The Day I Met John Lennon (And He Didn’t Disappoint)

I was sixteen when I first heard “Imagine.” Not in a concert hall or a lecture, but in the background of a documentary about 1970s activism. The melody was simple, almost childlike, and Lennon’s voice had that unmistakable mix of tenderness and conviction. I remember thinking, “This is it? This is the guy who changed the world?” It didn’t seem like much at first — until I realized the song was asking me to stop and actually picture a world without borders, without religion, without greed. I hadn’t been asked that before.

That moment was the start of a deep dive into John Lennon’s work — not just his music, but his writing, interviews, and the strange, poetic logic of his worldview. And if I could go back and talk to my younger self, I’d have a few things to say about where to start, what to skip, and what to really listen for.

Start with the Letters

Before I ever read Lennon Remembers or Skywriting by Word of Mouth, I dove into his songs. Big mistake. His music is incredible, but to really get John Lennon — the man, the myth, the messy human — you have to read his words. His letters, especially the ones he wrote to fans and journalists, reveal a mind that’s both brilliant and vulnerable. There’s a rawness there that you don’t always hear in interviews, where he’s performing a bit. In letters, he’s just writing — sometimes angry, sometimes playful, sometimes deeply uncertain.

One of my favorite early discoveries was a short note he sent to a fan who had asked him about peace. He wrote something like, “It’s not about having no wars. It’s about having no reasons to fight.” That line stuck with me. It wasn’t a slogan or a soundbite — it was a way of thinking.

Don’t Start with the Solo Albums

When I first got into Lennon, I went straight to his solo discography, thinking I’d find more of what “Imagine” offered. I didn’t. Some of those albums — especially Plastic Ono Band — were raw, aggressive, even unsettling. I didn’t get it. I was looking for more peace anthems and instead got primal screams and jagged guitar.

What I wish someone had told me was: start with the Beatles. Not the early stuff — though that’s great — but the later albums, especially The White Album and Abbey Road. That’s where Lennon’s voice really starts to come through, not just as a singer, but as a writer. His songs like “Julia,” “Yer Blues,” and “I’m So Tired” show a man who’s wrestling with himself, with fame, with life. It’s not always pretty, but it’s honest.

Pay Attention to the Interviews

Lennon gave some of the most revealing interviews in rock history. And I don’t mean the ones where he talks about the Beatles breaking up or his feud with Paul McCartney — those are like tabloid headlines compared to the real meat. The interviews where he talks about his childhood, his relationship with Yoko, or his political views are the ones that changed how I saw him.

One of the most eye-opening was with Rolling Stone in 1970, where he talks about growing up in Liverpool, losing his mother, and how that shaped his whole life. He doesn’t romanticize it. He doesn’t blame anyone. He just tells the truth, and it’s devastating.

Skip the Biopics (At Least at First)

There are a few decent documentaries, like John & Yoko: Above Us Only Sky, but honestly, the biopics do more harm than good — especially when you’re just starting out. They flatten him into a symbol: the peace guy, the angry genius, the tragic martyr. But Lennon was more complicated than that. He was a husband, a father, a flawed man who sometimes said things that didn’t age well.

If you want to understand him, don’t start with a movie. Start with his own words. Read his interviews. Listen to his songs. Watch the old footage of him in the studio, laughing with Ringo, teasing George. That’s where you see the real man — not in some dramatized version of his life.

Let Him Surprise You

What surprised me most about Lennon wasn’t his music or his politics, but his sense of humor. He was funny — not just clever, but genuinely witty in a way that made you want to hang out with him. You see it in the Beatles’ early press conferences, in his interviews with Dick Cavett, and even in the margins of his books.

He once wrote a poem about a fly that landed on his nose while he was meditating. That’s not the kind of thing you expect from a cultural icon. But it’s that humanity — the willingness to laugh at himself, to be vulnerable, to question everything — that makes him so enduring.

If you're just starting out on your Lennon journey, don’t overthink it. Start with the songs that speak to you. Read the letters. Watch the old clips. And if you ever want to ask him directly what he meant by that line in “Strawberry Fields Forever,” or why he thought peace was possible when the world felt so broken, you can.

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