This question has been on my mind, sneakily manoeuvring in and out of the rhythm of everyday, as, struck with a slow and steady kind of inspiration - the kind I was not used to - I realized that I wanted a different kind of challenge. It wasn't unlike what I've already been doing all my life, but one that I never really attached to being something more than just the way I do things, naturally.
I've always had a tendency to be attracted to novelty, to things and experiences that are different, interesting and new. My brain, spoiled by a childhood spent reading and indulging in imagination, cannot sit still. I pursued a career in fashion because of this, not only on the external level - fashion is in itself a flurry of novelty and trend - but because I couldn't think of a single other thing that seemed, at the time, so different to the core of who I seemed to be: plain, studious, intense but not in that sort of "edgy" way that seems predisposed to fashion. No, I was just the girl in my room after all the lights had gone out, reading in secret until knowing dad would come in, warning that I'd ruin my eyes if I didn't stop and just go to sleep. It was our familiar routine - and the reason he still suggests to this day that I go back to school for higher and higher education. I always say to him that I would go back, if only I knew what singular thing I wanted to learn, and I had that kind of money to just indulge in learning, and it was something I couldn't learn more in-depth and faster in real life - then, yeah, I'd go back. Sure. If only to fulfill your dreams for me.
But dad: I've been teaching myself, through the power of the internet, everything I needed to start a business, get clients, get jobs. Check, check, check - I've done all three to varying degrees of success. But my dad, as hip to technology as he is at 72 years old with his Facebook account and all, doesn't get it. Just like he doesn't get the difference between email and text.
When I started blogging a few years ago, I felt like something new and interesting was happening: I was, through the practice of writing and sharing, becoming. And then, as it got monotonous and the novelty wore off, I stopped. Looking back and taking the time to read my posts I cringe to see how many times I've repeated myself saying the same thing, a sign that I should've been pushing myself to learn more, to get uncomfortable, to not just write about why I already knew but to write as a way to document learning.
It's been a long time and I've done a lot of things since then, but the question I am asking myself now is: Is it ever too late? I am asking this because I have decided, after many years working towards one very singular goal and falling into other things to support that goal in the back of my mind, there's finally something else. Something else tugging at me, something else that has made me rethink who I am and who I could be entirely.
So is it too late? The logical and motivational answers to this question are both no. But the subtext to the logical answer is: it depends.
This post marks the beginning of a long TBD answer to the question, as I move out of this limbo of who-am-I-what-am-I-doing to embrace the challenge of trying something new, yet again - because that search for novelty, for change, for learning is me.
Just do you will be my mantra. At the very least, it's never too late for that, right?