#1: My Backstory
Hi! I’m Jackie. Born during a blizzard in East Texas in the 20th century, I made it into this life with the label of the earth sign Capricorn, which affirms that I’m a practical, unemotional, attention-focused, hard worker. Dude. I’m not much fun. You won’t see a rise of emotion out of me unless I’ve been pushed over the edge. So, if you see a few exclamation points in this blog, you should know that I’m really trying here. My emotionally aware, water-sign husband constantly tells me I need to open up about my feelings, but I’m too practical for that stuff. Let’s get back to business.
Where was I? Oh, yeah... my birth. Just know that I didn’t cry. I’m stoic, remember? I was the perfect baby, as my mom will tell you. Except that I projectile vomited from time to time. If I’m going to do something, I’m going to be exceptional about it. I actually don’t remember that stage of my life, but I would definitely think that pushes me into the “not perfect baby” category. Anyway, ugh, how much more do I need to tell you about myself? It feels so ego-centric. Although bragging about my early-life vomiting is likely not braggadocio. I’m sure you didn’t come here to read about that particular toddler trait, but my opposites-attract husband recommended that my first post be about who I am, and that just came out. I apologize if my thoughts are like vomit, which turns into my writing being about vomit. Focus, Capricorn. Who am I?
I am ... uncomfortable publicly describing myself because I feel very exposed as it is. But I will try harder, exclamation point.
If I really was a “perfect” baby, I could say I started my perfectionism early, like a good little Capricorn who hits the ground running. I was the girl in the Camp Fire group who argued with the leader’s daughter, insisting that I had sung “Do Your Ears Hang Low” the fastest. (The other girl really was good competition, but to settle us down, her mom confirmed to the group that I was the fastest—and immediately whispered to her daughter as I awkwardly sat in silence while my title was being given away.) I was the birthday girl who had some friends over to watch a show, and when one asked if they could laugh if they see something funny, I was baffled for a second because it seemed like a bizarre question, but then responded, “No, because then you might miss what happens next.” I was the fifth grader in social studies class who took the longest time coloring my paper flag because I filled it in by drawing side-by-side lines with my marker. It looked phenomenal—even the teacher pointed out the level of detail. I wonder where that masterpiece went ... ?
I’m currently a recovering perfectionist, although I’m pretty sure I’ve been recovering in the wrong direction. As a kid, I spent hours drawing and writing silly poems, but as I aged, my artistic hobbies took a backseat in my life, replaced with the “practicality” of a more STEM-focused mind. I took a year of chemical engineering classes at Texas A&M, received an undergrad degree in environmental design, and later a master’s degree in education. I’m happy with my choices, but as the years wore on, I found myself ignoring the creative activities that used to bring me joy, like writing, drawing, and dancing. Part of perfectionism is thinking if you can’t do something perfectly, you don’t even start. To slay this paralysis, I’m supposed to be dancing like nobody’s watching, right? Or, in this case, I could pretend I’m blogging like nobody’s reading, shoving me out of my comfort zone and quite possibly pushing you out of yours, too, in case I overshared earlier (sorry again about the throw up).
Perhaps I could take my makeover a step further and practice being less of a traditional Capricorn? I could try being:
Less practical = More imaginative and fanciful
More emotional = Who doesn’t like exclamation points?!!!
Less detail-oriented = Faster at getting things done
Not as diligent = More time to play
My kids are excellent at playing, by the way. I should take notes. I once looked behind me while shopping and this is what I found:
I should probably unearth a bit more about my past just to parallel my soil-loving upbringing against this new endeavor of sailing that my family and I will be undertaking. (You’ve heard that my husband, two sons, and I are planning to build a catamaran, live aboard, and then sail off into the wild, blue yonder, right? That’s the impetus of this blog, but apparently you need to know about me first.) I grew up in an underground house that my parents designed and hand-crafted, affectionately called “The Hobbit Hole,” and it still enamors me to this day. It’s so quiet and gives me the feeling of an enveloping hug from Mother Nature. In college, I joined a spelunking group. I liked revisiting the cool-aired solitude underground; however, crawling over pungent bat guano while trying not to inhale swarms of gnats was quite the opposite of “home.” Caving was worth it, though, given the adventures and challenges. Filthy as a chimney sweep after a few hours of squeezing through openings to check out the rooms beyond, I practiced how to stay calm when I got stuck in tight spots and deemed myself not claustrophobic. I like to think my experience with the underground world has primed my mind to exploring new places. (I’m picturing Bilbo Baggins winking at me.)
So ... that’s the old me and the new, perfectly imperfect me in the making. Thanks for hanging in there as I divulged all my dirty secrets while you were hopefully not eating. Now, let’s get this party started, yeah?!