A Late Bloomer

Reflection

The term “late bloomer” has resonated with me for a long time. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, its earliest known use dates back to 1827, originating in botany to describe flowers that mature later in the season than expected. Over time, the phrase began to be used to describe people who come into their own later than their peers.

I’ve come to embrace this term as a useful way in which to understand my own journey through life.

Matter of Timing

I was even born late! I am what’s known as an “oops baby”. My parents had thought they were done when my siblings were born a decade or so earlier. They were actively avoiding having a third. I sometimes joke about how, even when I was back in the womb, I refused to be denied.

It was late summer when I arrived, which meant I was always one of the youngest kids in my class and, as genetics would have it, physically smaller than average. I found it challenging to keep up with my peers and it made an imprint on me very early on. I was perceived as shy. Later I would come to realize I was dealing with social anxiety that would take me years to recognize and properly address. My natural tendency was to withdraw.

Academically, school was never effortless. I always felt like the dumbest of the smart kids. While it is a little embarrassing to admit, I’ll never forget how a college friend once referred to me as the “dumbest smart person he had ever met”. It’s ok, we’re still good friends and it always makes me laugh to think about how far I’ve come and how much further I have to go. In his defense, I may have once confused the Everglades with Mount Everest during a game of intoxicated Pictionary™.

I had to fight harder just to stay in the game and my skin thickened every time I fell short. I wasn’t the hare darting ahead with ease; I was the tortoise, slow and deliberate, determined to finish the race on my own terms. What kept me going was a kind of quiet stubbornness that remains with me to this day.

Roots and Resistance

I grew up in an immigrant household, raised by a mother whose own education had been stunted by the trauma of World War II and the challenge of rebuilding a life in a new country. She entered high school without knowing a lick of English. This “immersion” may have helped her learn English, but hampered her in every other subject.

My dad was born during the Great Depression to immigrant parents with many mouths to feed. The hardship of those trying times resulted in his father having what was called a “nervous breakdown” and soon thereafter my dad would drop out of school to begin working to support the family financially. My family was of modest means and we lived conservatively. We did not travel or dine at restaurants. I never saw my parents even read a book. Needless to say, I grew up pretty sheltered.

But, their respective journeys planted in me a certain respect for persistence, for enduring hardship with dignity. And having older siblings provided me with a blueprint I could try to follow. My brother signing me up for Pee Wee football was a bit of a turning point; and one of many-to-come small steps in the right direction to overcome my insecurity.

I had an aptitude for analytical thinking and mathematics and was accepted into the bachelor’s degree program in physics at a state university. I graduated, after five and a half years, largely by force of will.

The Gifts of Arriving Late

By the time I decided to sign up to take the GRE and apply to graduate school, I had read very few books for enjoyment. I knew from my SAT scores that I needed to improve my language skills and dove into the most challenging and imaginative novels I could find. Clive Barker quickly became a favorite author. I went on to teach high school physics for several years thereafter, all the while continuing to take computer science courses in the evening.

Being a late bloomer comes with an unusual mix of trade-offs. On the one hand, I’ve often felt behind, academically, in my career, and even socially. Many peers seemed to accelerate past me while I was still sorting things out. But there’s an upside, too. I became evermore persistent and resilient. Failing early and often trained me to keep going, to adjust, to try again. And, it has provided me with a sense of humility and a penchant for self deprecating humor.

That persistence, born from necessity more than design, has become one of my greatest strengths. While early success can sometimes tempt people to coast, I’ve never had that luxury. My growth has been incremental, earned the hard way.

There’s something inspiring to me about the long arc of progress, about blooming often and gradually. I mean, people have been blogging online for decades and this Gen-X-er (or as my kids would call me, “boomer”) has only now finally found his voice!

So yes, I’m a late bloomer, but I’m still blooming.