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November 16, 2013

Living That Dream: It's Never Too Late To Get Started!

 Though admittedly unconventional and definitely unpaid, my first writing gig took place at age 5. For reasons I can't recall exactly, I felt that L. Frank Baum could have done better with The Wizard of Oz. So I rewrote it. The whole thing. Then performed it live in my grandparent's living room for any neighbour willing to pay the low, low price of twenty-five cents.

Four people showed up. In my mind, it was a smash hit (after all, a dollar could buy two chocolate bars back then) and my young, brilliantly naive mind raced with visions of future glory as a writer.

For the next decade and a half, I pumped out short stories, essays, radio plays, and comic books with a zest and vigor that would make Stephen King look like a bum. I wrote for the sheer delight of it, for the excitement of creating whole new worlds, making people say and do what I would never dare to do in real life, and seeing where the muse would take me next.

I enlisted friends to play the parts in the plays we recorded. Wrote and produced my first film at age ten. Had stories published in mainstream creative writing journals at age 12. Earned a spot as arts and entertainment editor with Simon Fraser University's student paper, The Peak at 19. Began writing and illustrating my first children's book at 20. There was absolutely no question where my life was headed and I could hardly wait for the book tours to begin!


Flash forward twenty years. I'll spare you the gory details, let's just say life intervened. Financial realities, career detours, marriage, kids, divorce, new financial realities, new detours, etc. If you once had big dreams, then watched time throw up wall after wall between those dreams and you, you know what I'm talking about. I continued to write during those years, as a journalist, blogger, and sometimes creative writer, but it was all very much "on the side" and "in my spare time".

Hopes of becoming a writer professionallyone of those special few who get to do it for a living, receded more fully into the horizon with each passing day. I came to accept that it just wasn't meant to be. That there was nothing wrong with being a really, really good corporate HR specialist in the oil and gas industry. And that somehow, I would find a way to die happy, despite knowing I had never accomplished my life's passion and soul's purpose.

And then I woke up, handed in my recruiter's cap, and went to film school. I was 41.

It's never too late.

Hey, I wasn't stupid about it. I assessed the risks, counted the costs, sought advice, deliberated, and agonized. I even cried a little. I knew there were no guarantees I'd pop out the other end of Vancouver Film School's writing program into an executive's chair at NBC. But I didn't care, because it was quite simply time. Time to finally do what I'd always wanted to do.

As you get older, the choice becomes relatively straightforward: Either you go after what you love or you find a way not to love it anymore. It's the only way to silence those crazy, incessant voices inside your head. When you're twenty, you still have the luxury of time, of weighing options, of apparently infinite trial runs, of thinking your opportunities are always and forever ahead of you. When you're twice that age, desperation moves in and becomes a more or less permanent roommate, quiet and respectful at first, then gradually leaving socks everywhere and constantly cranking the stereo to ten.

Sometimes, desperation is a good thing. It was for me. It drove me to finally become a paid, professional writer.

I'm not making millions (yet), I'm not even doing it full-time (working at it), but for the first time in years, I'm doing what I was born to do. More than that, I've proven to myself that all the excuses I use to dole out about how my dreams had moved beyond reach were simply the things good people tell themselves to try and feel better about allowing their dreams to slip away. (P.S. If you're a parent, prone to spouting off about how important it is for your kids to follow their dreams, be prepared for them to serve you your own words for lunch one day if you don't eventually follow yours!)

Crazy voices abound, particularly the aforementioned ones in your own brain. Once you make the decision to chase after your dreams, the voice that shouts "It's too late!" is replaced by the one that screams "You're gonna fail!" Just voices, that's all. And because they're in your head, don't forget you are at liberty to tell them to shut the hell up.

Still think it's too late? That you're too old? That opportunity has passed you by?

Check it out:

Andrea Bocelli waited till age 34 to trade in his lawyer's briefcase for life as a world-class singer.

Julia Child enrolled in cooking school at 36.

Phyllis Diller began her stand-up comedy career at 37.

John Mahoney, Kelsey Grammer's father on Frasier, got into acting at 37.

Stan Lee was 43 when he began crafting superheros, and Fantastic Four partner Jack Kirby was 44.

Charles Darwin was 50 when he finally converted his life's work into On The Origin of Species.


Laura Ingalls Wilder started as a newspaper columnist in her 40's and didn't get down to business with Little House on the Prairie until her 60's!

Colonel Sanders was 65 when he began selling chicken with eleven herbs and spices.

Frank McCourt was 66 when his breakthrough novel, Angela's Ashes became an international hit. His next two books were written at ages 69 and 74.

Grandma Moses took up painting later in life when arthritis ended her embroidering career. She was 80 when her first solo exhibit won rave national reviews. At her death (she was 101), she had over 1,600 paintings under her belt.

It's never too late!