Remind me again who said, “It is never too late”? Oh that’s right, Nancy did. And Anthony Hopkins. And my great aunt who decided to start painting at 50. And my mom who started learning to play an instrument in her 60s. The people I find inspiring have all decided to pursue something new at an age when people often settle comfortably into their routines. I love these brave souls. I want to BE them–from a distance. In principle, “It is never too late” is beautiful. In practice, it is self-imposed torture.
And age is so relative! I’m in agony, and I’m 34. I can’t imagine being 74 and putting myself out there. Please, at 18, I thought it was already too late. Regardless, with each new pursuit, I feel like I’m in a dance class for toddlers. Except I’m not a toddler, so while the skill level is absolutely appropriate, I stand out a bit amongst all the little tykes. When I wear my pink tutu inside out, forget the choreography, and bump into the 2 and 3 year-olds beside me, it’s not precious and adorable. It’s awkward and maybe a little painful-especially for those poor kiddoes.
And yet, this is what I desperately wanted for this year: to stop living out of my fear and instead live period, which ultimately means stepping out of my comfort zone and making mistakes along the way. I never could have predicted last March just how many lessons that goal would afford me:
- Rejecting perfectionism
- Embracing play
- Enjoying the journey (I heard some of you gag, but you know it’s true.)
- Giving up people pleasing
- Re-framing “failure”
I haven’t figured these out by any means, but at least my eyes are finally open to them. And more importantly-this time-I’m not fleeing. Regardless of the outcome, I’m letting “everything happen to me: beauty and terror.” (My thanks to Rilke.)