under/overachiever

I had so much promise.

What happened to me? (Kidding, but not kidding.) I'm clearly the way-tragic product of too many interests, too much enthusiasm, and a desperate need to be good at everything. 

It was so much pressure (self-applied), too little focus on any one thing. I was a cat, leaping from one shiny thing to another. I still am.

Hypothesis: the internet ruined me. Or boys. BOYS ON THE INTERNET. Damn. 

 
yeah, "head of social" - there's my problem. 

During this week's excavation of my past life (in the Cave - err, Rubbermaid bin - of Treasures), I'm feeling intimidated by my own achievements. What? In the 8th grade I was on the volleyball team, softball team, yearbook committee, drama club and still managed to score top honours in my classes? French immersion, by the way. Also, I had a pretty profitable little babysitting enterprise on the side. Oh, and you know, just a HIGH SCHOOL BOYFRIEND.

Alright, so I stink at volleyball (and most other sports) and I always did.

Kindergarten gym-class evaluation: 

Apparently I needed improvement in "manipulation". Ha! I wonder if Ms. Chesney would be proud of my manipulation skills now? Boys, not baseballs, natch. (WINKY FACE!)

Though my "body awareness" was satisfactory from a young age. Not. Surprising. At. All. 

(whore)

Good grief. Winky face...?

Evaluation and recognition were my drugs of choice. I still need a fix now and then. Example: I will continue to endure the ribbing of my desk-neighbour ("NO ONE uses Foursquare") as long as I am still the mayor of Big Fat Burrito and the app continues to award me things like the "Bento Badge". Not since Girl Guides have I been awarded such clear measurements of "success" (success in "checking into" the poutine joint, but still). 

"Grade me! Look at me! Evaluate and rank me! I’m good, good, good and oh so smart! GRADE ME!" 

Lisa Simpson for life. 

Oh, y'know, just 1st place.

What do I really expect from myself now? What does all of this STUFF amount to? I've had a pretty amazing and full life so far. I can't say that any of it was "wasted" even though the best thing to come of a $20K art school education was my friend Liz. She's pretty worth it, though. 

(I haven't painted in years.)

I guess I just thought that a kid like me would be doing something huge and super meaningful as an adult (*gulp* I can't live up to that word). I love my life and my job, yeah, but where am I in 5 years? What do I really have to show for the last 10? I've been a tumbleweed. I'm pretty much in love with change (always a military kid...), so maybe I was meant to be a wanderer. Maybe this is how I have to find my niche. Maybe I never will.

Born-too-late flower-child.

But if I can ever find a cure for restlessness, it would be nice to figure out what I'm really meant to do. (WALL-EEEEEE!) Eventually. Maybe I'll be 45 before that happens. 

Oh gosh, by then I'll be a mom. A MOM!!!

That's coming soonish. I just really wanted to have my shit together first. I don't know. Maybe this is as "together" as I get. Maybe I just have to accept that I can be a little (or a LOT) bonkers and still a responsible adult and awesome mom. I can. 

Living proof: my mom is a wicked-(suck-it-June-Cleaver)-awesome mom and she was craaaaazy. While most moms stored pot roast and popsicles in the deep-freezer, mine stored garbage bags full of snow in the winter so we could have snow ball fights at our summer birthday parties. (!!!!!)

 See? winter gloves AND bathing suits.  ALSO: my mother should be apprehended by Family Services for allowing that haircut to happen.

Luckily, too, Alex isn't perma-stuck with me in Neverland, so at least one of us will be a reasonable facsimile of an adult/parent.

...well that got a little dark. Life-excavation went from LOL to OMFG pretty fast.

It's a good slap in the face, though. I'm over Death Cold 2000 and it's time to put Epic 2012 to paper. Sure, my tattoo is booked for September and I'm transforming into a redhead next week but that's just scratching the surface. Necessary but superficial. (AND AWESOME!) I can't just keep expecting new hair to fix things (EVEN THOUGH IT WILL BE AWESOME).

I will have a plan. It will be good. It will make me an adult. Sort of.

(p.s During the writing of this post last night, my Mom called to ensure I wasn't having an early mid-life crisis. This coming from the woman CALLING FROM A HOT TUB - literally, they have a waterproof house-phone. I told her I had to call her later, but she discouraged me because they're watching their "shows". Oh I see. American Idol trumps YOUR OWN CHILDREN. That's OK. I'll just have a beer instead. Then end up on Intervention in 6 years. Totally cool, ma.)