After that, who knows? Maybe there's another adventure waiting. In the meantime, I've got a life to live, people to annoy, and a world full of ridiculous possibilities. And when the next unexpected adventure comes along, I'll probably react the same way I always have.

Well, shit. Now what?