Late Bloomers Still Rise

I took my time getting ready to go out and explore Savannah this morning. I stood in the mirror for a while; Washed my face. Filed in my eyebrows. Oiled my scalp. Put vaseline on my chapped lips. I took my time. My Mereba playlist was on when a song came on that caught my attention. It’s called Late bloomer. It’s over two years old but for some reason, I’d never heard it before. The lyrics go like this: 

He’s a late bloomer he

Knows just what he could be

But he’s taking his time

He’s a late bloomer he lives in the in-between

But he’s getting it right

Like the slowest growing flower

He’s essential to your hour

And he’s taking his time

Late bloomers still rise

“Late bloomers still rise,” I repeated to myself. Late bloomers still rise. Take your time. “He knows just what he could be, but he’s taking his time.” I could relate. The dreams I have for myself. The things I see myself doing, the way I want to do them; I see it — but it will take time.

I walked along the Savannah streets observing the beautiful historic buildings (more on this later). Reading the plaques that told their stories. Watching the trees and noting their differences. 

I’ve always been fascinated with trees. I find them interesting and serene. So much wisdom in them. The things they’ve seen. The screams they’ve heard. The laughter they’ve covered. Yet their silence ensures we may never know their pain or hear their stories. 

The Oak trees in Savannah are some of my favorites. The way their branches bend and the moss droops from their limbs. The way they surround the monuments and cover the streets. Like they were born to protect. 

I’ve seen other trees that have fascinated me. Once in North Carolina, a group of green trees lined an open field and right in the middle of them, was a tree with purple leaves – she stood out to me. Same tree, same branches, different leaves. 

Both of these trees grew from the ground at their own pace. They have their own vines, their own stories; and when the wind blows, they find their own rhythm. Though similar in build and origin, these trees live very, very different lives. 

And I think we’re like that. 

.    .    .

In my memoir (more on that later) I talk about how I’ve always felt as if I was rushing against some clock. I have always been afraid of running out of time; and because of that fear, I’ve always felt left behind. 

It feels as if when you’re constantly trying to keep up with those around you, you find yourself completely lost because you’re focused on the wrong thing. You’re focused on time, when you should be focused on the journey. The work. The stride. Enjoying the process. And in my case today, smelling the flowers. 

I played Late Bloomer about 7 times ( and it is still playing as I write). It is a very difficult and intentional habit to remind yourself that this is all part of the process. Every single step and movement and decision is part of the growth to get you to be the tree you imagine yourself to be. The roots, the branches, the flowers — they all take time. We will all bloom, some of us just take more time than others.