Late Bloomer

Zara top (similar)
Zara skirt (similar)
Oak + Fort mules (similar)
Vintage Birks bag (similar)
RayBan sunglasses
Celine necklace
Linjer rings (c/o) (similar)
Mejuri earrings (similar)
Location: The Great-West Life Building – Winnipeg, Manitoba

From the time I was five – maybe even earlier – I was convinced that I had it all figured out. I remember being called mature when I was barely in elementary school and relishing the compliment, as if somehow a pronouncement about my maturity from an adult stranger made me somehow superior to other children. All kids want to feel special, I think. Remarking on my maturity and poise was a way for adults to single me out; I enjoyed that praise. It made me feel special. And I believed it – or rather, I did what I thought I should do to make those descriptions truthful, so that the praise would keep coming.

It was a trap, and I fell right into it.

The fact is, when they described me as mature, those adults were, without realising it, just commenting on my calm demeanour. I am calm person. It takes a lot to rattle me; I’m not excitable or easily overwhelmed. But the fact that I don’t always visibly react didn’t, and still doesn’t, mean my development was more advanced than the development of anyone else around me. All those compliments made me think that, but they weren’t reality so much as a self-fulfilling prophecy. I became what I thought others wanted me to be. It’s only now that I’m beginning to realise that in many ways, I’m actually a late bloomer.

late bloomer    noun
US
: a person who matures, achieves proficiency in some field or skill, later than such a person is normally expected to.

At first glance, that doesn’t seem right, I know. After all, I graduated from high school and went straight to university, which I completed in exactly four years, then into a successful career the same year that I graduated. Meanwhile, within that same period of time, I met Ian, who I would marry before I turned twenty-five. I ticked all of the life boxes right on, if not ahead of, schedule. But I didn’t do it because I was ready. In full transparency, I doubt I stopped to consider whether or not I was ready. Or if it any of it, with the notable exception of the marriage, was what I wanted. I did it to tick those boxes, mindlessly, because I understood the assignment. Be mature. Follow the rules. These were the things I was supposed to do. I did them. I waited for my gold star.

…it never came.

Of course, I realise now how unsurprising that is. At a certain point, maturity stops being exceptional and becomes expected. Meanwhile, we all go through life at our own pace. There is no reward for achieving milestones sooner or later. But I came to that realization so belatedly that I wasted a lot of time doing things for the sake of doing them, without considering whether or not those things were actually what I wanted. It was only after a major upheaval in my late twenties, which abruptly threw Ian and I both off the prescribed life path and resulted in our move to Paris, that I began to consider that what I wanted mattered more than what I was supposed to do.

I’ve been playing catch-up ever since. And eight years later, I’m just beginning to master things that matter to me. Things I might have tackled years earlier if I’d spent more time actually reflecting on what I wanted my future life to look like. In that respect, I’m a textbook late bloomer.

The definition of late bloomer isn’t particularly broad. It really only speaks to the idea that some people take longer than others to become who they want to be or discover what they want to do. The implication is that a late bloomer is just a bit slow. I suppose that could be true. But for me, it’s more complex than that. I feel like I’m blooming late because I’m finally getting to a point where I’m satisfied with my growth and achievements in areas that matter to me. And yet, from the outside, it’s very possible that people still see me as someone who has always had it all together. I made some changes, after Paris; some serious ones. But I didn’t burn up my entire life and start over. The difference is much more about how I feel than about what is visible to onlookers.

Sometimes, blooming isn’t about maturing or developing skills. It’s about figuring out who you want to be and developing that person.

It took me longer than average to do that. I know I’m sometimes still behind the ball compared to my peers, but I often think I’m actually happier for it. The truth is, my younger self wouldn’t describe herself as a late bloomer because all she saw in the term was a lack of speed and an associated lack of achievement. It’s so much more complicated than that. We’re all on a unique journey. And it’s the path we take that matters, not how quickly we reach our final destination.

I still don’t have it all figured out. But I know now that I never will. And if knowing that means no one ever describes me as mature again – I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.

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