Forty years later

 

People of a certain age remember the moment they heard President Kennedy had been assassinated or where they were as they watched the moon landing. People from a younger generation remember learning that Kurt Cobain was dead or that Princess Diana's car had been involved in a fatal accident in Paris.

I remember the night John Lennon was murdered. For me, that was the day the music died.

I'm not a huge Beatles fan, and I'm aware that John Lennon had his own demons (you may recall, wincing, that one of my favourite Beatles songs is "Run for Your Life"). Obviously I never met the man. But I mark December 8 this year, and every year, to mourn someone who added to the net joy in the world. To mourn that that mission was intentionally cut short by a deranged mind. To mourn someone who in some ways inspires me every day.

Today I am grateful that the world contained a John Lennon for even the short time it did. And I commit again to my personal mission to be a force for peace and good. Even in the darkest times. Music represents my rage against the darkness.

There is always light if we turn our eyes to it. Shine on, John. Shine bright.