I was listening to my latest audiobook “What the Dog Saw” and there was an interesting section about late bloomers. He mentioned that it took Mark Twain almost ten years to finish “Huckleberry Finn” and that he had quit and restarted the project probably hundreds of times before he got it right.
First of all, I recommend this book to anyone who enjoys non-fiction essays. Excellent read.
The point of this topic got to me a bit today. I’ve been criticized by people about my dilettantism and how I can’t stay committed to one thing. I start to second guess myself when I start pursuing a lifestyle that is laid out for people unlike me. Looking for jobs as a career, meeting the right person, pursuing my passions… I get lost in the uncomfortableness of it all. It’s not me. I’ve been living the first part of my adult life trying to find the direction I need to go. I have a pretty darn good idea where it needs to go but I need to come to terms with it.
Is it ok for someone in their thirties or even forties to still be searching for the life that wakes them up? Absofrigginlutely. Hell, it doesn’t matter if you’re up to your nineties. If we stop experiencing what this life has to offer, what’s the point? If we live life for others’ expectations, what’s the point?
I may or may not accomplish the kind of life I want, and some ‘Biff Tannen’ is going to come along and try and poke fun at me saying he told me so if my plan goes to shit. But what happened in Back to the Future when they went forward in time? Biff wasn’t quite the man he projected himself to be.
I’m plugging along, fighting against necessary evils and irrational expectations. I’m holding on to something inside me that is keeping me going. Maybe I can chock it up to being a late bloomer?