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5 march 2003

wondering what i'd call my personal branch of the military

I annoy myself sometimes.

Over the past (nearly three?!?) years, my favorite mails from you guys are the ones that say you miss me when I'm gone for awhile. That, even though we don't know one another, you consider me a friend on some level. I can't tell you what those mean to me. It's nice to be reminded that, in some small way, my presence out here matters a little bit.

Today, some navel-gazing. Perhaps you can help me out here.

Since I was a little girl, I've been a convicted overachiever and attempted perfectionist. The worst of it waned in my mid-twenties, and I became a much more pleasant person to know. (My friends will back me up on this, yep.) The grades, the prizes, the competition, the desire to 'be all that I could be--I was a self-contained branch of the military.

It's one thing to make the most of the time you've got. It's another to do whatever the hell I was doing. Proving myself? To whom? For what purpose?

On one hand, I enjoyed the fruits of my hard work very much. I gained a lot by being this way as a young person--full scholarships to college, a good work ethic, and some nice accomplishments along the way. If nothing else, my friends will tell you that I have a healthy amount of drive, and like to make good things happen. I like to live my life as if it's a unique, ongoing mission. That makes me happy. I am lucky that I live in a time and culture that allows me to define my life, and where I stand in the world.

Having a personality like this is like being bundled software. For the most part, you get cool stuff that does neat things.

Then you get this extra crap that makes you want to torch the hard drive.

So I have this one trait, habit...something...that drives people bananas. (I'm sure I have a lot more, but we'll inventory those later, hm?) I'm hard on myself. Very tough. Sometimes, I think my inner Complaint Department needs an overhaul. At the very least, it needs a better spokesperson. Make me mad, get under my skin, witness me at a moment when something personal upsets me...and watch me clam up. I tells ya, it's better than tv, watching unsettling events wash over my ever-expressive but exasperatingly-silent face. Remember that show, "20 Questions"? During these moments, you're the unlucky contestant trying to drag out what's bugging me. You don't win any Rice A Roni, either.

This is sometimes a good trait, as people generally regard me as good-natured and non-confrontational. Not much bothers Kim. My closest friends can count on one hand the number of times they've seen me get really riled up about something personal. I like to think that I know how to pick my battles--what might be truly important next week, next month, next year. Most things are too piddly for me to fight over them.

When I get silent and frustrated that I can't say the right thing, I'm furiously thinking about how I can change/solve/adjust to whatever issue is picking at me. I've slowly come to realize that, much of the time, I can't do a thing about it. I especially can't do a thing about stuff that's out of my control, or that lies with someone else, or that is shared between me and someone else.

I can't fix it by sitting there trying to fix it.

You're probably thinking, "just say something, you chowderhead." I'm working on it. The only way I know how to describe my hesitation to open the complaint/issue department, is that it is sometimes physically painful to do so. Knot in stomach, headache, fear that I may be perceived as incapable of fixing it. If I keep quiet, I think it might go away, which it rarely does.

Maybe it was too much Latin class. I really dug all that stoicism stuff.

Maybe it was too much Catechism. Think of England, or the Pope...or something. Keep quiet and you won't go to Purgatory.

Or maybe I just need to trust that when you don't raise many issues, people take the ones you do raise seriously. I'm working on it. I think stubbornness has its place, but not here. This is too important.

Added note: This phenomenon also applies to me and my relationships with medical professionals. Specifically, I can't remember the last time I drove myself to a doctor. By that time, I'm so sick that I'm dragged into someone's car and thrown on an examination table. I mean, God forbid I should actually admit that I'm sick or injured. Stoopid.