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Confessions of a Late Bloomer
Reflections on the art of blossoming and the potential of growth
We sure do love to characterize our human lives as botanical events. If someone doesn’t hit puberty at the socially acceptable time, they’re a “late bloomer.” Losing one’s virginity is called “deflowering.” And we talk about people “blossoming” as they achieve their goals.
Everyone else, I guess, is a weed. They grow too fast and in the wrong place, and everyone’s eager to pluck them.
Or, they’re a slow-growing annual that could yield beauty for years to come — but they’re squashed before they ever have a chance to blossom.
It’s odd how people will give their plants more compassion than their fellow humans.
As a late bloomer in many ways, I often wish I’d had the time and nourishment to truly thrive.
Seeking the Sun, Smothered By Weeds
Some plants are simply more “fit” in the Darwinian sense. They propagate easily. Even if the ground is fallow (or concrete), they persist. But if they are undesirable, they’re plucked too soon.
For years, I idolized the weeds, wishing I could persist in any situation. I adored Elle Woods’ story in Legally Blonde: a Valley Girl, raised by superficial…
