Late Bloomers are always exploring, searching for new ways of getting there. But our long stage of development can look to friends and family like failure because so much of the journey takes place out of sight.
This blog is a love letter to all of you who
are bravely exploring some new territory---thrilled by the scenery, but held up, now and then, by the detours that simply aren't on the map. If you're not sure where you're headed (that’s sometimes half the fun), keep on driving. If only to find out what new surprises are waiting for you down the road.
Until recently Late Bloomers have made up a relatively small
percentage of the population. Now more
and more people are committing to new creative projects after midlife, and
taking the time to develop new skills and talents. That means a longer learning curve—and a new
developmental model, one that's reminiscent of the artist
who saves his best work for last.
In 2008 article in The New Yorker, Malcolm Gladwell explored
the difference between genius that shows itself at an early age and the kind that
comes only with tempering and maturity.
While Picasso arrived on the scene with a developed style,
Cezanne first had to learn how to draw and then translate what he was feeling onto canvas.
Wunderkind Jonathan Safron Foer went in search of his
grandfather’s shtetl, sat in a Prague hotel room and penned the first 100 pages of his best-selling novel in 10 days. Yet Dallas attorney Ben Fountain quit his job and took 18 years to hone a collection of short stories. Four
of them were set in Haiti—a place he visited 30 times!
Gladwell’s point was that Late Bloomers are still learning
their craft at the same time they are dealing with their own perfectionism.
For the past three decades, I’ve been playing the long game
of the Late Bloomer. I’ve had several
incarnations—filmmaker, author, activist, nonprofit founder, seminar leader—and
learned something from each of them. But
only now, after all this experimentation, has my real focus become clear. What I’m
passionate about is this recreation of the self—the way we review the journey so far, looking for new landmarks and new clues.
A revised life plan takes time to coalesce. In the meantime you need patience, and the kind of
open-ended time you experienced in childhood—as much as you can buy.
Children are naturally in touch with their inner artist—because
convention and the rote demands of education haven’t had a chance to screw them up. Back then, lives, and expectations, were open-ended. The trick is to get back this sense of
possibility while reshuffling all the skills that you’ve picked up.
This may mean working on several
different levels all at once. Think of it as building a hologram of hopes, desires,
and possibilities overlaid with your full range of expertise and talents. And whatever happens, don't lose heart. This kind of vision doesn’t come together
overnight.
The good news is that Late Blooming is no longer a
rarity. More and more of us are preparing
the ground for a new creative life. This time, it's not about the trip that others want you to take, or the shoulds and oughts that are built into your resume.
It's about finding, and following, the road that calls to you.
Each of my granddaughters is so startlingly herself, expansively expressive and eagerly interacting with her environment to create her life, while also being considerate and wanting to help. We got that last part down pretty well at their age, but all that first part? Thanks for reassuring us Late Bloomers it wasn’t nipped in the bud.
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