Ever come to a fabulous party too late? For all of you who are gifted with the ability to lord over time, let me paint you a picture. As soon as you arrive, you have to pull off an expert parallel parking job about a mile away because all the good spots are taken. And the space is never big enough, so your car is like an opera singer stuffing itself into a ballerina costume. Then once you run through the rain wondering why you labored for an hour to straighten your curly hair because now it’s a frizzy nest (which is why you were late in the first place), you have to endure all the obvious “You’re Late!” greetings. And the awkward looks that scream “She could’ve at least done something with that white girl fro of hers.”
After a few calming breaths that you learned at hot yoga, you waltz over to the food table only to find all the amazing cheesy hors d’oeuvres you never allow yourself to eat are gone. Only the toasty crust on the edge of the pyrex remains, mocking your lateness. You see a crockpot and peer over the edge to see what treasures it holds, but nothing is floating on top of the BBQ soup. Not even one party wiener.
Oh yay! A veggie tray is still very much alive with a mound of broccoli florets…but of course all the ranch is gone already. Eew. So you take a floret and wield it as a scraper to score some of the aforementioned crusty remains, but it all just falls apart in your hand. You lie to yourself and say the stupid mantra “Nothing tastes as good as thin feels,” but it’s the holidays, and you know that’s a colossal load of crap.
Inside your mind, you shake your fist at Lateness and vow a revengeful comeback of discipline. Starting first thing tomorrow.
This is kind of how I felt when people recently kept urging me to start blogging. Start blogging?! Now? Hasn’t the Blog ship already sailed and docked across the globe? It’s way too late to start blogging at this point, right? All the successful bloggers have already devoured the cheesy dishes and party wieners and are comfortably reclining by the fire with the top button of their pants undone. To come to the blog party now is just a frizzy-haired embarrassment.
But then I thought of other late-comers who laughed at Time and bravely reached for their dreams anyway. Laura Ingalls Wilder didn’t publish her first books until she was 65, and what a terrible tragedy that would’ve been! Anna Mary Robertson Moses, a.k.a. Grandma Moses, was 78 when she began painting. Julia Child didn’t write her first cookbook until she was 50. And speaking of food, Colonel Sanders was 62 when he franchised KFC, and that ramen noodle mogul, Momofuku Ando (I promise that’s his real name…careful saying that out loud), didn’t invent Cup of Noodles until he was 61. Imagine all the college students who would be starving today were it not for Ando.
Late Schmate. Time Schmime. I’ll tell you what time it is: It’s time to throw caution to the wind and dream new dreams. Who’s with me?! (Cue: Inspirational Soundtrack) Who cares that people might judge our tardiness? Or gloat in the fact they got to eat all those cheesy hors d’oeuvres? We need to swallow our pride, chuck those skanky broccoli florets across the room, grab that empty pyrex and lick it clean!
When Is It Too Late For New Dreams? Let me assure you, it’s way after the buzzer sounds or the fat lady sings. It’s not until you breathe your last breath and walk into eternity. So I encourage you, no matter what season of life you are in…Dream on. Dream now. And Dream BIG.