I was on the far side of thirty-five before I figured out what I wanted to be when I grew up.  I had stirrings and dreams, yes, but real commitment?  Not until recently.  And I’m forty-one.  That’s why I love stories about late bloomers.  Don’t tell me about child prodigies like Mozart, composing at the age of five.  I would rather forget that Zadie Smith published White Teeth to critical acclaim before she was twenty-six.  People like that don’t inspire me.  So they had clear callings.  Good for them.

Paul Ce'zanne
Apples and Oranges, 1890s

I’d rather know about the late bloomers.  Those that didn’t know what they wanted from life right away.  Maybe they went back to school for the first time in decades.  Or maybe they toiled away at their craft without much early success.  Like the French Post-Impressionist painter, Paul Ce’zanne.  Though he knew he wanted to be an artist and worked at being a painter at an early age, his work didn’t attract much attention till he was in his fifties. Continue reading “Ode to Late Bloomers” →