Cuspy

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I was born on January 20th, 1964. Depending on which horoscope you’re reading, that birthday places me on the last day of Capricorn or the first day of Aquarius. (I’ve done the research. Technically I’m a late-arriving Capricorn, but I’ve always leaned toward identifying as an Aquarius.) If there are two signs more diametrically opposed than Capricorn and Aquarius, I’m not sure what they would be. One is rule-oriented and responsible; the other is artistic and free-wheeling.

But I can see elements of both these things in my personality.  I’m  not necessarily a rule-follower–in fact, I take some delight in breaking the rules. That wasn’t always the case. I am, however, extremely aware of what the rules are in every situation, what the consequences for breaking those rules might be, and whether that decision is likely to affect anyone else.  If I break the rules (or, more often, just ignore them), it’s because they’re pointless.  They might have served a useful purpose once, but they don’t anymore.

As a writer, my practical Capricorn nature helps me stay grounded in routine and practice. This blog is one example of that. Practice and routine are where artistic skill develops; inspiration is important, but it does no good if you sit around waiting for it to arrive. You’ll have no skills to employ in its service if you haven’t practiced consistently.

I dreamed of making my living as a writer until I got old enough to realize how unstable that life would always be. Now I’m a professor who also writes. A regular paycheck to support my passion. Two sides, one coin.

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Being born in 1964 also puts me on the cusp between generations. Depending on which definition you’re reading, I’m either the baby sister of the Boomer generation or the big sister of Gen X.

I haven’t felt like a Boomer for five minutes of my entire life. I watched The Big Chill when I was in college and bought the soundtrack–everyone did–but that wasn’t a movie that spoke to my soul. It was a movie about old people. (Cool old people, but still.)

My definition of “old” has changed considerably, of course. Those characters were 37. I’m now 56, and I still don’t feel old. But that doesn’t change the fact that watching The Big Chill felt a lot like watching Happy Days when I was a kid: it was a show about a time that had nothing to do with me.

On the other hand: Reality Bites? Singles?  Those movies spoke to my soul.

I was not the latchkey kid who typifies Gen X. I was raised by depression-era parents in the age of Dr. Spock, so I had a stay-at-home mom. But I was a kid who spent a lot of time on her own. No one cared what I was doing, as long as I wasn’t getting in trouble, so I did what all Gen X kids did: I watched a lot of inappropriate cable TV, ate processed snacks, played Atari, rode my bike to my friends’ houses, listened to Casey Kasem  count down the American Top 40 each week.

Eventually,  though, MTV replaced the radio. Kurt Loder and The Week in Rock took Casey Kasem’s place. When I was in grad school in the 1980’s, I’d turn on MTV the minute I came back to my apartment.  120 Minutes and Unplugged were appointment TV. Martha Quinn felt like someone I knew in real life.

My older sister is a Boomer. I don’t think  Martha Quinn is a name she’d recognize.

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I was the third child born to my parents, although my oldest sister had died two years before my birth. If she hadn’t died, it’s likely I wouldn’t be here today. I have a very clear memory of talking to my mother about this once, though I can’t remember why. It’s doesn’t seem like the kind of thing my mother would have said to me. Probably I had asked her why she had waited so long to have me after Pat was born.

My older sister and I are 7 years apart. As adults, that age spread doesn’t matter much; as kids, it mattered a lot. I was the annoying little sister who was always the wrong age to be interested in the right thing or behave the right way.  I tried really hard, but that just made things worse. No teenage girl wants an earnest 7-year-old tagging along, acting like she knows what it means to be 14.

Add to this the fact that my younger brother was born a few years after me, the treasured boy my parents had been waiting for and finally received after 3 girls in a row. Now I was both a big sister and a little sister, as well as a middle child. Sometimes I was the leader who was supposed to know better and watch out for my little brother; sometimes I was the follower who was supposed to stay out of the way. Always, I was the kid who got good grades and avoided trouble. Not the oldest, not the youngest, but older and younger nevertheless.

Some psychologists, writing about birth order, suggest that these dynamics “start over” when there’s a gap of five or more years between siblings. It’s true that I have many of the characteristics of an oldest child: I’m very organized and reliable. I’m often the one people come to with a problem. I know how to lead, when asked, though I rarely volunteer.

But I’m also a typical middle child: a good negotiator,  only mildly rebellious, ready to roll with whatever happens. I’m used to living in the in-between.  I know that everything can change on a moment’s notice. Often, there’s not a thing you can do about that.

So when you find yourself in a moment of change, you might as well make the best of it: put on some good music, Take a deep breath, and do whatever needs to be done.