In college, I went to a conference where we attended student-run programs throughout the day. One had the theme of finding ways to de-stress, which is a topic of interest because I am always stressing about something. We did some yoga - picture thirty students doing downward dog in the hallway of an academic building - and ended by going outside and screaming our faces off.
In between those activities, though, we had a discussion about why we were all so stressed in the first place. The leader explained a new term to us that nailed it right on the head for me and many of the other students there: procrastifectionist. Or, a procrastinator plus a perfectionist.
Throughout college and in many other areas of my life, I did things on the fly. Papers were written last minute, place cards for parties were made sometimes the morning of, scrapbooks were put together into the early morning hours of the day they were being gifted. Some of my best work was done when I knew I had no other choice than to sit down and finish it, but my body and mind were never happy with me for making those choices.
Experiencing these things - procrastination and perfectionism - at the same time isn't just a coincidence; they go hand-in-hand. Whenever I took on a project, the pressure was immense to get it just right. That pressure made me put it off, no matter how illogical that seems. Then, once it got to crunch time, I could sit down and get it done, knowing that if it came off as less-than-perfect, I could blame the limited time I had. Better yet, I could pride myself in knowing that I produced something almost-perfect even in such a short time span.
All of this sounds incredibly ridiculous, but I have a feeling a lot of people can relate. Unless you're one of those people with the amazing willpower to start projects as early as possible and finish them well before deadlines, in which case, I am insanely jealous. Honestly, though, if I were able to just let go of the idea of "perfect," there would be no need for all this anxiety (and often times sleep deprivation).
So. This is my protest of perfect. Right here, right now, I'm owning up to the fact that I am not perfect. Nobody is, in fact, and it would probably do you some good to at least consider that you're not, if not fully embracing that fact. But, you know, baby steps. The following are real, true statements about me, my imperfectness wrapped up in a pretty little list.
I:
...can't sing well.
...love to create.
...say 'I don't know' when I don't want to open up.
...doubt myself and my abilities.
...have a hard time trusting people.
...cry at any and all sappy movies or television shows (or commercials).
...dance because it's my only area of true confidence.
...use dance as a means of being outgoing.
...am terribly indecisive.
...get excited over the littlest things.
...never ask for help.
...see things through rose-colored glasses.
...feel guilty when I don't ask enough questions about other peoples' lives.
...do nice things for people because I know I'd like someone to do them for me.
...hate hurting people.
...have very little patience.
...shut down mentally if someone pushes me around.
...consider myself incredibly socially awkward most of the time.
...obsess.
...love too much and often don't express it well.
...am not perfect. But who wants to be perfect, anyway?
Showing posts with label who i am. Show all posts
Showing posts with label who i am. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Thursday, September 2, 2010
who made you king of anything?
This may or may not be the theme song to my life. And by that I mean, it most definitely is.
All my life I've tried
to make everybody happy
while I just hurt and hide
waiting for somebody to tell me
it's my turn to decide.
I don't mean to say that I feel this way on a constant basis, but it seems to happen quite a lot. There are a handful of people in my life - usually the most important ones - who believe they know better than me. If I had a dollar for every time my parents, someone else in my family, or Mark told me how they think I should handle my life, what they think I should do, I would have a fair amount of money to my name. I wish I were exaggerating.
This also doesn't mean that these people don't mean well or that they don't love me, because they do. I don't wish to shed a bad light upon them - everyone who does it has a thousand shining qualities that outweigh this one pesky, negative one. It's just a bad combination of the way they "help" and the way I react to it.
It probably grew from being raised by parents who worked hard to get where they wanted. My mom tells me stories on how she buckled down and always studied; my dad, though slacking a bit in college, has worked like a dog at several jobs since then. To be honest, I feel like they both embody the attitude of having to work hard and be somewhat miserable to get what you want. They were the reason I picked accounting as my major, when I was applying to colleges and had no idea what I wanted. They were the same reason that I begrudgingly stuck with accounting, despite wanting to change majors as early as sophomore year in college.
The majority of my family has similar opinions - it's less about choosing something I enjoy and more about what will be the "best" for my future. Mark was even worse about it, pushing me when he barely knew me, my goals, or what was "best." Being surrounded by so many people, acting like they know exactly who I am and what I want, is exhausting.
Luckily I have my friends. My four best friends from college pulled me through some heinous moments, listening to me vent about how my parents completely shot down my suggestion to switch majors. How I could feel myself hating it more and more every day. How I didn't understand why my parents couldn't be open-minded and supportive, like all of my friends' parents were when they all made choices and changes.
It's only recently that I've begun to force my own opinion into conversations, talking about dream jobs more realistically and making it clear that I'm not going to be pushed around anymore. And, when possible, I refrain from talking about such topics with people who can't get past what they think I should be doing.
Because it's like Sara says, who cares if you disagree? You are not me.
All my life I've tried
to make everybody happy
while I just hurt and hide
waiting for somebody to tell me
it's my turn to decide.
I don't mean to say that I feel this way on a constant basis, but it seems to happen quite a lot. There are a handful of people in my life - usually the most important ones - who believe they know better than me. If I had a dollar for every time my parents, someone else in my family, or Mark told me how they think I should handle my life, what they think I should do, I would have a fair amount of money to my name. I wish I were exaggerating.
This also doesn't mean that these people don't mean well or that they don't love me, because they do. I don't wish to shed a bad light upon them - everyone who does it has a thousand shining qualities that outweigh this one pesky, negative one. It's just a bad combination of the way they "help" and the way I react to it.
It probably grew from being raised by parents who worked hard to get where they wanted. My mom tells me stories on how she buckled down and always studied; my dad, though slacking a bit in college, has worked like a dog at several jobs since then. To be honest, I feel like they both embody the attitude of having to work hard and be somewhat miserable to get what you want. They were the reason I picked accounting as my major, when I was applying to colleges and had no idea what I wanted. They were the same reason that I begrudgingly stuck with accounting, despite wanting to change majors as early as sophomore year in college.
The majority of my family has similar opinions - it's less about choosing something I enjoy and more about what will be the "best" for my future. Mark was even worse about it, pushing me when he barely knew me, my goals, or what was "best." Being surrounded by so many people, acting like they know exactly who I am and what I want, is exhausting.
Luckily I have my friends. My four best friends from college pulled me through some heinous moments, listening to me vent about how my parents completely shot down my suggestion to switch majors. How I could feel myself hating it more and more every day. How I didn't understand why my parents couldn't be open-minded and supportive, like all of my friends' parents were when they all made choices and changes.
It's only recently that I've begun to force my own opinion into conversations, talking about dream jobs more realistically and making it clear that I'm not going to be pushed around anymore. And, when possible, I refrain from talking about such topics with people who can't get past what they think I should be doing.
Because it's like Sara says, who cares if you disagree? You are not me.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
geekery.
Today I woke up and took a look at my calendar from yes and yes, and it told me that today was the day to embrace my geekiness. Well, then.
For a long time I tried to hide my geeky side - I still do it sometimes, out of habit. But, it became harder and harder to deny that side of my personality. I think it fully developed in high school, when I spent weekends designing a website for a computer game I played and nights on AIM playing Gunbound (thanks to Kyle for that reminder of how I spent my entire junior year), and I developed a hardcore Harry Potter obsession. Still, I was in denial. Trust me when I tell you that those around me knew I was a complete geek, I just hadn't accepted that fact for myself yet.
In college, a time when everyone is encouraged to "start fresh," I think I just let go of inhibitions and completely embraced my geekiness. I no longer denied my love of video games and I developed a strong love for the interwebs, what with all the time I spend blogging and on Twitter. I geeked out over all things dance and Disney and nobody was going to stop me.
I didn't really have much else to say about my inner geek until I was surfing along the internet this afternoon and found NerdyShirts.com. It was only appropriate that I share with you some of the shirts that I am now coveting.
ZOMG, I *heart* Doug. I nearly peed my pants over this one.
Harry Potter 4eva. Seriously. Is it November yet? I can haz Deathly Hallows plz?
Yes. Just... yes.
Princess Peach was a video game character created especially for me, I'm sure of it.
geek: A person who is interested in technology, especially computing and new media; A person with a devotion to something in a way that places him or her outside the mainstream
- Wikipedia
For a long time I tried to hide my geeky side - I still do it sometimes, out of habit. But, it became harder and harder to deny that side of my personality. I think it fully developed in high school, when I spent weekends designing a website for a computer game I played and nights on AIM playing Gunbound (thanks to Kyle for that reminder of how I spent my entire junior year), and I developed a hardcore Harry Potter obsession. Still, I was in denial. Trust me when I tell you that those around me knew I was a complete geek, I just hadn't accepted that fact for myself yet.
In college, a time when everyone is encouraged to "start fresh," I think I just let go of inhibitions and completely embraced my geekiness. I no longer denied my love of video games and I developed a strong love for the interwebs, what with all the time I spend blogging and on Twitter. I geeked out over all things dance and Disney and nobody was going to stop me.
I didn't really have much else to say about my inner geek until I was surfing along the internet this afternoon and found NerdyShirts.com. It was only appropriate that I share with you some of the shirts that I am now coveting.
ZOMG, I *heart* Doug. I nearly peed my pants over this one.
Harry Potter 4eva. Seriously. Is it November yet? I can haz Deathly Hallows plz?
Yes. Just... yes.
Princess Peach was a video game character created especially for me, I'm sure of it.
If that doesn't convince you that I'm a proud geek, just remember that I have a hard time not using hashtags outside of Twitter. #itsjustsofun #dontjudgeme
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
video game girl.
Thanksgiving 2009, Wii Tennis tournament.
I’ve always been a video game girl. For a long stretch of my childhood and teenage years, any money I received as a gift was put immediately towards a new video game. My brother and I would go into Best Buy and spend a solid half an hour perusing the shelves and trying to decide which games to get. Sometimes we knew exactly what we wanted, but I specifically remember the occasions on which we’d be holding two games in our hands, weighing the options and determining which one would be more fun.
Fall 1999; getting my game time in before a family picnic.
Because my brother was heavily into video games and I had my own healthy addiction, we accumulated several systems – everything from an old-school NES to our new Wii and my DS Lite. Hidden in our entertainment shelving is a vast collection of cartridges and disks, many of which we’ve very recently been using all over again.
Christmas 2006. Guitar Hero with my brother.
Last night, as I was sorting through my own Gameboy games, my brother came in with his collection and emptied the box on my bed. I nearly died - it was like he was pouring our childhood out, in little two-by-two-inch cartridges. Among the findings were five Pokemon games (blue, red, yellow, gold and silver), a word puzzle game that I used to play for hours, and a bunch of other favorites from when we were young. I hadn’t seen half of those games in years and it was just such a throw back.
Things clearly haven’t changed, though. With the purchase of my new DS Lite and two games to go with it, I spent most of this weekend attached to it. I could never gauge how "normal" it was, because I'm a girl and the stereotype is that they don't play video games (or, if they do, it's very limited). But to me, it's totally normal to spend a Friday night playing a bunch of old games or even dedicating a whole weekend to conquering a new game.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
birthdays, birthdays, and more birthdays!
Oh, there have been too many birthdays lately. Not that there could ever be such a thing - because I love birthdays - but every time I turned around I had to start prepping someone else's gift. In true Cait style, I got a little crafty and, in one case, did some Target searching for cute things for the birthday celebrations.
First up was Melissa's birthday in April. Hers was a very last-minute, spur-of-the-moment idea, although you would never know it. It turned out amazingly, if I do say so myself. I mean, I always set out to do really good work, but I'm a huge critic and it's rare that it passes my own standards. I'll let you decide.
'Basically just 4 years of pure insanity' is the new tag line to our friendship. Also, PIPE CLEANERS AND FOAM DEALIES.
Next up, at the very beginning of May, it was my dance twin Ashley's 25th birthday bash. Since the first project went so well, I decided to go the same route and I was equally as impressed with myself.
Penguin love!
Finally, my BFF Danielle's birthday was two days ago, although we surprised her with a little birthday celebration during our reunion last week. Natalie and I set up my family room with leftover luau decorations and some delicious drinks, and we ordered in from Chili's and watched Hairspray. It was fabulous. I went scouting for gifts at Target and wound up with an adorable stationary set, picture frame, and jasmine-scented candle.
Yes, I bought three. One for me, one for Dani, and one to use as an emergency gift for someone.
Perfection.
First up was Melissa's birthday in April. Hers was a very last-minute, spur-of-the-moment idea, although you would never know it. It turned out amazingly, if I do say so myself. I mean, I always set out to do really good work, but I'm a huge critic and it's rare that it passes my own standards. I'll let you decide.
'Basically just 4 years of pure insanity' is the new tag line to our friendship. Also, PIPE CLEANERS AND FOAM DEALIES.
Next up, at the very beginning of May, it was my dance twin Ashley's 25th birthday bash. Since the first project went so well, I decided to go the same route and I was equally as impressed with myself.
Penguin love!
Finally, my BFF Danielle's birthday was two days ago, although we surprised her with a little birthday celebration during our reunion last week. Natalie and I set up my family room with leftover luau decorations and some delicious drinks, and we ordered in from Chili's and watched Hairspray. It was fabulous. I went scouting for gifts at Target and wound up with an adorable stationary set, picture frame, and jasmine-scented candle.
Yes, I bought three. One for me, one for Dani, and one to use as an emergency gift for someone.
Perfection.
I've got one major birthday left - my cousin - and I'm at a loss because she and I have done everything crafty for each other. I made her a scrapbook and gave her several picture frames and collages, she's made me a big collage and gave me a lovely speech at my graduation. Her birthday's next week and I'm totally going blank. Any ideas, crafty or not, are appreciated.
So that's what I've been up to craft-wise. I'm saving up all my creativity for my grandmother's scrapbook which we'll hopefully get started on soon - we only have about a month to go!
{Also, as I finished up this post I realized that today is also my friend Kyle's birthday! So, happy birthday!}
So that's what I've been up to craft-wise. I'm saving up all my creativity for my grandmother's scrapbook which we'll hopefully get started on soon - we only have about a month to go!
{Also, as I finished up this post I realized that today is also my friend Kyle's birthday! So, happy birthday!}
Thursday, May 20, 2010
and now, a song.
Because sometimes, you hear a random favorite song on the car radio and you turn the volume up to deafening levels, dance behind the wheel and belt out the lyrics. Can there be anything more cathartic and just damn amazing? I think not.
How absolutely perfect.
How absolutely perfect.
Monday, April 26, 2010
what i'm not saying.
Most days it’s not an act. People think that being the bubbly, happy girl is putting on a front, that nobody could be that peppy and optimistic. But usually, I just am. I can’t really explain it. I know that life is full of hardship and crummy situations, but for the most part I just don’t think about those things on a regular basis. Life is shiny and wonderful, meant to be enjoyed and lived. I absolutely cannot understand pessimism – why, if you have the option to think positively or negatively without knowing the outcome of something, would you possibly want to purposefully make yourself miserable? That’s what I see pessimism as, a willingness to be unhappy.
My day to day activities keep me occupied. I’m distracted with television shows, blogs to read, AIM conversations that make me laugh until I cry and e-mails about plans to see my friends that excite me. Whatever I’m doing, my mind is not on my problems.
The issue with this is that I’m unconsciously holding it all in. Everything that bothers me gets pushed to the side by my nature to be happy. It’s not something I force, not at all – sometimes I wish I could have my moment in the middle of the day in front of someone. But I don’t.
I don’t until it’s 2am, there’s nobody around, and I find myself falling down a vicious well of self-hatred. I crumple into a ball – in the shower, on my bed, just sitting on the floor – and I cry. I cry and cry, over everything and nothing. I cry because I’m sick, because everything I try seems not to work, because I’m afraid I’m never going to feel better ever again. I cry because I feel worthless – I disappoint everyone, whether it’s by canceling plans or simply the fact that I can’t get a job.
I cry because no matter how many friends or family members tell me I’m something special, that I have something amazing to offer the world, I just don’t believe them. I’m a living, walking definition of mediocrity – good at many things, but not great at anything. I desperately want to believe my friends, to see what they see, but something is there that stops me. That aspect of my life is a total farce. I’m able to tell people that I know I’m awesome, but it’s a cover-up.
Somewhere along the way, sometime in college, I lost the ability to believe in myself.
I could see that I was throwing away my college education by skipping class and never studying, but I was unable to stop myself. I couldn’t put the right pieces together and figure out how to utilize my time best and be productive. I knew - and was reminded ad nauseam by my parents - that I had the potential and the intelligence to succeed. It was something I should have been able to control, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t because of circumstance or outside influences – it was all me. And because I couldn’t do it, I lost confidence in my ability to do anything.
Around this time, I stopped dancing. Dance was the single solitary thing in my life that I was constantly good at. I could pick up choreography that girls had learned for months in one night. I could do pirouettes and a near-perfect switch leap; I could put on my game face for hip hop and bring elegance to lyrical dancing. It was something I worked terribly hard at, and I saw amazing results. If I couldn’t do something right the first time, I practiced until I did. I put passion into everything I did and because of it, I received handfuls of compliments from people I didn’t even know at the ends of recitals.
I’ve never known how to channel that effort into anything else and, once that part of my life was over, I had settled into mediocrity. That’s where I stay, almost stuck, unable to figure out how to get out.
My day to day activities keep me occupied. I’m distracted with television shows, blogs to read, AIM conversations that make me laugh until I cry and e-mails about plans to see my friends that excite me. Whatever I’m doing, my mind is not on my problems.
The issue with this is that I’m unconsciously holding it all in. Everything that bothers me gets pushed to the side by my nature to be happy. It’s not something I force, not at all – sometimes I wish I could have my moment in the middle of the day in front of someone. But I don’t.
I don’t until it’s 2am, there’s nobody around, and I find myself falling down a vicious well of self-hatred. I crumple into a ball – in the shower, on my bed, just sitting on the floor – and I cry. I cry and cry, over everything and nothing. I cry because I’m sick, because everything I try seems not to work, because I’m afraid I’m never going to feel better ever again. I cry because I feel worthless – I disappoint everyone, whether it’s by canceling plans or simply the fact that I can’t get a job.
I cry because no matter how many friends or family members tell me I’m something special, that I have something amazing to offer the world, I just don’t believe them. I’m a living, walking definition of mediocrity – good at many things, but not great at anything. I desperately want to believe my friends, to see what they see, but something is there that stops me. That aspect of my life is a total farce. I’m able to tell people that I know I’m awesome, but it’s a cover-up.
Somewhere along the way, sometime in college, I lost the ability to believe in myself.
I could see that I was throwing away my college education by skipping class and never studying, but I was unable to stop myself. I couldn’t put the right pieces together and figure out how to utilize my time best and be productive. I knew - and was reminded ad nauseam by my parents - that I had the potential and the intelligence to succeed. It was something I should have been able to control, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t because of circumstance or outside influences – it was all me. And because I couldn’t do it, I lost confidence in my ability to do anything.
Around this time, I stopped dancing. Dance was the single solitary thing in my life that I was constantly good at. I could pick up choreography that girls had learned for months in one night. I could do pirouettes and a near-perfect switch leap; I could put on my game face for hip hop and bring elegance to lyrical dancing. It was something I worked terribly hard at, and I saw amazing results. If I couldn’t do something right the first time, I practiced until I did. I put passion into everything I did and because of it, I received handfuls of compliments from people I didn’t even know at the ends of recitals.
I’ve never known how to channel that effort into anything else and, once that part of my life was over, I had settled into mediocrity. That’s where I stay, almost stuck, unable to figure out how to get out.
Monday, August 3, 2009
giving.
I am nice to the core.
I am nice to the point of detriment to myself, apparently. But that's not how I see it - to me, this is who I am, it's what I do.
There would be no Cait without writing pages of college advice for my cousin or baking brownies to give out at college for Christmas, taking extra time to decorate a few with blue sprinkles - instead of green and red - for my Jewish friends. It wouldn't be me if there weren't three weeks spent on making a scrapbook for a best friend who's moving away or packing that project into three nights for another best friend's sweet sixteen. I'm eager to help, to give, to make somebody smile.
I am criticized, at times, for never saying no. My parents say that I'm a carpet, allowing the world to walk all over me. Even when people frustrate me, I still help them. I usually forgive too easily, because I don't see the point in holding grudges and feeling rotten. My cousin and I are on weird footing right now because she's busy with all of her other friends, yet I still spend a good chunk of my time thinking up useful college tips and answering any questions that come my way. When she does call, I make every effort to see her. Nobody understands why - they think I'm living in a dream world, that I'm being used and, at times, abused. I'm not. Because her time is limited, I know that if I don't see her on her time, I don't see her at all. People would rather see me "stand up for myself" by refusing to hang with her when she finally has time, to ignore her until she notices things are going wrong. Seems rather immature to me.
What I have realized recently, however, is that being a nice person makes everyone else seem not-so-nice in comparison. Let it be known that I absolutely do not do things for the purpose of getting something in return. Never have, never will. But I can't help noticing that some subconscious part of mind does expect something. It's not a matter of tit-for-tat, where I give you a gift so you give me one back. It's more than that, something I can't really describe.
All I know is that, when I hit my lowest points, that desire in the back of my mind comes out in full force. I sit at home and let myself mull over everything that's going wrong, wondering where everyone seems to have gone. I know in my right mind that everyone's right here, within reach and easy to contact, but for some reason it's not that easy. I don't do well asking for help, especially in this instance because I don't exactly know what I even want to ask for.
By being a giver, I've never taught myself how to take, how to lean on someone, how to ask for what I need and want. I just expect someone to notice, to realize, to intuitively understand that hey, something's wrong. I can't bring myself to ask for help, because that's taking; however, if someone else just happens to notice that I need help, then they're giving.
That's how things make sense to me, but probably nobody else. Because I'm awesome that way.
I am nice to the point of detriment to myself, apparently. But that's not how I see it - to me, this is who I am, it's what I do.
There would be no Cait without writing pages of college advice for my cousin or baking brownies to give out at college for Christmas, taking extra time to decorate a few with blue sprinkles - instead of green and red - for my Jewish friends. It wouldn't be me if there weren't three weeks spent on making a scrapbook for a best friend who's moving away or packing that project into three nights for another best friend's sweet sixteen. I'm eager to help, to give, to make somebody smile.
I am criticized, at times, for never saying no. My parents say that I'm a carpet, allowing the world to walk all over me. Even when people frustrate me, I still help them. I usually forgive too easily, because I don't see the point in holding grudges and feeling rotten. My cousin and I are on weird footing right now because she's busy with all of her other friends, yet I still spend a good chunk of my time thinking up useful college tips and answering any questions that come my way. When she does call, I make every effort to see her. Nobody understands why - they think I'm living in a dream world, that I'm being used and, at times, abused. I'm not. Because her time is limited, I know that if I don't see her on her time, I don't see her at all. People would rather see me "stand up for myself" by refusing to hang with her when she finally has time, to ignore her until she notices things are going wrong. Seems rather immature to me.
What I have realized recently, however, is that being a nice person makes everyone else seem not-so-nice in comparison. Let it be known that I absolutely do not do things for the purpose of getting something in return. Never have, never will. But I can't help noticing that some subconscious part of mind does expect something. It's not a matter of tit-for-tat, where I give you a gift so you give me one back. It's more than that, something I can't really describe.
All I know is that, when I hit my lowest points, that desire in the back of my mind comes out in full force. I sit at home and let myself mull over everything that's going wrong, wondering where everyone seems to have gone. I know in my right mind that everyone's right here, within reach and easy to contact, but for some reason it's not that easy. I don't do well asking for help, especially in this instance because I don't exactly know what I even want to ask for.
By being a giver, I've never taught myself how to take, how to lean on someone, how to ask for what I need and want. I just expect someone to notice, to realize, to intuitively understand that hey, something's wrong. I can't bring myself to ask for help, because that's taking; however, if someone else just happens to notice that I need help, then they're giving.
That's how things make sense to me, but probably nobody else. Because I'm awesome that way.
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