Am I late?

From the archives

This post is from the archives. I am sharing it again because I find it a great reminder. Whether you’re reading it for the first time or the nth, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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Dear, Reader.

I consider myself a late bloomer.

A few years ago, I read a book by Rich Karlgaard called Late Bloomers, The Power of Patience In A World Obsessed With Early Achievement.

Merriam-Webster describes late bloomers as “someone who becomes successful, attractive, etc., at a later time in life than other people.” Apparently, a surprising number of people describe themselves as late bloomers.

In the book, Karlgaard describes the pressure on children to succeed early with stress on external goals such as getting good grades, adopting preferred extracurricular activities regardless of interest, achieving high scores on standardized tests, and getting into top colleges. Admission to a highly-ranked college is considered the definitive marker of future financial success. Family, friends, peers, and broader society combine to reinforce this pressure cooker environment, and the message is to succeed early or you never will.

Considering the many factors that affect individual development (prevailing socio-economic structures, physical and neurological development, learning styles, childhood experiences, etc.), why do we glorify rigid timelines for performance? 

Citing research, Karlgaard urges us to look beyond these narrow, stifling definitions of performance and success and embrace the idea that blooming can occur at any age, and more than once in a lifetime. He suggests techniques, practices, and the use of strengths, such as curiosity, compassion, and resilience, to help us carve a more individual path. 

As I read Karlgaard, I remembered seeing the words late bloomer in another context. It was on the British Museum’s page¹ on the botanical paper collage artist Mary Delany. I was googling Mary Delany because I’d come across the gorgeous cover of a book about her, The Paper Garden, An Artist {Begins her life’s work} at 72 by Molly Peacock.

I never read the book, but the cover and title stayed with me. The artist begins her life’s work at 72. It is a definitive and bold statement, full of ownership, yet one that can be arrived at only in retrospect. Because when we begin something, a new interest or a project, there is only the merest promise of it to go on. 

I remember thinking about that title often and feeling a burst of optimism because there might be interests or talents I hadn’t yet arrived at. That life was yet unfolding.

Even if we are starting over much later in life, we don’t start from scratch. What if, just like a Connect the dots puzzle with its consecutive numbers, there are areas of our lives we can only reach after traveling through the others, and we are right on time for that new project, habit, job, or mindset? If the meandering makes sense only in retrospect, can we ever be late to bloom? By rejecting an inflexible and unvarying finish line for bringing ourselves to blossom, we claim authority over the timelines of our lives.

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I realize now this is one of those exquisite both/and tensions: it’s never too late, and time is precious and finite.

Reader, do you consider yourself a late-bloomer?

Best,

Priya

1. https://www.britishmuseum.org/blog/late-bloomer-exquisite-craft-mary-delany

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