Life Cycle of a Late Bloomer
Written by: Naomi Wu
delasacc/Pinterest
As I reach for the sunlight, I am met with a cascading darkness. I spent my youth wondering why my friends all seemed to tread effortlessly through air, while I struggled to keep up in water. Elaborately tailored plans spanning five years, actually knowing what career they wanted, gaping gaps between our timelines. I admit it, I’ve always been something of a spectator in life, preferring to watch the world spin before taking action. While I grew content with being swayed by the wind, I couldn’t help but wonder why my day felt an hour shorter than everyone else’s.
Desperate to emerge from the ensuing shadows of those who seemed to have it all figured out, I continued to reach for my light, stretching my roots farther than I could imagine; I dabbled in everything I could, anything to discover my hidden talents, to realize untapped potential that I didn’t believe existed. I tried to believe in myself, but I couldn’t escape the looming threat of falling behind that swept over me. I longed for a butterfly to pollinate the void, but all that remained were moths. Hobbies became obligations. Every new opportunity was something that I thought if I didn’t engulf with all my strength, would become yet another fragment of the past; oftentimes, I ended up quitting it altogether because I was so scared I had already “missed my mark.” Without a trace, the world vanished before my eyes as I chased after a version of myself that wasn't real.
Wandering aimlessly astride a flickering light and a dim glare of hope, I felt like I had nothing going for me. I was still a child, one with a bright future ahead of me and endless opportunities to grow. Yet I was far too busy planting myself, extending myself through every crevice and taking in as much as I could before I felt that I deserved to present myself to the world. I didn’t realize that this current version of myself, albeit imperfect, was perfectly capable of chasing after her dreams, even though she knew she would have to stumble and fall before she could confidently say “this is what I want to do.”
Time is a cruel thing, especially for those of us who are late bloomers. I wanted to do everything, but I never knew what that “something” was. If there was a potion that granted immortality, I would inhale it without hesitation. If I could turn back time, I would do it a thousand times, reinventing myself each time. I want to pierce myself deep into Earth’s crust, absorbing every secret of the world until there is nothing left. Yet biology has its limits.
As I approached late adolescence, I realized the silent merits of growing up slower. Being a late bloomer fosters resilience and patience as we figure out what it really is we desire through trial-and-error. And that I am still learning. We all are, and that’s okay. After all, some of the strongest plants take longer to reach maturation than others. When I find something I am really interested in, it’s what keeps me up at night; it is what fills the lonely gaps of silence as the time on the clock shifts from A.M. to P.M., as the light peeking out of the window glides across the room.
