The husband sent me a link to Nick Nolte’s This Much I Know in the weekend’s Observer. I was really struck by the line in which he says: “ I don’t believe you should be a professional at anything until you’re about 35″. I love this.
I have spent years now wanting to change what I am doing, and have felt sure for a long time that it is JUST TOO LATE. I berate myself for not knowing what it is I want to do, or worse, for all the years I have seemingly done nothing-and-now-time-is-running-out-and-very-soon-I-will-be… dead. I was reminded of something I had read about Alan Rickman getting his first acting job at 46, and figured there must be many more people who were late-bloomers, if you like. A google search will show you that there are.
As for authors, many of them started a lot later than I am, now. Raymond Chandler was first published at 51, Richard Adams in his 50s, Laura Ingalls Wilder not until her mid-sixties. I think Iris Murdoch didn’t get published until she was 35, and I’m still quite a way away from that ripe, old age.
Peter Roget, who invented Roget’s Thesaurus, only did so at 73.
I have many good years ahead of me. As, I’m sure, do you – however old you are!