Is dreaming just for the young? How about following your dreams? Can we rebuild our lives – or build a new life – even when we are most definitely smack in the throes of middle age or… ahem… leaning towards the outer edges of it?
When I was younger, I had no qualms about trying something new, going on an adventure – whether that was a career, a move to a new home, a new town, an experience, what have you.
Whether it was growing up (ahhh… adulthood, not all it’s cracked up to be, I must say), growing old, or simply being stuck for years with someone else’s criticisms eating away at my brain, my heart, and my self-esteem that did me in, I have found myself more timid – quite indecisive actually – when it comes to making decisions that would take me out of my comfort zone, even when it would be in my best interest.
Recently I have been catching sight of that person that I used to be, that plucky, spirited individual willing to take risks, lurking around corners, trying to come out from the shadows (Hello there! Long time no see!) – and now I’m pondering – is dreaming just for the young? Can older lives be torn down and rebuilt the way we want them to be? Or do dreams have a shelf life?
I have dreams just like anyone else and I want to make those happen. Sometimes I think it’s just too late. I’m just too old. The world is obsessed with youth. Everything – advertising, TV shows, movies – even news – all seem aimed at teenagers and twenty-somethings… thirty-somethings at the outside.
Is it any wonder that middle-aged folks might think that their best years have passed them by… that if they were going to achieve their dreams, whatever they may be, they’d have done it already? We’ve been indoctrinated to think so.
But then I think, surely I don’t have to be stuck here, in this part of my life, if I don’t want to be. If I can oust this echoing voice in my head… the one I’ve been listening to for too many years… the one that makes me doubt myself… then certainly I can do something with my life, to make my dreams a reality. Something that’s meant for me.
Historically speaking, it’s not unheard of – this rethinking of one’s life at middle age or beyond. Grandma Moses comes to mind. She was 78 when she started painting – 78! Prior to that she’d spent decades embroidering, but when arthritis made that too painful, she took up painting, and within a couple of years became a household name.
Or how about Julia Child? She was 40 years old when she started to learn French cooking, and 50 years old when she started her cooking show!
Ever hear of Phyllis Diller? She was 37 years old when she became a stand-up comedian.
Then there’s an author named Elizabeth Jolley. One year she got 39 rejection slips! How many people give up their attempt to write after that first awful rejection – and she kept going and going and going until finally, at the age of 56, her first novel was published. The rest is history.
If they can do it, so can I. So can anyone. Right?
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not looking to become a household name. I want freedom, not fame.
The world cannot be just for the young. It simply cannot work that way. I’ve had dreams sitting on a shelf for some time, and it’s high time I started looking forward, not back. At this point, there’s nothing holding me back but me.