“Life really does begin at forty. Up until then, you are just doing research.” —Carl Jung
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There’s a particular kind of stuckness that I’ve known in myself and observed in others, that I haven’t been able to name until now. It involves the relentless notion that you’re late—that you’re behind the others, too far gone, that you missed the boat, that the door has closed, it’s game over, you waited too long, you’re too old or too (fill in the blank)—to try now.

Thinking of launching that business? LATE. 

Going back to school? LATE. 

Finding a partner? LATE.

Reconciling with an old friend? LATE.
Recording your first album? LATE.

Making that career transition? LATE.

Have you felt this, too? Where an idea barely has the chance to surface and—bam! LATE gets stamped across your paper-thin hopes.

It can be hard to know when to start. We have all kinds of how-to knowledge, but very little when-to. And then add to that a nagging sense of scarcity—time slipping away, opportunities dwindling—and it's no wonder we get stuck.

The myth of starting too late is a powerful story we tell ourselves, but it's just that—a story. One that we can choose to re-narrate. How different would our lives look if we let go of the too late story? And what possibilities might be waiting, if we were to start, now—which is right on time.

I was desperate to find the starting line for a career transition that I’d been needing for some time

You’re not trapped

The year I turned 30, my wife and I bought a house that came with a two car garage and a tool shed. Though I didn’t own any tools at the time, I quickly began collecting them. On the edge of our small town there was a hardware store that had complimentary popcorn. I’d often drive there on weeknights to wander the aisles with greasy fingers and heavy boredom. I was stuck. I was desperate to find the starting line for a career transition that I’d been needing for some time. But rather than risking change, I hyper focussed on Dewalt reciprocating saw blades. And after that, lawn care.

I had applied that year to a graduate school in Seattle, and didn’t get in — turns out they weren’t taking international students at the time. With my one best idea shot down, I was gutted—as far as I could see, I was all out of options. At 30. I recall telling myself that I should be thankful that I had a job and that plenty of people ride it out until retirement. Again, I was 30.

Around this time, my friend Dean came into my office one day. And because Dean had a way of asking, “how are you doing?” in a way that sounded like he actually meant it, I told him.

I was honest. I cried. There’s only so much hot buttered popcorn you can pour on top of the sadness of an unlived life. I told him I was a man who had a house, a Honda, a tool shed with all kinds of screws in labelled yogurt containers, and I was a man who had no vision for the future.

He listened and then said, “You’re not trapped you know.” 

This is the limiting belief of lateness, that life/the opportunity/the dream, has already passed you by.

That’s how he said it. So abrupt. No soft condolences, just a declarative statement of reality. It was the exact thing I needed to hear. Because I wasn’t trapped—except for being convinced in my mind that I was. 

This is the limiting belief of lateness, that life/the opportunity/the dream, has already passed you by. The limiting belief of lateness leaves you stranded in a perpetual present—not in a mindful way but in an all out of options and futures kind of way.

Of course there is real lateness. Windows do close, seasons pass, and the chance to become an olympic speed skater at 60 isn’t going to happen. But I’m talking about a belief—a perception rather than a truth—of lateness, and how it can steal your hope.

When I revisit this story, I usually feel embarrassed. What was I thinking? I wasn’t late…I was 30! But it always gives me pause to wonder, what limiting belief of lateness might I be holding right now?

A beautiful list of late bloomers

Apparently, comedian Jimmy Carr keeps a list of people who found success later in life. He revisits the list to be reminded that everyone is on their own timeline. I’ve borrowed this idea and have my own running list of late bloomers. Here are a few favourites:

Betty White was an icon and award-winning actress, but her career didn’t take off until she joined the cast of "The Mary Tyler Moore Show" in 1973. She was 51.

Julia Child was in advertising before writing her first cookbook at age 50, which launched a new career as a celebrity chef in 1961.

While working as a political commentator and writer, Arianna Huffington founded The Huffington Post at age 55.

Jack Cover started his career as a scientist at NASA and IBM before becoming an entrepreneur at 50, eventually inventing the Taser stun gun in 1970.

Morgan Freeman was in the U.S. Air Force before   leaving to start acting. He got his first break at 50.  

Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote her semi-autobiographical stories with the editing help of her daughter, Rose. She got started as a published author at age 65 in 1932, publishing the first book in the "Little House" series.

Anna Mary Robertson Moses (better known as ‘Grandma Moses’), began her prolific painting career at 78. In 2006, one of her paintings sold for $1.2 million.

Nobel and Pulitzer Prize-winning author Toni Morrison wrote her first novel at age 40, while she was working as an editor. She won her Pulitzer Prize when she was 56, and her Nobel Prize in Literature at 62.

And perhaps my favourite, William Stafford. Stafford started publishing poetry at the age of 46. He went on to truly hit his stride, composing 20,000 poems by the end of his life.

Were any of these people late? Really. Were they?

The point is, they started.

Late(nt)

In my work as a coach, I often hear different versions of the limiting belief of lateness. One of the most powerful ways to shift a limiting belief is by finding new perspectives in unexpected places.

Have you ever noticed how etymologically close late is to latent? Latent means: “present and capable of emerging or developing but not now visible or obvious.”

Have you ever noticed how etymologically close late is to latent? Latent means: “present and capable of emerging or developing but not now visible or obvious.” Could late simply mean “not having had the chance to finish spelling the word”? It’s getting to it…the nt is coming!

I mean really, what if you weren’t late, but latent? As a thought experiment, try inserting the definition of latent into the following:

Launching that business? Present and capable of emerging…but not now visible or obvious.

Starting a new habit? Present and capable of emerging…but not now visible or obvious.

Creating your newsletter? Present and capable of emerging…but not now visible or obvious.

What would it do to hold this belief for others? Or even more daringly, for yourself?

Mid-century author and speaker Earl Nightingale once said, “Don't let the fear of the time it will take to accomplish something stand in the way of your doing it. The time will pass anyway; we might just as well put that passing time to the best possible use.”

Might as well. You can start any time. Remember you’re working off your own timetable and no one else’s. And the reality is you likely won’t ever feel ready. 

But that's ok because starting lines don’t live in the land of ready. Your starting line lives in the land of wobbly, uncertain, and trembling vulnerability.

You’re present and capable of emerging. Because you’re not late; you’re latent.