If there were a biography written about me, it would not begin with calm reflection. Calm is not my opening act. Calm is my encore.

The first act is enthusiasm, curiosity, maybe a touch of overcommitment, usually followed by a bold declaration and then immediate reflection about that declaration.

I do not enter change quietly. I buzz.

Not maliciously, but maybe a little dramatic.

Oh shoot, my biography has to be based on facts.

Ok, fully dramatic. I am emotionally invested in a way that suggests background music may begin at any moment. But never cruelly. Never with ill intent, just passionate. Like a hopeful mosquito with a vision board and a five‑year plan.

I feel things at a level that can put me in the deep end quickly. Skeeters like water after all. A small change is not just a small change. Yes, it is paramount! A typo in a text message may briefly qualify as a personal crisis before logic returns from her coffee break.

And yet, here is the part that makes it funny instead of tragic.

The melodrama ceases pretty quickly. I do recover. Yay me.

I buzz, I spiral, I narrate the situation as though a documentary crew is nearby, and then I recalibrate. The drama is real. The feelings are real, but so is the growth.

No doubt about it, I am a skeeter.

I swirl around in circles because I care. I poke because I am curious. I hover because I want to fully understand. Dag nabbit, it is so important to get it right!

And sometimes, yes, someone gently waves me away. Like my siblings, they know all the signs, and they can see the skeeter zooming in. I can almost feel the swoosh as my brother sighs and says, “hey little sis. I hear ya, let me think on this awhile and get back to you.” His best skeeter repellant is humor. He too has things he needs to discover. Sometimes, I even wave myself off before anyone else has to. I mean, don’t think I just get on the nerves of others. I am an equal opportunity pest.

I get excited, lean in, and ask questions… sometimes maybe too many. Hey, life offers so many research projects just waiting for the right scientist with zeal and determination to figure it all out, so I circle ideas, even poke at them. Even human creatures are not exempt. I definitely can poke at people a little and sometimes a little more than a little. I mean well. I always mean well.

I can usually tell when I am being too much, so I swat myself gently and say, “Alright, Skeeter, settle down and stay put for a minute.”

And maybe that is the arc of this biography. I believe once a skeeter does not always have to remain a skeeter. I am growing and evolving, not into a saint, let’s not get carried away, but into something a little more lovely. A dragonfly, perhaps. That sounds prettier than “moderately improved mosquito.” I still hover and I am still curious, but I can see a little open space just up ahead, somewhere I might land with more intention instead of pure impulse.