March 16, 2025—halfway through the month, and my birthday looms just weeks away. Fifty-something isn’t a number that demands a parade or a spotlight, but it’s another lap around this vast, spinning blue planet. Lately, I’ve been hearing Frank Sinatra’s I Did It My Way on the radio, its familiar notes pulling me into a quiet reverie. Birthdays have a way of stirring that in me—a call to pause, to reflect, to measure the years against the lyrics of a song that feels like both a mirror and a map.
“For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught.
To say the things he truly feels,
And not the words of one who kneels.
The record shows I took the blows,
And did it my way.”
These words land heavy. They echo Shakespeare’s charge from Hamlet—“To thine own self be true”—a reminder that authenticity is our truest possession. Life doesn’t spare us its punches; we’re shaped by forces beyond our control, bruised by circumstance. But how we respond—how we process, interpret, and rise from those blows—that’s ours to claim. To speak what burns in our hearts, unbowed by pressures to conform, is no small thing. I don’t mean bending a knee is weakness—not if it’s to a cause you’d bleed for, a belief that steadies you, or a higher good that lifts you up. But to kneel to something you despise? That’s a betrayal of the self. Doing it “my way” isn’t a boast of pride; it’s an acceptance of accountability. My choices, my roads—flawed, maybe, and sometimes littered with regrets I’d love to rewind—but mine nonetheless. There’s grace in owning that, in admitting the stumbles, in not pretending to have it all figured out. The decision, the direction, was still my own.
Sinatra’s voice carries me through his catalog—New York, New York, Fly Me to the Moon, I’ve Got You Under My Skin—each a masterpiece in its own right. But I Did It My Way hits differently. It’s no surprise it was his biggest hit, holding the top spot for 75 weeks in 1969—a testament to its resonance. There’s a line that stops me cold: “And now, the end is near, and so I face the final curtain.” It’s not just about mortality, though it whispers of that too. It’s a reckoning—a stock-taking of a life, whether the curtain falls on a grand stage or a quiet corner. We all have our own show, however modest, and this song calls us to look back at the script we’ve written. Not just at the end, mind you—why wait for a deathbed epiphany? These moments of clarity can find us at any turn, on days like today, halfway through March, with fifty-something on the horizon. Where am I? Where am I headed? Am I at peace with the highways I’ve traveled, or do I need to chart a new course?
“I traveled each and every highway,” Sinatra sings, and I think of the paths I’ve chosen—some smooth, some jagged, all mine. To “do it my way” is a question as much as it is a declaration. It’s philosophical, universal, pressing: At the end, can I say I lived true to myself? We all face that riddle, whether we answer it head-on or let silence be our reply. I’ve had a good run at it—fifty-something years of triumphs and missteps, of joys and blows I took standing. Things haven’t always bent to my will, but like the song says, I faced it all and did it my way.
And then, one day, the red curtain drops. Maybe it’s a gentle fall, maybe a Vaudeville hook yanks you off with a flourish. Either way, the stage clears. What lingers is the echo of how you played your part.
Lyrics
And now, the end is near
And so I face the final curtain
My friend, I’ll say it clear
I’ll state my case, of which I’m certain
I’ve lived a life that’s full
I traveled each and every highway
And more, much more than this
I did it my way
Regrets, I’ve had a few
But then again, too few to mention
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption
I planned each charted course
Each careful step along the byway
And more, much more than this
I did it my way
Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew
But through it all, when there was doubt
I ate it up and spit it out
I faced it all, and I stood tall
And did it my way
I’ve loved, I’ve laughed and cried
I’ve had my fill, my share of losing
And now, as tears subside
I find it all so amusing
To think I did all that
And may I say, not in a shy way
Oh, no, oh, no, not me
I did it my way
For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught
To say the things he truly feels
And not the words of one who kneels
The record shows I took the blows
And did it my way
Yes, it was my way
Source: Musixmatch
Songwriters: Paul Anka / Gilles Thibaut / Claude Francois / Jacques Revaux
My Way lyrics © Jeune Musique Ed., Barclay Eddie Nouvelles Editions, Iway Holdings Sas, Chrysalis Standards Inc
BB Grey--musings 
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