Late Bloomers & Co.

The (many) gifts of being late.

Hi friends, reminder that I’m collecting images of YOUR favorite home spots—tiny rooms/nooks/corners for an upcoming A Tiny Apt. feature. Email me at hi@atinyapt.com with a few photos + a short caption about a particular place in your home that you LOVE + why. ❤️

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Last week I found myself in the precarious position of being front-row at my weekly dance class. My preferred spot is second row, second spot in from the left. I like it there. Without my glasses, I can sort of see myself but not in any real detail. I can tell that I’m moving along to the choreography and the beat of whatever song is playing, but confirming that I am actually fully extending an arm or officially touching a knee to the floor is fuzzy.

And I’m good with that.

But, when you’re late for dance class, or any class/scheduled thing, you’re apt to get the less-desirable spots, which in my case was in the front row—in front of all my friends + fellow workout people whom I always imagine having had WAY more childhood dance training than I’ve ever did—which was ZERO. So, there I was, stage left to our teacher/owner Emily, who was visibly delighted to have me in the spot she (probably) knows I’d rather die than be in…

Dancing in front of everyone else.

Like this particular class, I came to dancing later in life. I didn’t take my first class until I was well into my 40s. And now I’m 56 and try to take one or two of Emily’s classes every week. I wouldn’t say I’m good, but I can hold my own. Especially if I’m in the second row (one in from the left:) where, from my (very) blurry vantage point, I always seem to be positively killing it.

After the class, walking home sweaty and sore, I started thinking about all the other things I’ve been late for—or rather, w/some mental reframing—showed up for me later in life: a partner, our first pet, my first company, a first real home that was all mine, and motherhood, too. Each of these, and so many other firsts and starts were conjured after I turned 40, in a few cases, long after. Things that showed up decades after the initial desire for them first burned inside me, long after I had naively written them down in a list or in a journal or simply hoped/prayed they would someday transition from desire to reality. In fact, for as long as I can remember, I worked on my goals/wishes like they were a J.O.B…with relentless (occasionally wearisome) optimism, hustling, and what could only be referred to as an embarrassing number of visits to psychics, with some trips to Enchantments thrown in for good measure.

(I am nothing if not resourceful.)