It’s never too late to be what you might have been. George Eliot wrote that. He would know something about “might have been” since he was a she. Novelist Mary Ann Evans used the pen name George Eliot to get her work taken seriously during England’s male-biased Victorian Age. Those who knew her thought she had a few screws loose (a term, by the way, that originated during her era in the 1800s, which, not surprisingly, predated the invention of the screwdriver by about 40 years). But her refusal to accept a life of “what if” allowed her to enjoy a successful literary career.
I point all of this out not to announce Jeff Wozer is a pen name and my real name is Doris Gunderson, but rather to applaud the ambition of her quote. It trills with hope. Verbal Prozac, if you will. And right now, I could use a double dosage of kick-in-the-butt.
I thought by now I’d be rich and famous and be asked to judge karaoke singers on Fox TV.
Since crossing the 50-year-old mark, I’ve been obsessing over assessing my life goals. And quite frankly, I’ve fallen far shorter than a Donald Trump bid for political relevancy. There’s no getting around it. I’m to goal-achieving as sequins are to grunge.
I thought by now I’d be rich and famous and be asked to judge karaoke singers on Fox TV. Until recently I shrugged off these shortcomings on fate, believing our lives were shaped by uncontrollable forces like luck, looks, timing, and getting bitten by a radioactive spider.
In my younger days I would have scorned this Mother-May-I advice, dismissing it as voodoo logic.
Now I realize it’s because I never granted myself permission. Yes, permission. Look it up. The Internet is chock-full of give-yourself-permission tips to suck, to cry, to thrive, to receive, to shine, to exercise, to start over, to get angry, to goof off, to be imperfect, to lighten up, to not listen, to be okay, to make a change, to be who you are, to behave as you see fit, to say no to things you don’t enjoy, to be the artist you truly are, and, my favorite, to go with the colors you love in the heart for your home.
In my younger days I would have scorned this Mother-May-I advice, dismissing it as voodoo logic, no more helpful than a Magic 8 Ball whose murky blue dye keeps surfacing the same “As I see it, yes” reply.
But at 51, I realize I can no longer afford the drag of cynicism (notwithstanding, of course, my punch at American Idol several lines ago). My goal-achievement scorecard won’t allow me. Out of the 98 goals I authored in 1991, I’ve crossed off 27. (It would have been 29, but counting “Buy a new watch battery” felt like I was padding my total. Plus, I penalized myself one goal for investing in Don Lapre’s Money Making Secrets that promised I could make $50,000 a week by placing tiny classified ads in newspapers.)
That’s 1.2 goals per year. I’m the antithesis of former college football coach and current ESPN commentator Lou Holtz. In 1967, after getting fired from his first head coaching job, he, while still an unknown, made a list of 107 goals and has since accomplished 102. Many of them aren’t the garden-variety type either. He’s checked off getting invited for dinner at the White House, appearing on the Tonight Show, meeting the Pope, and landing a plane on an aircraft carrier. And many occurred after the age of 50.
Holtz’s example gives me hope. As does the fact I’m not alone. Americans last year spent more than $8 billion on self-improvement books, CDs and seminars. An impressive sum when one considers this doesn’t even include the medical costs of the 21 people injured last July at a Tony Robbins seminar while walking across scorching coals.
Emboldened, I’ve decided to add a new goal to my list: give myself permission to not care what others think (my admitting that I purchased Don Lapre’s Money Making Secrets is proof of this). Not in a self-serving way, but in a way that opens the door to all other goals.
Too often we’re tethered by fear of public opinion, holding ourselves back from doing the unexpected.
Think of what you’d accomplish if you gave yourself permission to tune out social judgment. Dance in a public fountain? Try out for community theatre? Pen a book? Start a band? Write your actual weight on your driver’s license renewal card?
Roger, a friend, once recounted how he motorcycled across country to visit his parents. Minutes after arriving home, his dad, a retired accountant who favored bowties, roared off on his motorcycle, without asking. Incensed, Roger confronted his dad when he returned, shocked that he would have the gall to not only take off on his bike, but to do so while dressed only in boxers, bathrobe and slippers. After hearing him out, his dad calmly replied, “When you’re cool, it doesn’t matter how you’re dressed.”
More proof it’s never too late to be what you might have been. And he didn’t even need to change his name. Only inner permission.
