I don’t often go to concerts anymore. Too loud, and I don’t like crowds. But one of my favorite singers—Mary Chapin Carpenter—was performing at one of my favorite venues—Chautauqua Hall, built in the 1898 and totally constructed of wood. It’s an intimate space with fantastic acoustics that sits above Boulder with great views in any direction.

At age 67, Carpenter can still rock, especially with her five-piece band, consisting mainly of people in their 60s (to my eyes). It was good to see older people on stage, aged to perfection after performing for 30-40 years, and having fun doing it.

The audience was similarly older. Around me were gray-haired men (a few balding) and women, some wearing hearing aids. That didn’t stop any of us from rocking out with Carpenter and her band: heads swaying in time to the music, some gentle foot stomping and singing. During the encore, we got even more rowdy—loudly clapping in time to the music and dancing, even if it was just swaying back and forth.

If there were young people watching, I could imagine their reaction to this sight: old people making fools of themselves, pretending they were still young, forgetting they had arthritis and needed hearing aids.

But what younger people don’t know (and what they’ll eventually find out) is that none of us sees ourselves as old. In the confines of our home or car, we’re still screaming to the Beatles, dancing to Bruce Springsteen and singing along with Billy Joel’s “Piano Man.”

Even when I get older, I imagine listening to the Beatles and feeling the same joy I did when I was 13 and first heard them sing “I Want to Hold Your Hand.” Maybe I’ll even remember the words and sing along. They say that hearing is the last sense to go, so music is one of our last pleasures when we can no longer functionally move or talk. We’re not aging fools; we’re just enjoying life, even if our bodies betray us. We’ll keep dancing and singing as long as we can. I know I will.