People are given gifts. They squander them, mostly. The recipients think they are immortal, and other gifts will simply climb through the window and sit in your lap– after they knock, no one answers, and they jiggle the doorknob.
There were many people justly famous for singing in the seventies. I can’t bear to hear them now. Some immediately became clowns. But even the others, that fought father time more wisely, mostly try to spackle their performances together from the remaining wreckage of their gifts, and it makes me sad to hear it. At least Van Morrison knew he couldn’t sing much in the first place and gave some thought to singing as an old man. But the world already has one John Lee Hooker. The rest of them just got loaded and yelled until they were left croaking elevator music for a living, or spilling out of their spandex in a theater next to a casino.
Everyone gets gifts, just not all so obvious and noteworthy. What are you doing with your gifts? They go stale after a while, whether you use them or not. Use them, now, and wisely. Regret is a terrible thing.